Miami is in mourning this week. After record-breaking crowds (buoyed no doubt by the anemic dollar and increasingly strong euro) swarmed South Beach last week for the annual dance music confab known as the Winter Music Conference, Collins Avenue hotels are now back to hosting New Jersey college students flossin on their spring break — or worse, elderly Canadian couples seeking respite from a still bitter winter.

This past weekend, however, the festival was in full swing, with momentum that hasn’t been witnessed at WMC since the late ’90s. London dance label owners mixed it up with DJs from Berlin and employees of burgeoning Internet upstarts such as MP3 giant Beatport at swank hotels, i.e., the National and the still-under-construction Gansevoort Miami. In fact, the Gansevoort claimed one of the hottest nights of the fest with an exclusive Paul Oakenfold set. Believe it or not, brazen groups of men actually bum-rushed the velvet rope to get into the new hotel, much to the surprise of the overwhelmed staff.

But for many, the highlight of the week of DJ-centric festivities was surely the massive Ultra Music Festival. Taking place far from South Beach over two days at downtown Miami’s Bicentennial Park, Ultra did not disappoint. Sets from Sweden’s Eric Prydz, France’s David Guetta and Underworld defined the Coachella-like gathering (think multiple sweltering tents and scores of seemingly Ecstasy-addled kids bouncing between them to catch their favorite acts), with Underworld getting the biggest response from the 20,000 + strong crowd (per day), despite early technical problems that plagued the English duo responsible for one of the biggest (and unlikeliest) dance hits of the 1990s, “Born Slippy.”

Berlin-based DJ/producer Alex Ridha, better known as Boys Noize, isn’t exactly a fan of Miami. Or a fan of cameras, for that matter.

“It’s a weird place, honestly,” he said backstage before a Scion-sponsored gig Thursday afternoon for WMC. “There are some horrible people going around here.”

Regardless, the crowd, most of whom are dance-music industry insiders from New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles and Chicago, ate up his set yesterday, which was heavy on material from his lauded 2007 release Oi Oi Oi.

“In Germany the minimal scene is so dominant,” he says of his overseas success, which now looks set to cross the Atlantic with shows booked at Coachella and several UK festivals later this spring and summer.

“When I started my [Boysnoize] label three years ago, none of this music was popular,” he says. Now that kindred acts such as Justice have broken in the U.S., Boys Noize’s hard, dissonant sound is resonating with dance music and indie rock fans.

“I’m more into techno than indie dance stuff,” he says. “But I’m happy American fans are discovering me.”

After Boys Noize’s two-hour set (where he played everything from an updated electro version of Laurie Anderson’s “Superman” to Justice), another buzzing German act, Digitalism, took the stage behind the Raleigh Hotel’s pool.

The Hamburg duo have already made sizable inroads in the U.S., thanks to their brand of dance music that verges on indie rock. Some have dubbed them the German Daft Punk.

Ridha actually went to college with one of the members of Digitalism in Hamburg, but he considers his Noize different from Digitalism’s brand of dance music.

“I would never play Digitalism in my set,” he says. “What I do is straight for the clubs … but I like them.”

Spoken like a true Teutonic gentleman.

–post and photograph by Charlie Amter

German artists Boys Noize and Digitalism play the Ultra Music Festival at Winter Music Conference today.

Miami’s annual dance music sleaze-a-thon, the Winter Music Conference, is nearly in full swing today, with most attendees wandering Collins Avenue looking for the best DJ events/hotel parties by 2 p.m. No one gets up before noon.

Some of today’s best events are at the Raleigh, where New York’s Lady GaGa is making her WMC debut at an Armani Exchange-sponsored rooftop terrace soiree.

Interscope has high hopes for the newly signed dance diva, who has already written songs for several artists (including Pussycat Dolls) and is on the verge of signing a publishing contract to augment her label deal.

“Jimmy [Iovine] and I get along great,” she says of the Interscope honcho from the rooftop of the Raleigh. “I’m the kind of Italian Brookyln girl he would have liked to take to the prom,” she laughs. “He loved me.”

The Lady, who’s fond of performing in naughty underwear ensembles, chains and stripper heels, got her start playing Brooklyn parties and clubs in Manhattan in 2005 with her equally brazen backup dancers. “I put together a show in New York where we spun beats on vinyl and I played keyboards over the records,” she says. “We wore matching bikinis,” the Lady giggles, adding that the show was “yummy.”

