Dan le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip: "Look for the Woman"

It’s a slightly overcast but warm September afternoon in Chicago when the English duo Dan le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip takes the Hideout Block Party’s stage. DJ le Sac appears and situates himself behind a deck tangled with the requisite mix of wires, keys, and laptops, and then MC Scroobius Pip’s modern-day Abraham Lincoln figure pops on stage, looking as though he’s ready to spar his focused partner. Before practicing crowd-pleasing warm-up exercises — stretching as though preparing for a marathon — Scroobius Pip delves into the subject that most preoccupies his thoughts and will become, in his words, the Chicago appearance’s theme.

“Right, so, we just found out the other day that our album was given a 0.2 by Pitchfork,” Pip says, teasing the Pitchfork-staff–peppered audience, which promptly boos the rating. Whereas some artists would leave it at that, feeding off the feel-good responses from a mid-afternoon crowd, Pip follows with what has become his trademark MC lyrical technique: mixing conscientious politics in the tradition of Gil Scott Heron with a dash of self-deprecating humor à la Atmosphere’s Slug and rearranging the ideas behind them in such a way that the words, layered over le Sac’s trippy beats, become a manifesto to disregard, debate, or adopt.

In the case of the Pitchfork theme, he slides the site’s name into his banter and underneath the gyrating rhythms of the songs, renaming it Bitchfork and Pitchfuck to more applause. But Pip isn’t out to just name-call; he’s setting the groundwork for a deeper dig. For the remainder of the DvS Hideout set, Pip splices in comments about the review, reading from it as well as previous reviews from the same critic. It would be a squeamish, alienating tactic had the band not become known and loved for such scrutiny: of themselves, music, religion, and whatever else takes the lyricist’s attention.

Rapping tracks from DvS' debut, Angles — a collection of previously released singles whose lyrics touch upon such wide-ranging topics as child abuse, suicide, and misguided readings of biblical scripture — Pip alternates between jaunty stabs at the reviewer and the review, with the main argument seemingly that the duo is not a pair of hip-hop wannabes. What they do, Pip reiterates via phone some days after the Block Party show, is a mash of hip hop, spoken word, indie pop, punk, and electronica. It’s why they can open for acts as diverse as Saul Williams and Adele and Mark Ronson.
 

"You’re not meant to be able to agree with everything; that’s the whole point. For people to blindly agree with anything I say is to blindly agree with anything anyone says."

And even though he understands that “at the end of the day, a review is just a review,” he is particularly annoyed by this reading of the band, which was based on the assumption that DvS is, if not hip hop, trying really hard to be street.

“We’ve never set out to make a specific genre of music,” Pip says. “I do spoken word and emceeing, and Dan makes electronic, almost hip-hoppy beats. It’s just a variation. We never set out thinking, ‘Let’s make a hip-hop album,’ or ‘Let’s make a dance album,’ or ‘Let’s make an indie album.’ We just made the kind of songs that came out.”

From the Hideout Block Party stage, the two joked about being “street enough,” but in private, Pip seems genuinely perturbed by this idea of authenticity. “It’s hard to get a harsh review like that,” he confides, turning the authenticity question back on the reviewer. “But then when you read that the reviewer reviewed the latest Puff Daddy album and thought it was a pretty good hip-hop offering, and that he felt that we should be grateful that a band like Coldplay exists on this earth, it’s not quite so hard to be reviewed in that way.”

The main issue that Pip has with music isn’t authenticity, he notes, but lyrical irrelevance and contrived posturing.

“Don’t get me wrong; they’re a really good band,” he says, adding to his thoughts on Coldplay. “But I don’t think they’re quite up there yet as a legendary, ‘music wouldn’t be the same without them’ band. I don’t think that they’re changing that much at the moment. I’ve got nothing against them at all; they’ve made some good music. But it’s just…they’re one of the bands that seems in interviews to be quite political, and speaks about social issues and challenging issues. Ten percent of their audience will never read the interview, whereas all of their audience will hear their lyrics. Yet in their lyrics, they continue to talk about relationships, and love, and stuff like that. If these issues mean a lot to them, put some of it on record and get the word out.”

