The Dank Train made a stop in Chattanooga, Tenn. on Wednesday, June 12 tearing up the local venue Rhythm and Brews.Hanging with the band before the show, an employee at Rhythm and Brews keeps hassling the Athens, Ga. band, Dank Sinatra, on their performance later that night.

Ryan Bingham has a musical style beyond his years.  Without looking, you'd think a weathered, country veteran was on stage strumming that guitar, with his gruff voice and the hard life he sings about.  Much to the contrary, he is a young, incredibly sexy musician. Bingham is not only a skilled lyricist with a voice made for country-folk music, he's also a master on the guitar.  Props to the roadie; Bingham switched guitars like a sorority girl switches purses:  almost every song required a new one.  And it's not just rhythm, Bingham

Shades of raw Buzzcocks in spirit and this distinguishable brand of Interpol-Strokes scenester amalgam in recurring riffs—adjusting their own description to account for the requisite self-romanticizing inherent in any young new band’s internal visions of their portrait—that’s Bad Cop more or less.The trio’s debut E.P. is grinded-down polish. Anarchy on synthetic drugs.

Maybe I’ve grown jaded and all, but lately the gimmicks and ploys and artificial soul spewing from some of these up-and-comers in the ‘industry’ (loose interpretation) have been dancing on nothing short of exhausting. Too much self-awareness, far too little genuine appreciation for the necessary steps on the ladder to iconic reverence. Folks wanna be first-off famous—you cannot fall in love with the rock stars, to paraphrase my favorite flick on the subject (you’ve seen it).

It means “My Country”—Mon Pays, that is—to the native Malian, Vieux Farka Toure. According to the guitar virtuoso, the album is a tribute to his home, produced during a period of ethnic and religious strife that has brought unrest to the landlocked West African nation. The hope and zeal behind these songs is tangible.Mon Pays is a beautiful collective piece.

One obvious advantage to living in New York City is how spoiled we are musically. Every major musical act plays shows here, small acts you might not get the chance to see elsewhere, week long residencies, combinations of musicians you won’t ever see play together again.  The sheer amount of great music any given night is staggering.

Rage. Rest. Repeat. This was the motto printed on flyers around Boulder promoting Umphrey's McGee upcoming Red Rocks show, and it was the one the band adhered to faithfully on Friday night. Mixing in a high-energy varied set list with their unique, dynamic musicianship, Umphrey's proved why they are one of the best live bands, jam or otherwise, performing today. 

The Silent Comedy is no laughing matter. Set to release the six-track EP Friends Divide on June 10^th, The Silent Comedy has been fermenting nicely in San Diego’s local bar scene. Their previous album Common Faults sold over 14,000 copies. They have been accumulating a cult-like following, impart due to their ruckus live performances which have fondly been dubbed a “Whiskey Tent Revival”.

To start, Camera Obscura introduces Desire Lines with a brief, sweeping overture (simply, “Intro”) that hints at the structured dreamscape to come—not that any future tracks on the record revisit the string arrangement procured here; I mean to say that this short, overwrought musical construct belies the band’s aspiration to sublime grandeur in obvious subtext. But that’s all just intellectualizing what amounts to a barely a half-minute movement on the album.

I remember back a couple years ago I was spending New Year’s Eve at this little ski hill pub up in New Hampshire, and there was a live band heading up the evening from a corner stage. They were good too, playing your standard classic rock fare of the Stones, Petty, and the like.