It remains to be seen whether of not the rest of America will find Lady GaGa’s musical offerings as delicious as New York does. Her music sounds not unlike a drunken Madonna, Peaches and Kylie Minogue recording session with lots of sticky Champagne spilled on the demos. Lady GaGa’s debut disc, made for the “rock and rollers who wanted to listen to pop records,” drops this summer. The big Madonna fan’s single, “Just Dance,” hits next week.

Oh, and Interscope recently moved her into a Hollywood-adjacent apartment, so look out, Angelenos.

–  Post and photo by Charlie Amter

It’s been quite a month for daredevil wacko and part time rapper Steve-O.

Arrested on March 3 and booked for vandalizing his own apartment and possession of a controlled substance (cocaine apparently), the “Jackass” star found himself facing eviction when he returned home. That’s when, according to his own MySpace blog, things began to spiral out of control. Or at least, more out of control than usual.

The cyberspace saga commences harmlessly enough with a posting on March 8, in which the 33-year-old announces that he’d been evicted and requests that his “Jackass” costars and friends help him move out the following morning. But the video clips in the following post from March 9 couldn’t be more terrifying. The second, “Eviction Party Begins,” shows Steve-O hosting a kind of bizzaro MTV Cribs: Half-naked and visibly intoxicated, he wanders around his trashed apartment carrying a hefty revolver, which at one point he uses to play Russian Roulette.

In the following entry, posted March 13, Steve-O announces that he’s in “the looney bin” because, the morning after his “Eviction Party Begins” was shot, his “Jackass” costars forced him into a hospital on a “5150,” a three-day psychiatric hold, later extended to a “5250,” 14-day hold.

That’s where things get really interesting.

The entries continue, posted by his assistant Jen Moore, but written by Steve-O from inside the undisclosed treatment center, where he may well have been completely sober for the first time in years. In their own way, these entries are as shocking as the infamous stunt in which Steve-O stapled his scrotum to his leg, because they reveal an intelligent, articulate, well-read and deeply philosophical individual coming to terms with a lifetime of substance abuse and related bipolar issues.

Spiked with moments of epiphany and apology, Steve-O’s confessional journey from drug-induced rock-bottom to something approaching health may be a cliche–of course, it’s one of the oldest in the Hollywood playbook–but it’s still remarkable.

Lots of questions remain: Will Steve-O stay sober or will he fall back into his bad habits? Will he be able to continue his inane stunt career after acknowledging that “the nature of my work almost embraced my addictions,” or will he retire? And what exactly are the ramifications of the dawning of the Age of Aquarius he discusses in his March 21 entry?

Time will tell.

–Liam Gowing

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UPDATE: The LA Times story by Chuck Philips has been retracted. Read “The Times retracts Shakur story.”

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I think I found the cure for the common TV. Of course, it’s right here on your very

own Internet.

It’s My Damn

Channel, a portal that is home to offerings from musician extraordinaire Don Was, along with the likes of Harry

Shearer, David Wain and others.

Was, a bassist, music supervisor, documentary director, Grammy-winning producer and a

driving force behind the cutting-edge funk outfit Was

(Not Was), has seldom been more sublimely
entertaining than as the cool-cat host of the "Wasmopolitan Dance
Party" — a webisode filmed in the showroom of the Furniture Outlet, a
budget joint in North Hollywood. [Pardon the ads, but the installment above is well

worth their intrusion.]

There is singer-songwriter Jill Sobule, gamely playing her beautiful songs

from behind a dining-room set as shoppers mill about looking a recliners.

"I can’t compete with the set-up on Letterman" Was says with a laugh.

"But doing something like this, we asked, ‘What could we offer that’s different?’

The answer is, the stripped-down and personal stuff."

Happy New Year.

And good riddance, 2007.

The year brought an avalanche of music, and the recent holiday week of rumination and

CD-sorting etched in my mind the idea that a whole lot of it was … well … pretty

good. Yeah, pretty good, uttered with my head slightly tilted, as if I never

thought once of saying "great" or "really good." If I ever had the

radical notion to rate albums on a 10 scale,

I would swear that half the records I received this year logged somewhere between 6.5

and 6.7 — a percentage that’s skewed because all six copies of the Magic Numbers album that somehow found

their way to my desk would get a 6.2.