A track like “Thou Shalt,” a 2007 single that shows up on Angles, speaks to this idea. The song name-drops a series of legendary bands and immediately dismisses their hallowed legacies with a chorus punctuated by “just a band.” Such proclamations in both DvS’ lyrics and interviews are what seemingly raise critics’ hackles most and are primarily what reviewers focus on when calling the band “angster rap.” They also question whether Pip — this 27-year-old white kid from Essex’s working-class Stanford-le-Hope — can speak from such a position or even knows his hip-hop history.

“When talking on subjects like this, I don’t want to lie; the area I live in isn’t that bad,” he says. “I live in a pleasant-enough little village. I’ve only had two or three people try and mug me in my life, which isn’t by any means bad.”

He also agrees with reviews about his flow, which he admits is always in development but has been labeled quaint, Dickensian enjambment without direction. “That’s one of the things where I agree completely with the Pitchfork review,” Pip says. “I never consciously have a style or flow. The way I write, it’s about the content and the lyrics. The flow is just me fitting it all in, so I can’t argue there. I don’t claim to be well versed or trained in many different flowing techniques.”

Yet when it comes to his proclaimed lack of hip-hop knowledge, the former record-store worker couldn’t agree less. “I’m not an expert, but I’m a big fan of hip hop,” he says. “I’ve got a pretty good understanding of its history and lineage.” Pip adds that although he may have come to the hip-hop/spoken-word game later than most — after a long stint in his teen years as a guitarist/singer in punk bands — he has since done his homework.

“Finding out that hip hop wasn’t just this braggadocio kind of genre, learning about KRS-One and Rakim or learning about Gil Scott Heron, inspired me,” Pip says. “There’s an argument on where hip hop began: was it Afrika Bambaataa or was it Atmosphere’s Slug doing skits in between tracks? But there’s a Gil Scott Heron track called ‘No Knocks,’ which I think defines — more than anything else that I’ve heard — the first real hip-hop song, before it was called hip hop. Learning about stuff like that just opened up my mind to hip hop and spoken word as a broader genre, despite Pitchfork thinking I have no knowledge on hip hop and thinking I’ve got no right to speak on the subject.”

Some may find through Pip’s responses that the duo takes itself too seriously, but nothing could be further from the truth. The majority of its videos and live shows are a testament to the exuberant spontaneity and good vibes inherent in its music, and, as mentioned, self-analysis plays a strong role in its approach.

“We’re not particularly angsty, angry people,” Pip says. “We’re having a laugh out of it, particularly with ‘Thou Shalt,’ which was the one that got misinterpreted, because people thought we were so angry and lecturing. But it’s meant to be tongue in cheek. A lot of it contradicts itself, intentionally. It’s a song that tells you what to do for three minutes, and then at the end it says, ‘Think for yourselves.’ You’re not meant to be able to agree with everything; that’s the whole point. For people to blindly agree with anything I say is to blindly agree with anything anyone says. So the whole point of it was to make people question for themselves.”

“It adds an element,” says Justin Pearson, bassist /vocalist for San Diego sci-fi grind-punk four-piece The Locust, a band that dons hooded, skintight, full-body uniforms. “It’s hard to say how you feel when you do it; you’re walking on stage with three other people with absurd outfits. We’re part of the show, and part of the live performance is the energy, negative or positive. It adds a level of intensity.”

“It’s all about using your imagination,” says Tom Fec, who performs under the name Tobacco as a solo artist and as a member of dreamy psych-hop outfit Black Moth Super Rainbow. He employs masks as tools to obscure his persona, rather than The Locust’s edgy, over-the-top approach. “I think that’s a really important piece to making an impact,” he says. “When you know everything about a person, then it’s like watching someone you know up there, and it becomes something else completely. The more you know, the less you care about knowing.”

