Run to Mom
Burly hardcore dudes put a hurtin' on Revolution
Their tattoos are older than yours, their T-shirts are blacker than yours, and their music will intimidate you into joining their side or wet your pants wishing you could. It probably wouldn't have been all that hard to give the guys in Hatebreed a ring-a-ling and interview them about the "Heavyweights of Hardcore" tour, which they're headlining. But when I looked at their website and saw the dudes looking all frowny and mean, all I could do was call my mommy and cry. She said she didn't want me talking to any band that has "written the most punishing riffs in history" and plays events like "Hellfest" anyway. So there.
You see, ever since Hatebreed busted out of the angst-inducing burg of New Haven, Connecticut, it's been making Marilyn Manson look like some dopey, daffodil-sniffing pansy boy who got into his little sister's makeup box. According to Thrasher skate magazine, "Hatebreed mean business, they don't fuck around, and they don't waste your time." They're all about straight-to-the-mosh-pit, Slayer-influenced, 30-second ditties. Their latest album, The Rise of Brutality, clocks in at just 32 minutes and includes jams whose titles you have to look up in the dictionary, like "Another Day, Another Vendetta" and "Voice of Contention."
Earlier this year, Hatebreed played on MTV2's Headbangers Ball tour. Then they went to Europe, where, as singer Jamey Jasta put it, "The whole floor was pitting, jumping, and headbanging." After that, believe it or not, they were allowed to spread their dark energy across the Caribbean. Ever since I heard that, I just imagine how they looked walking around Ocho Rios in some banana hammocks -- tee hee hee! -- and they don't seem so scary. Tonight, Hatebreed comes to Revolution (200 W. Broward Blvd., Fort Lauderdale) with hardcore legends Sick of It All, plus Terror, Full-Blown Chaos, and No Warning. I'll be too busy baking cupcakes to go (Do you think Jamey likes chocolate sprinkles, or rainbow?), but, uh, have fun getting scowled at. If you need some Band-Aids or an ice pack afterward, stop on by. Call 954-727-0950, or visit www.jointherevolution.net. -- Deirdra Funcheon
Out of the Box
Kyle Cook is a Rock Star... Again
C'mon Kyle. Try windsurfing. Watch a sunset. Climb Kilimanjaro. Or just go on an old-fashioned bender. After three multiplatinum albums and nearly a decade touring the planet with Matchbox Twenty, guitarist Kyle Cook is taking a "break." Apparently to Cook, that means touring the Midwest and East Coast with his side band the New Left.
As an unwritten rule, we don't like our rock stars to be so diligent. (Unless they are diligently smashing something.) But to make matters worse, being hard-working isn't his only virtue: He's also true to his roots. The New Left consists of Cook (guitar, vocals) and two high school friends: drummer Brett Borges and bassist John Kibler. The trio recently became a quartet, adding vocalist, guitarist, and songwriter Eamon Ryland. No, this doesn't mean the end of Matchbox Twenty. The New Left is still merely an exploration in new musical directions. But it must be nice to have a backup band. A spare. Call it alternative music.
If you'd like to watch Cook wring out whatever remains of his creative juices, catch him tonight at the Culture Room (3045 N. Federal Hwy., Fort Lauderdale). Opening acts include Steve Bequette and Ashley Red. Admission costs $8, and doors open at 8 p.m. Call 954-564-1074, or visit www.cultureroom.net. -- Jason Cottrell
Sandra Bernhard smacks up West Palm
She was sucking face with Madonna when Britney Spears was still chewing on a pacifier. She's about a thousand feet tall, old (she's 49), and mean as a striped snake. She's an out lesbian feminist. She once kidnapped Jerry Lewis, tied him up, and sang him a torch song in her underwear. On stage, she sneers, stalks, snarls, and snipes -- a female incarnation of Lenny Bruce. And with that big, red, foul mouth, she's the ultimate castrating bitch. At any rate, the innocuously titled "An Evening with Sandra Bernhard" at the Carefree Theater (2000 S. Dixie Hwy., West Palm Beach) will probably feel a lot like being attacked by a succubus in your sleep. Bernhard has been compared to a fire raging out of control -- even motherhood (she has a 5-year-old daughter) seems to have only fanned the flames. If you go to her show, expect to get your money's worth: Bernhard never steps into the same monologue twice. Tickets cost $36. Visit www.ticketmaster.com, or call 561-833-7305. -- Gail Shepherd
Standup that Rocks
Standup comedy and observational humor are bonded together tighter than an overweight European tourist and his Speedo. But don't expect your typical "What's the deal with airplane food?" shtick when comedian Mark Eddie hits town this weekend. Eddie brings a hybrid show that combines music-inspired parodies and convincing imitations of musicians like Dave Matthews, Michael Bolton, and Bob Marley. Imagine if Carrot Top and Bruce Springsteen had a love child who looked as if he should be teaching eighth-grade social studies. The result is something as unique as it is genuinely funny. Find out what "rock comedy" is all about when Eddie plays the Palm Beach Improv at CityPlace (550 S. Rosemary Ave., Ste. 250, West Palm Beach) with seven shows from Thursday through Sunday. Tickets cost $12.72 to $15.90. Call 561-833-1812, or visit www.palmbeachimprov.com. -- Paul A. Leone
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