​If you’re an old person (25+), then your iPod’s probably still packed with crap like the Strokes, the White Stripes, and Radiohead’s monumental monument of momentous music, Kid A. And all that stuff’s fine or whatever … But maybe it’s time to take a couple steps out of 2000. The kids…

Too many outsiders think the borders of South Florida mark the outer edge of a cultural dead zone that no touring band should ever enter, lest it drop off the continent into the black depths of the Atlantic Ocean. We natives know this fear-mongering line of logic to be nothing…

As the New Times reported last week, Monotonix’s trip to South Florida ended when only twelve minutes into its set, the band’s singer Ami Shalev stopped to say: “After more than 700 shows, I think I finally broke my leg.” Seemed like a joke at the time, but it turned…

Flux Forces makes your favorite cassettes​It’s Friday and the radio’s reporting a current temp of 83 degrees. Your Datsun’s dash clock is busted but your Casio wristwatch reads 7:39 p.m., which means this trip is still on schedule, but barely. You’re bored, sick of the public airwaves and things like…

​For a while there the fourth day of the week sucked. Everyone was almost forced to watch TV. Lately, though, things are looking pretty good again. Sweat is back up and charging hard with arty/punky/noisy in-stores and weirdo movie screenings while, next door, old reliable Churchill’s has kept shit on lock…

Normally, I prefer to spend my time and money in clubs that look, feel, and smell like actual garages. But this past Wednesday, I chose instead to spend my time and money in the sex dens of that 21st century disco Sodom, otherwise known as LIV. The night was long,…

​If bouts of casual pyromania are your idea of a perfect night out, then consider the hairy, sweaty, and certifiably dangerous members of Monotonix your Israeli tour guides to paradise. Like IDF explosive experts or any troglodyte teen with a Zippo, the Monotonix men — singer Ami Shalev, guitarist Yonatan…

Like vampires, hipsters are allergic to the sun. Sometimes even moonbeams. So, last Saturday, it only made sense that the Electric Pickle’s upstairs romper room was darker than a fucking coffin for Lil Daggers’ set. The only light in the room was the ambient glow of BlackBerrys mid-text and a…

In the early- to mid-aughts there was a huge deluge of post-Strokes revivalists that flooded and clogged the scene. Sometime around 2006, it all hit critical mass, Casablancas and Co. went on indefinite hiatus, and the thing began to die. Meanwhile, a new trend — electro-tinged, indie pop mash-ups –…

Thanks to the Miami-Dade public bus system — the bane of my carless existence, BTW — I missed the 8 p.m. start time for the January 6 Roofless Records show at Sweat. Luckily though, thanks to random PA problems, the chronically tardy nature of Miami’s hipster class, and a little…

​It’s common knowledge — electropunk provocateurs Alicia, Russ, and Martin of Kill Miss Pretty are possessed by an unnatural compulsion to “groove your tooties off.” Usually, they’ll just do you metaphorically with music, tossing off some slinky sex magick like “El Gato,” “Girlfriend,” or robot porn instrumental “Bas” to get…

Photo by Jeremy Harris​In this 21st century world where even your grandmother’s getting busy with the Facebooks, MySpacies, and Ashley Madisons, there’s something mysterious and exotic and enticing about a young lady who can’t be found anywhere on the interweb. So when a fanboy asks Google, Who is Diamond Hymen?,…

Santa: Imposter or the real deal?​There was a time, often called “childhood,” when catching your unmarried moms making out with a fat, bearded guy in a red suit would’ve been a wonderful development of the most Christmassy proportions. Who’d have thought that Santa could be your stepdad? No one. And…

Local rapper-producer Parable​Whenever the web seems to have reached its peak of weirdness, the whole thing whirlpools into entirely new dimensions of the bizarre, revealing secret worlds where you can watch celebrity breakdowns streamed live, read first-round NBA draft picks suicide tweets, or even e-shop for shrunken human heads. One…

​Despite its seemingly official, compendious name, the Mexican Institute of Sound is not some sprawling, south-of-the-border government entity all about the science of airwaves and eardrums. In fact, the Institute’s only got one member — Mexico City cratedigger-slash-EMI exec Camilo Lara — and he mostly studies the art of shaking…