RJ Krohn, better known as soulful hip-hop artist RJD2, is a performer who has experimented with masks and costumes on stage as much for his own amusement as for the audiences at his concert. “I have always felt that theatrics,” he says, “or at least dressing up, was an obvious way to say, ‘At least I’m trying here, folks,’ to a crowd. Just walking on stage in a T-shirt and jeans is cool if you are a genius. I, however, have questionable talent, which needs to be deep fried, slathered in a tasty barbecue sauce, and dressed up like real talent.”

Krohn’s first experiment with costumes was as an alter ego that he named “Mo’ Buttons,” in a costume decked out with tons of buttons with a sampler strapped to his chest, in order to highlight that on stage, he plays the device like a keyboard or drum machine rather than simply pressing “play.” The sampler proved to be too heavy to wear comfortably every night, but when Krohn discovered that he could incorporate a MIDI controller to run the equipment rather than the entire unit, he took the premise and his sense of comedy to the next level, introducing crowds to his latest persona.

“When I had [the equipment techniques] down, I realized that it needed a way to differentiate itself from the rest of the show,” he says. “A guy just putting on and taking off a wireless spinning MIDI controller is just dumb. So the alter ego became ‘Commissioner Crotchbuttons,’because I had built the thing into a belt that spins (à la ZZ Top), and when you have a musical instrument planted on your crotch, the jokes just write themselves.”
 

“When you know everything about a person, then it’s like watching someone you know up there, and it becomes something else completely. The more you know, the less you care about knowing.”
– Tobacco

Like Krohn, The Locust’s uniforms are rooted in a sense of humor but also an equally strong sense of rebellion. Formed in 1994, The Locust began wearing costumes by the late ’90s as a reaction to what it felt was unusual backlash from the underground press, which focused more on the band’s clothes than its music. “We were just wearing our street clothes,” Pearson says. “We were poor punk kids. Somehow that became the topic of the conversation instead of our music. It was sort of a pointless round-table discussion, and people seemed really agitated with us. We weren’t a racist band. We weren’t fighting people. We were playing music, and for whatever reason, they criticized us beyond the music.”

Its first costumes, fuzzy vests and goggles, were created to be tongue in cheek. Surprisingly, as The Locust developed as a band, the costume concept stuck. “We never really thought about it,” Pearson says. “We wrote music and we played music — jagged, funny, quirky parts. We started figuring out things to do musically that coincided with us doing a visual element. It happened by chance, and then it evolved. We look ridiculous, but we’re totally serious. Maybe it’s hard for a band to achieve that? It became very honest. We’re not fucking around or being influenced by this other thing. It wasn’t self-conscious.”

In turn, the uniform concept has affected The Locust’s performance style, which Pearson says also plays off the rambunctious stage antics and overt masculinity of many of its peers in the hardcore scene. “We found ourselves with this borderline homoerotic, nerdy, sci-fi thing,” he says. “We look like robots; we move jaggedly. We don’t have breakdown parts. We’re stationary, and you can’t run or jump. It was very technical and confined to a spot. We decided, ‘Let’s do the complete opposite [of many tour mates] and stand there and not move. And we’ll stop and be completely still.’ There is a physical edginess to it beyond the fact that we looked like these science-fiction creatures.”

Though The Locust has grown an overall aesthetic from both its musical and visual components, and Krohn is happy to poke fun at himself for the sake of the show, the reality for many musicians is that a costume or mask is a form of armor, granting them space from the watchful eye of the crowd. Take San Antonio DJ Ernest Gonzales. Under his own name, Gonzales creates music that is chilled and collected, often combining elements of indie rock, pop, and hip hop.
 

“I’m an introverted kind of person. A mask enables you to be whatever you want to be on stage…like getting drunk without having to drink."
– Mexicans with Guns

When he began toying with a more bass-heavy dance sound, he opted to present it under a different name. He created an alter ego that he called Mexicans with Guns, topping off the character with a Mexican wrestling mask. “It’s branding, in a sense,” Gonzales says. “If I’ve been doing a different sound, then coming out of left field with a different sound could be positive, or it could be negative. For me, it felt like two separate projects and sounds. The sounds are so different; I realized [that] I’d be playing to different venues and crowds.”