Maybe this was the year that trying to

keep up with new music, nationally and locally, finally overwhelmed me, what with every

baby band in the universe engaging in viral marketing, hiring publicists, working with

managers, leaving me polite entreaties on MySpace and generally undermining any belief

that a band can merely grow organically. I attended about 185 shows in 2007 too, many to

follow up on those advertising blitzes.

But after compiling my humble lists

below, I fast-forwarded to December 2009, when all good geeks will be sweating over

their seemingly inevitable Best-of-the-Aughts list. And guess what? Not a single album

from 2007 has a chance of making mine. All of the bands I consider indie icons — and

I’m sure you can spank me for leaving out people you think are iconic — released other

albums this decade that are superior to their 2007 releases. For the record, that

pantheon houses the National, Spoon, Modest Mouse, Arcade Fire, Bright Eyes and

Interpol, with other personal faves such as the Shins and Stars living in the backhouse.

Those heavyweights each added to their estimable catalogs, yes; it’s just that I’m not

going to pull "We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank" off the shelf first

when I want to hear some Modest Mouse a few years from now.

At least, I don’t

think.

The lists follow. Thanks to everybody who sends me music — really —

and a special shout-out to the bands on the L.A. scene who’ve made my life so much

richer over the past 5-plus years.

My Favorite 10 Albums of 2007

1. Blonde

Redhead, "23"

2. The National, "Boxer"

3. LCD

Soundsystem, "Sound of Silver"

4. Against Me!, "New

Wave"

5. Spoon, "Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga"

6. The Cribs,

"Men’s Needs, Women’s Needs, Whatever"

7. Arcade Fire, "Neon

Bible"

8. Lupe Fiasco, "Cool"

9. The Shins,

"Wincing the Night Away"

10. Softlightes, "Say No to Being

Cool — Say Yes to Being Happy" *

Comments: It’s scares me how much

this list largely parallels other blogs/music mags. Yes, Fiasco’s album just came out,

but on first, second and third blush it’s a long-range keeper. And that’s right, no

Radiohead. So sue me. 6.8.

* See final list

Buzz Bands’ Top 10 L.A. Albums of 2007

1. Foreign Born, "On the Wing Now"

2. John Doe, "A Year in

the Wilderness"

3. Sea Wolf, "Leaves in the River"

4. CoCo B’s, "CoCo B’s"

5. Eleni Mandell, "Miracle of

Five"

6. Earlimart, "Mentor Tormentor"

7. Culver

City Dub Collective, "Dos"

8. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club,

"Baby 81"

9. Rilo Kiley, "Under the Blacklight"

10. Great Northern, "Trading Twilight for Daylight"

Comments:

Foreign Born is just plain good. CoCo B’s self-released disc is a great surprise. Culver

City Dub Collective’s genre-mashing is sublime. Eleni Mandell — who needs Feist? And

Rilo Kiley’s album just kept growing on me.

Ten L.A. Bands Whose Debuts Made Me Anxious for the

Sophomore Album

1. The Deadly Syndrome, "The

Ortolan"

2. The Broken West, "I Can’t Go On, I’ll Go On"

3. Robert Francis, "One by One"

4. The Parson Red Heads,

"King Giraffe"

5. Delta Spirit, "Delta Spirit"

6. Frankel, "Lullaby for the Passersby"

7. Year Long Disaster,

"Year Long Disaster"

8. Sara Bareilles, "Little Voice"

9. The Minor Canon, "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished"

10. No

Age, "Weirdo Rippers"

Ten L.A. Bands Whose 2007 EPs Made

Me Want More

Castledoor, the Airborne Toxic Event, the Weather

Underground, the Black Kites, Voxhaul Broadcast, Sam Sparro, Manic, Radars to the Sky,

Sara Lov, Aushua.

Three Albums From Bands Whom I Loved in the ’90s and Still

Do

1. Buffalo Tom, "Three Easy Pieces"

2.

Dinosaur Jr., "Beyond"

3. Smashing Pumpkins,

"Zeitgeist"

Five Hip-Hop Albums I Would Recommend If

Anybody Believed I Recommended Hip-Hop Albums

1. Lupe Fiasco,

"Cool"

2. Kanye West, "Graduation"

3. Brother

Ali, "Undisputed Truth"

4. El-P, "I’ll Sleep When You’re

Dead"

5. Aesop Rock, "None Shall Pass"

Under the Radar: Six Overlooked Albums

1.

Softlightes, "Say No to Being Cool — Say Yes to Being Happy": Cinematic

electro-pop that recalls Grandaddy at its finest.

