Unless you’ve a habit of reading the Atlanta Journal-Constitution’s obituaries, the news of George Montague Holton III’s untimely passing may not have made it your way. Indeed, Bandwidth may not have found out if not for Hollywood musical prankster Steve “Mr. Entertainment” Toth, who sent in the notice about the…

City Link’s intrepid music columnist, Bob Weinberg, should be all over the Florida Philharmonic Orchestra’s bankruptcy announcement. You’d think his single-genre, twice-monthly column would zero in on the fact that 84 musicians — all of ’em orchestra members who were finally given notice last week that the organization has officially…

So many ideas spring forth from Deep Dish that it’s hard to categorize the Iranian-born, Maryland-based duo. DJ/producers Ali Shirazinia and Sharam Tayebi raid every shelf in the trance-progressive-house pantry, usually brewing up excellent results. Tedious double-length sets like the Yoshiesque series seem to exist for the benefit of the…

Inside their sweltering rehearsal space, the Marauders are waiting for the air conditioner to suck the humidity from this Fort Lauderdale night and spit the air back inside, all frosty and cold. Dr. John, Shamus, and Rich steel their collective composure and head away from the a.c.’s reach, back into…

“No significant progress,” the directors of the Florida Philharmonic Orchestra said last week, admitting that the organization’s liquidity situation remained all but hopeless. “Bungling” and “unfortunate,” wrote the Sun-Sentinel’s Lawrence Johnson of what looks to go down as the Phil’s final performance. Can you blame the orchestra’s musicians — sitting…

In northern Ontario, spring’s warming wind is making possible a pleasure cruise on one of the province’s countless lakes. It’s particularly enjoyable for Grandaddy guitarist Jim Fairchild, happily cracking open a can of beer while the rest of his bandmates finish filming a video for “El Caminos in the West,”…

Hear that? The gaping beaks of Juilliard-schooled, hungry hatchlings peeping pitifully for funding that never comes? All over South Florida this week, classically trained, unionized, professional musicians are glued to their computers while updating their résumés, searching for jobs online, and waiting for the guillotine to fall on their collective…

“Hey,” the friend on the phone said, “Nina’s dead.” Normally, I’d have to stop for a moment to guess “which Nina?” But I remembered this particular caller from Miami’s Gusman Theater when Nina Simone came to call back in late 2001. Remember? Simone insisted to us that she was only…

Do columnists lie? With most, it’s hard to tell and certainly difficult to prove. But I’m willing to bet the Miami Herald’s television critic, Glenn Garvin, snuck in a doozy last month. Though most readers can appreciate how generally misguided Garvin’s column resonates regarding TV — or at least his…

During a downtown blues festival in a Midwestern city, Kelly Joe Phelps is giving an afternoon performance. The summertime breeze is absent, replaced by a furnace-blast of superheated desert dryness imported from Phoenix. There’s no shade at all; the outdoor concert is held on the blacktop of an elementary school’s…

What’s with all the craziness in Lake Worth? Bloody kid-killings, shooting sprees, supper-table massacres. Real estate prices soaring through soggy skies. Mexican food. Weird stuff up there, confirms Kenny 5, a transplanted scenester with a vividly interesting past. “It’s becoming a central location,” he says. “Lake Worth has become a…

I actually do put Pee-Wee’s Playhouse on my résumé,” chortles Stanley Clarke. “I’m proud of that.” The bassist and composer of the score for Paul Rubens’ celebrated kiddie show goes on to mention that it was on the Pee-Wee set that he met Lawrence Fishburne, who played the part of…

Hallandale Beach’s surreal skyline of residential skyscrapers begins to shrink as you drive away from the coast. Hallandale Beach Boulevard turns more mundane and suburban just before it crosses I-95 into a world of Scarlett’s, Mattress Giant, and Circle K. It’s the tiny, mobile-home ville of Pembroke Park. The drab,…

Live in Brazil, the newest album from Los Angeles trio Concrete Blonde, is the band’s response to the South American aggro-surf culture — usually defined by more metallic acts. “I hate to generalize Latino culture,” begins singer/bassist Johnette Napolitano, “but I find it more relaxed, and happier in a way.”…

Ducks paddle around the fountain in the middle of the man-made pond in the middle of the gated community in the middle of Glen Eagles Golf and Country Club in the middle of Delray Beach’s opulent Villages of Oriole. While Jewish grandmothers slowly drive the streets searching for the best…

104.1-FM the Boss (actually, those call letters are the legal property of a Boston, Massachusetts FM outlet, not to the illegal signal originating somewhere in North Miami-Dade County) fell silent last week. That means no more Michael the Black Man ranting about how Democrats — or Dixiecrats, or Bob Norman…

Even though Bandwidth hasn’t mentioned this group in a long while, we’ve been accused of wasting too much ink on Delray Beach’s politically-charged band, Pank Shovel. In a move mirroring that made by local favorites Hashbrown, whose exploits have also been extensively documented in this section, Pank Shovel is shuffling…

No tissue tigers by any means, Paper Lions cranks out fast, pissed-off little songs that buzz around like angry hornets on the loose. Crunchier and more aggressive than its fellow Athens, Georgia, bands, Paper Lions’ debut, The Symptom and the Sick, buries some distinctly memorable melodies underneath all that yelling…

“I guess if people tell you that you suck, then you just suck,” concludes an uncharacteristically grim Trash, on his way to dropping off a pile of fliers for his next show. Trash — a.k.a. Chris Bright, the perpetually stringy, strung-out, six-stringed screamer who regularly pushes the envelope of good…

Never regarded as a musical nexus of great import, South Florida has no definitive genre to call its own, save perhaps Miami Bass. But individual records have made an impact, or died trying. Not all make for great listening, but each one helped delineate our crazy combination of cultures –…

F**K Without some vestige of a sense of humor (Andrew WK?), riff-roarage alone can’t make party music palatable. But give Fort Lauderdale’s uncomplicated, gloatingly unimaginative F**K — pronounced “Ef-Dual-Star-Kay” — a chance to screech your weasel. There’s certainly something risible about the way F**K takes a jaundiced affection for vintage…