Having an alter ego enabled Gonzales to overcome his apprehensions about testing new musical waters, and specifically, wearing a mask allowed the introverted Gonzales to bring out a different side of his personality. “When I’m on stage and I have the mask, I’m able to be more loose,” he says. “I’m an introverted kind of person. A mask enables you to be whatever you want to be on stage…like getting drunk without having to drink."

“With the mask, it could be anybody up there,” he adds. “Also, the idea of the mask is very important to Mexican culture. El Santo (Mexican wrestler Rodolfo Guzmán Huerta) has been in 80-plus films. The wrestlers come out and they never reveal their face. It’s very political too; I wanted to bring out the mask and build up [the character] as a hero.”

Like Gonzales, others create cultural discourse by tying themselves to an era. For LA DJ Alfred Darlington, who plays under the name Daedelus and dons full Victorian suits on stage, the decision to perform in costume had its origins in the philosophy of his music. “I have a big interest in invention,” he says. “I felt that the Victorian period was a period of great invention. Now I’m pretty committed to it, and it feels more appropriate to me than wearing my street clothes.”

In Darlington’s meticulously constructed electronic music, every sound is deliberate; there are no improvisations and no room for extraneous noise. Sonically, it could be seen as an answer to Dandyism, a philosophy that Darlington finds particularly inspiring. “Beau Brummell was the prototypical dandy,” he says. “He was the first person to adopt attire as a full-time religion. Performance art didn’t exist at the time, so this was revolutionary. I liked the idea that that everything he did was deliberate. It took him four hours a day to get ready because every gesture he made was artistic. Philosophically, I related in the sense that in my music, every sound is planned. Dressing up like that helps me get into the mindset.”

Darlington describes the dedication to his costumes as “masochistic” in some ways. “I’m committed to my music and my art, and it does feel like I’ve taken on the burdens of the role,” he says. “I sweat through my clothes, but the idea of stripping it down seems ludicrous.” The Locust’s Pearson echoes his thoughts, saying,“There have been times when you’re like, ‘This is so stupid.’ Sometimes it’s been pretty brutal — mainly your face, because some of the masks haven’t had a mouth opening and were attached to our shirts. You could drink through it, but you couldn’t spit. One time I was sick on tour and threw up in the mask and had to swallow it. [Our drummer] Gabe [Serbian] has flipped his mask up, and he’d throw up if he’d overexerted himself. Sometimes with singing, I’ll get vertigo or tunnel vision if I hold the note until the end of the measure.”

Darlington doesn’t wear an actual mask, but wearing the 19th Century attire accomplishes the same goal for him. The same can be said for hip-hop artist Javocca Davis, a.k.a. Vockah Redu, a prominent figure in New Orleans’ bounce community. Davis incorporates face paint, theatrical costumes, and lavish sets into a subgenre of hip hop that is notorious for its energy, overtly sexual dancers, “triggerman” beats, and party-like atmosphere.

“I have a big imagination, and I bring that to the stage,” he says. “I don’t just want to be a rapper on stage with a chain. This is the theater part of me. I love to paint my face; it goes with my music. Why wear a T-shirt when I can demand the stage?”

Davis studied theater and performance arts at the New Orleans Center for Creative Arts, but until the past year or so, he kept his two passions separate. “I wasn’t being open minded,” he says. “I thought a rapper was supposed to look this way or that way. It was limiting. Now I’m more mature. I’m representing me as a person.”

As Vockah Redu, Davis follows a tradition of artists such as Michael Jackson, Prince, and Madonna — as well as contemporaries like Saul Williams — who have toyed with sexuality and larger-than-life stage personas. Others like Tom Fec, however, are content to let their legends grow from speculation.

This includes atmospheric electro-pop trio Castratii, an Australian act that only performs in a mask of complete darkness to become anonymous or even invisible. Convention often dictates that having the right look to accompany one’s music is a key factor in launching a successful career in the entertainment business. Ironically for Fec and Castratii, not having an image has resulted in more attention from the press and music lovers.

“People are definitely more interested in not knowing right now, in particular as everything is so easily found online,” Castratii’s Jonathan Wilson says. “We like to make our own judgment on artists or musicians. We don’t need them to be real. We prefer the myth of the artist.”

