Friday • 8
THE GOOD LIFE Part of Omaha's Elephant-6-like Saddle Creek clique (which includes Bright Eyes'/Desaparecidos' Conor Oberst and Lullaby for the Working Class'/Mayday's Ted Stevens), Tim Kasher fronts quintessential emo act Cursive as well as The Good Life. He started The Good Life as a diversion to satisfy his sleepier, earthier side and his penchant for show-tune-pop hooks and within a couple of years it developed into a stable gig. Now he flip-flops between recording and touring for both bands. Being split between two acts usually means that one band suffers in some way, but Kasher is remarkably able to keep it together. Through listening to the last Cursive record, we're convinced The Good Life evidences Kasher's growing weariness for the soaring-chorused genre he helped pioneer. Our prediction is that it's only a matter of time before Kasher cashes out Cursive for The Good Life. And that's not good, it's great! (with Neva Dinova;
5:30 p.m. at The Social, 407-246-1419; $8, $10)
Saturday • 9
DIGITAL UNDERGROUND Digital Underground have turned into a hip-hop version of The Time: an undeniably funky party band with worthless new material, but a charismatic frontman (Shock-G is nothing if not a rap doppelgänger of Morris Day) and an ass-shaking live show. Although DU has never really gone away, it's doubtful they'll ever relive the glory days of "The Humpty Dance," thus they've relegated themselves to a casino/radio-show circuit that's gotta be profitable. Though we don't quite understand why they'd play a gig with a flash-in-the-pan like Tone-Loc, we don't really care; getting to see Humpty Hump and the other Freaks of the Industry is treat enough. (with Tone-Loc; 8 p.m. at 55 West; 321-239-0598; $15)
Sunday • 10
PIXIES We've got to admit, we're surprised that this reunion business has carried on as long as it has. When the first Pixies live dates were announced, we figured there would be no way anything would come of it beyond a grandstanding Coachella appearance that would disappoint everyone. That the first dates of the reunion tour were scheduled through places like Saskatchewan led us to believe that the members of the band probably felt the same way. But a funny thing happened on the way to total disaster: Pixies circa 2004 wound up being a not-too-terrible band. Yes, it's all about nostalgia for those of us of a certain age; but after hearing recordings of some of the shows, even those of us who were terrified that our now-fading memories of seeing the Pixies the first time would be ruined are convinced that – despite the craven, money-grubbing reality of the situation – seeing the Pixies now will be quite worthwhile. The sets we've heard are bristling with electricity, the casual tension between Kim Deal and Frank Black heightening the feeling. The band is tight (perhaps tighter than they were the first time) and they actually seem to enjoy playing the songs they once publicly disowned. But please allow us one advisory to the generation of indie rockers who have grown up in a world that's granted the Pixies the near-mythical status they now enjoy: Please don't expect a night of transcendent revelations. The Pixies were good, the Pixies are good, but they're just a fucking band playing songs in order to take your money. No more, no less. Expect a good rock show and you won't be disappointed, but know very well that what you are witnessing is four people whose bank accounts could no longer deny that they're more profitable together than separately. This makes the Pixies (reunion) no different than the Eagles or Fleetwood Mac or Blondie. Which, we guess, makes us very old now. (with The Thrills;
7:30 p.m. at Hard Rock Live, 407-351-5483; sold out)
Tuesday • 12
PATRIOT ACTS: ART AGAINST THE WAR Fun and games aren't exactly what you would expect from an antiwar art exhibition, but New Smyrna Beach artist Charon Luebbers knows how to draw in viewers to her interactive installations and deliver a political punch. Thus, the opening reception for this dense and eclectic collection will mark the debut of the "Diabolic Electronic Voting Machine" – a made-over Japanese slot machine that rolls up donkeys, elephants and peace symbols instead of cherries and lemons. (The contraption also grunts and makes other sounds sure to delight its players.) Get it? Voting on electronic machines in the upcoming election is like gambling, as there will be no ballots available for a recount. Florida's catastrophic effect on the last election has been stuck in Luebbers' craw (and countless others'), so she curated this assemblage to boost morale for a righteous victory this time around. Along with Luebbers' other contraptions, including her inspired "Not Carved in Stone" voting machine (which appeared at the DeLand Museum of Art just after the last election), there will be posters by local, national and international artists offering their visual commentary. Most of those entries were a part of the Art Against the War Poster Show that debuted in June at Columbia University in New York. And there are a handful of other original contributions, such as the anti-Halliburton watercolor by Dan Burleigh Phillips of Umatilla. Says Luebbers, "Some people feel that art should not be political. The opposition would paint us as traitors for questioning the war, for opposing the loss of our civil liberties. I think that dissent, in this case protest art, is an act of true patriotism." (
reception 6:30 p.m.-9 p.m. at COMMA Gallery, 407-376-1400; free; exhibit continues through Nov. 5)
NO APOLOGIES It's been five months since intellectual stand-up comic Chris King Pop Icon last appeared on an Orlando stage, and the loss has been entirely ours. King's stealthily square persona is as habit-forming as his eloquently explosive musings on sex, politics and life as a born iconoclast. His return to action is actually a dry run of material from his forthcoming one-man show, "I Can't Tell if I'm Eating Butter or Not," which he intends to premiere somewhere in New York. The 45-minute preview we'll be getting is a more experimental affair than King has yet mounted, with music figuring into his customarily risky mix of deeply felt invective and disarming geekitude. "This show may suck," warns the ego-free King of comedy, but it's that propensity for brutal self-critique that's enabled him to carve out a reputation as a singular talent less than a year into his performing career. His ambivalence, however, doesn't extend to show-opening comic Chance Kirkpatrick, a 25-year-old who King says has been honing his craft at Tod Caviness' weekly "Speakeasy" spoken-word nights at Will's Pub. "I like Chance's stage manner and perspective," the show's headliner compliments. In other words, he doesn't suck. (9 p.m. at Will's Pub, 407-898-5070; $5)
Wednesday • 13
DEFTONES The Deftones occupy a curious place in modern music. They've sold albums in the millions and garnered a Grammy, yet it's likely no one would recognize them walking down Orange Avenue. The group survives as a pet act of sorts – the fact that they get little publicity only augments their marketability as the underground Radiohead for the margin-walking nü-metalhead. And if you break it all down, as every Deftones tune inevitably does, these guys are cranking out the same kind of Revelation Records/Jade Tree-type pop-core as, say, a polished Engine Kid or a heftier New End Original. We didn't say they were good, we're just onto their schtick. (with Dredg, 8:30 p.m. at House of Blues, 407-934-2583; $25, $27.50)