2. The High Strung,

"Get the Guests": Catchy and clever, hold the irony, with peripatetic melody

lines that do not quit.

3. Minipop, "A New Hope": Gorgeous and

beautifully layered shoegaze-pop with rhythms that will drive you right into a dreamlike

state.

4. The Blakes, "The Blakes": Soulful garage rock that’s good

for your summer sweat.

5. The Comas, "Spells": Distortion-heavy

power pop arrives in bursts, may leave marks.

6. Young Galaxy, "Young

Galaxy": Other Canadian exports (Kevin Drew, Sunset Rubdown, Feist, et. al.) earned

more buzz, but this album feel like a warm waking dream.

Comments:

Somehow I saw Softlightes play live 10 times in 2007. I left each show in a better mood

than when I arrived.

 

The obituary this morning says Dan Fogelberg helped "define soft rock," but

that sounds kind of flaccid compared to what the singer-songwriter, who died Sunday at

age 56, meant to a bunch of kids in the working-class neighborhoods of Peoria, Ill., in

the early 1970s.

Fogelberg graduated from Woodruff High School the year before I got there, leaving

behind some stories of a rock band called the Coachmen (I actually owned the 45 at one

point — oh, where did it go?) and the occasional rumor he’d gone off to California, a

place that seemed so distant from our Midwestern factory town as to be a mirage. Not

many of us had California dreams then; we’d do well to graduate high school and get on

at Caterpillar Tractor Co. (which accounted for something like 1 in 5 paychecks in our

city in those days). If we were really lucky, we’d go to college.

In the fall of my junior year, "Home Free" arrived, and we were mesmerized.

Fogelberg’s debut album — a beautifully orchestrated bouquet of ballads that veered

toward what we now would call alt-country — took his alma mater by storm. It christened

the tape player in my first car; it was played endlessly at basement parties from Grand

View Drive to the lower East Bluff. I’m pretty sure there isn’t a song in my collection

I’ve played over the years more than that second track, "Stars."

Fogelberg was our Jackson Browne, a romantic who shared our roots and who had the

courage to strike out in service of his poetry. As I trudged through the snow delivering

my Peoria Journal Stars every morning, that was a pretty important symbol.

I always blanched at, but ultimately forgave, the arch sentimentality that seemingly

oppressive production brought to Fogelberg’s later albums. He had earned the right to

pursue whatever vision struck him. When my brother and I took in a Fogelberg show a few

years ago in Anaheim, it wasn’t so much for musical nostalgia as it was a thank-you.

In one subtle but important way, Dan Fogelberg was the leader of our band.

I missed it and, from reports, am regretting it. Bat for Lashes, the nom de tune of

Brighton, England’s Natasha Khan, wowed the room last night at Spaceland. The common

sentiment I heard from a couple people: No wonder she is nominated for the Mercury

Music Prize.

You’ll be hearing more about her.

For now, here is the enchanting video for "What’s a Girl to Do."

Touts for Wednesday, Aug. 1

The Format starts a two-show stand (the

Avalon tonight, House of Blues tomorrow); the band for two weeks offered its latest

album, "Dog Problems," as a free download from its website and reported that

45,000 copies of the (very

good) album were ripped. … Great

Glass Elevator (whose inventiveness kind of reminds me of the Format in a way) play

Club NME at Spaceland tonight. … The Automatic Music

Explosion plays the Scene in Glendale. … And the Stevenson Ranch Davidians

start a run of Wednesday shows at the Echo.

Ozomatli looked to the visual for inspiration

when writing its new album, “Don’t Mess With the Dragon” (due April 3 on Concord

Records) — much of the initial songwriting came out of jam sessions at the Tropico de

Nopal art gallery. Now the veteran L.A. nine-piece might have found a vision to suit its

sound.

The new video for the single “Can’t Stop” is a dizzying collage of

stop-animation and storytelling that seems equal to Ozomatli’s mashing of Latin flavors,

rock, hip-hop and funk — a hybrid many have said is distinctly Los Angeles.

“We haven’t had a lot of luck with videos in the past,” acknowledges Ulises Bella, who

plays saxophone and clarinet for the band.

Ozomatli turned to New York-based

artist-illustrator Richard Borge for “Can’t Stop,” even though the 41-year-old, who had

done album art for bands such as Meat Beat Manifesto, had never done a music video.