“The usual stuff that comes along with being in music seems irrelevant to me,” says Fec, who gives few interviews and fewer (and often obscured) photo shoots, and who uses effects on his vocal recordings. “If I was a guy with a guitar singing about my life, it might make sense, but I have this fucked-up world that I want people to interpret for themselves. It really shouldn’t be about me.”
 

“I don’t just want to be a rapper on stage with a chain. This is the theater part of me. I love to paint my face; it goes with my music. Why wear a T-shirt when I can demand the stage?”
– Vockah Redu

Recently, Fec has invited a mask-wearing friend to join him on stage, and due to this lack of a visual public persona, audience members often walk away thinking that the masked figure is Fec. “I’ve always liked confusing people,” Fec says. “It makes everything more fun when you’re not sure what’s going on. If they mistake him for me, then I’ve done my job.” At first glance, Fec’s approach may appear as if he is having fun at the expense of his audience, but he maintains that his anonymity has given his listeners more room to interpret the music.

The members of Castratii, meanwhile, have found creative satisfaction in complete darkness — despite their visual- arts backgrounds in sculpture and installation. “Darkness is so much better for many things,” Wilson says. “It can be creepy and frightening or soft and sensual. It encompasses so many different good and evil connotations.

We also like the idea that we can barely see each other while we play. Our only link is the music.” Without the ability to actually “watch” the band, Castratii’s audience leaves its shows with a unique experience.

“We find that the sound can consume a person in a completely new way if the performer is left in the dark,” Wilson says. “It becomes about the sonic and not how it is made. When seeing a rock show or even a classical performance, most people walk away with an idea [that] they were closer to that performer as a person. They may also have an insight as to how those particular sounds are made. This is something we want to keep to ourselves — our sounds and our persons. This way it can retain a little mystery.”

Darlington, who believes that costumes and masks also can be protective forces, adds, “We live in an era where people regurgitate media. You are under this possible gaze, and it goes up on Flickr; it goes up on You- Tube. Everybody has a part and takes a role in forming your media presence. You always have to be prepared to be scrutinized.”

Although music as an art form is first and foremost for the ears, the fact that so many artists take on the additional task of elaborate visual schemes, whether masked, costumed, or otherwise disguised, is telling of its multi-sensory qualities. Perhaps thinking of music and art as separate forms is erroneous. “It tells a story,” Davis says. “Every show tells a story.”

Argotec: Wherewithal (5/8/2010)

Argotec: "What You Now Know"

Argotec, the New York-based duo of Alex Argot and Defpotec (Richard Courage), shows an impressive array of influences with its self-released debut record, Wherewithal, cementing elements of drum-and-bass, glitch, electronic, and rock into the realm of hip hop.  The partnership — Argot supplying rhymes and Defpotec handling production — has created a distinct and developed sound, channeling old-school Aesop Rock verses in a cut-and-paste Flying Lotus aesthetic with dash of screamo vocals.  With smart lyrics that demand listeners to think critically about social consciousness, Wherewithal aims to broaden audiences’ horizon both musically and mentally.

Although the music is a collision of live guitars and bass, high-pitched synthesizers, stuttering glitches, electronic humming, and those occasional scream hooks, Argotec finds a tight niche within the expanding possibilities of technology and the hip-hop aesthetic.  To fans of glitch, there are no surprises here.  But to the untrained ear, there may be a lot of strange moments throughout the album: out-of-nowhere vocal placements, analog distortions never heard before, and all kinds of clicks in out-of-time spots.

Drawing inspiration from bands like The Dillinger Escape Plan and genres like jazz and turntablism, Defpotec riddles the album with a certain disruptive character.  But Argotec’s artistic goal is disrupting the common order: questioning authority, rebelling against the status quo, and provoking a revolutionary attitude towards change.  Though discordant at times, Wherewithal is still extremely listenable.

“Seed Reacher” begins with a sample from the film adaption of George Orwell’s dystopian novel 1984, as the antagonist O’Brien tells protagonist Winston Smith, “If you want a vision of the future…imagine a boot stamping on a human face – forever.”  Musically, the song is exactly this – a relentless stretch of drum-and-bass and chaotic hardware noise, arranged in a package that leaves listeners no space to rest the auditory senses.  But lyrically, it’s an aggressive outcry to this so-called vision of the future as Argot rhymes:

"CEOs of AIG are covered up by TARP and taken away by DARPA's 'Big Dog' via the NAFTA super highway / subtle steps to singularity / while the MTA proposes Doomsday / The MLB's on HGH / the NSA can hear what you say / Project Blue Beam will be seen"

Along the lines of Saul Williams, Argot’s inspiration is of a socially conscious spoken-word poet.  Angry at times but always collected, Argot lifts the music into a separate light.  He places words and rhymes between the crevices of the beat in a disciplined display of breath control – and usually, the result is an instant head-bobber.

Argotec’s intellectual and socially engaging component sets it apart from many of its contemporaries.  In many ways, the duo is obsessed with the current state of things, and as both artists are technologically and politically driven, the album is a labor of what they admire and despise.  Add the ultramodern production that finds refuge in the disparate, and Wherewithal turns into a public-service announcement for the underground.

Here's a list of tours on our radar, including dates from The Bad Plus, Fucked Up, Orange Tulip Conspiracy, P.O.S., Secret Chiefs 3, Young Widows, and more.

Follow each artist's link to see current tour dates.

The Bad Plus: March 5 – April 17
After a few one-off shows and a short stint in Eastern Europe, the rock-infused jazz trio begins a month and a half of spread-out dates in major North American cities. Accompanied by vocalist Wendy Lewis, the group is supporting the release of its first all-covers album, For All I Care.

Dan Deacon: April 6 – May 17
Electronic artist Dan Deacon takes a six-week jaunt across the US and Canada with a full supporting ensemble to perform the electro-acoustic works of his new album, Bromst.

Don Caballero: Feb. 3-28
Led by drummer/instigator Damon Che, these rock instrumentalists began a US tour last week that will hit major cities from coast to coast. Since being recreated, the group (with Che as its only remaining original member) has emphasized a heavy rock sound, continuing with its most recent album, Punkgasm.

Fucked Up: Jan. 27 – Feb.
Closing out its three-week US tour, Fucked Up plays a few Midwest dates before culminating with two Valentine's Day shows in Chicago and a recently added gig in Michigan. The shock-value cross-genre punks then take a breather before traveling to Europe in late February.

Irepress: March 4 – April 11
Heading out in support of its sophomore album, Sol Eye Sea 1, this (mostly) instrumental Boston group treats rock clubs to mathy, melodic, chugging, epic songs.

The Oddity Faire: A Mutated Mini Fest: March 4-28
This four-week traveling mini festival features an outstanding lineup of Les Claypool, DeVotchKa, Saul Williams, and Secret Chiefs 3 in many cities. Some dates include the Yard Dogs Road Show, O'Death, and The Mutaytor. Tickets are a bit pricey but should be worth every dollar. Claypool is supporting a new album, Of Fungi and Foe.

Orange Tulip Conspiracy: May 1-23
This new project from Estradasphere guitarist Jason Schimmel makes its debut US tour in support of its excellent first album.

P.O.S.: Feb. 5-28
With what should be one of the year's best hip-hop albums in tow, Minnesota's P.O.S. kicked off a three-week US tour in Montana last Thursday. His jaunt runs through the West, the Midwest, and the East Coast before returning to Minneapolis.

Sleepytime Gorilla Museum: April 9-20
This theatrical art-metal group takes a short Midwest and East Coast tour between albums, getting a fabulous opener in Dub Trio for five of the dates.

Young Widows: March 13 – April 7
After a stretch of European performances, Louisville's Young Widows will have spent the better part of two months on the road, punishing crowds with a rhythmic heaviness and inspiration from forerunners such as The Jesus Lizard.

Instrumental(-ish) Boston group Irepress has completed its sophomore album, Sol Eye Sea 1, which will be released February 17 on Translation Loss (a new song can be heard here). The group's mathy, melodic, chugging, epic songs can be heard on a five-week US tour that begins March 4.

Les Claypool has announced a four-week traveling mini festival, scheduled to begin in early March, that is officially titled The Oddity Faire: A Mutated Mini Fest. The fest's outstanding lineup is different depending on the city; guests include Secret Chiefs 3, Saul Williams, DeVotchKa, Yard Dogs Road Show, O'Death, and The Mutaytor.

And speaking of Secret Chiefs 3, the incomparable Indian/surf/metal group has a concert DVD being released in March on mastermind Trey Spruance's Mimicry label.

Hardcore trio Young Widows has announced a major list of tour dates that run from February through April. See the list here.

Dan Deacon has announced a six-week tour, starting April 3, that will feature a full ensemble in support of Bromst, his new album due March 24 from Carpark.

Marking its final recording with long-time member Reed Mathis, the Jacob Fred Jazz Odyssey has made a new studio album, Winterwood, available for free downloading on its website.

Next Tuesday, February 3, Tibet House US hosts a benefit concert and dinner at Carnegie Hall. Performers include Philip Glass, Antibalas, Keb' Mo', Vampire Weekend, The National, and more.

Nile linchpin Karl Sanders has another solo album in the works, this time to be released through The End Records. Titled Saurian Exorcisms, the album will be out April 14. Some awesome preview tracks are already posted on Sanders' MySpace page.

Despite comments from main member Tobacco that the group was on indefinite hiatus, dreamy hip-hoppers Black Moth Super Rainbow have a new album, Eating Us, that will be released on May 26 via Graveface.

New York jazz group Dred Scott Trio has a live album being released via Ropeadope on February 3.

Hardcore group Pulling Teeth has a new album, Paranoid Delusions | Paradise Illusions, that takes a crushing and despairing direction. The album is available today to preorder from Deathwish Inc. and its official release date is March 31. Hear a preview track, "Foreshadowing," here.

Grindcore group Agoraphobic Nosebleed will release its fourth full-length album, Agorapocalypse, through Relapse on April 14.

Garage a Trois

Mars Volta mastermind Omar Rodriguez-Lopez is releasing another solo album — this time his first through Stones Throw. Titled Old Money, it is currently available via MP3s and will be released on CD and vinyl on January 27.

Mastodon guitarist Bill Kelliher has been hospitalized due to undisclosed reasons. He hopes to rejoin the band, which is continuing to tour as a trio, in time for its upcoming European shows. The band, meanwhile, will release a limited-edition vinyl box set on Tuesday.

Outspoken wordsmith Saul Williams speaks with Wired about the aftermath from the release of The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of Niggy Tardust, which was released online last year through a tiered (free-$5) pricing system.

On the group's MySpace page, a sneak preview has been posted from the upcoming album by beautiful jazz/groove trio Garage a Trois. Comprised of vibraphonist/percussionist Mike Dillon, drummer Stanton Moore, saxophonist Skerik, and keyboardist Marco Benevento, the group also recently posted performance dates for the Jam Tour 7.

NOMO mastermind Elliot Bergman and producer Warn Defever have released a small edition of handmade electric kalimbas for sale. These instruments of African origin are played through metal keys and produce a unique, resonating sound.

Don Caballero has announced a small batch of northeastern tour dates for December, a few weeks after the band returns from the UK.

Pelican has released a video for "Lost in the Headlights." It makes its television debut on Saturday on Headbangers Ball.

The (International) Noise Conspiracy is streaming its new album, The Cross of My Calling, in its entirety from the band's MySpace page. The album will be released on November 25 in the US.

Led by the oozing talent of Estradasphere guitarist Jason Schimmel, his Orange Tulip Conspiracy begins its West Coast tour on Saturday.

Mike Patton has another collaboration credit, this time with The Qemists, a three-piece outfit that meshes rock with club music. The group's single with Patton, "Lost Weekend," is available on 12" through Ninja Tune.

After recently finishing the Experience Hendrix national tour, drummer Mitch Mitchell has passed away at the age of 62. He was the last living member of The Jimi Hendrix Experience.