If somehow you encounter John "the Cop" Eischen and his trusty sidekick Jim "the Other Guy" Harrison playing somewhere that doesn't have a cheap happy hour, wake up and rub the crust from your eyes. You must be dreaming. Guitarist/singer John the Cop and fretless bassist the Other Guy are built for comfort, not speed, and they're built for bars, not theaters, convalescent centers, or gazebos. No, this old (John the Cop recently retired from the Fort Lauderdale police force) Delta blues duo know each other and their loyal, hard-partying fans well enough to know not to mess with a good thing. So one John the Cop and the Other Guy set is pretty much the same as any other, with Robert Johnson, Peatie Wheatstraw, and Muddy Waters tunes served up well-marinated and warm. The sharp, sprightly sound John wrings from his six- and 12-string resonator guitars is so authentic and pure that it practically ensures that you stay until last call. The day these two start doing shows at Starbucks next to the frappuccino and vanilla lattes or inside some snooty wine bar, best check your watch: It's probably time for the world to end. Until then, find 'em at the Downtowner Saloon or the Poor House in Fort Lauderdale. Right where they should be.
If somehow you encounter John "the Cop" Eischen and his trusty sidekick Jim "the Other Guy" Harrison playing somewhere that doesn't have a cheap happy hour, wake up and rub the crust from your eyes. You must be dreaming. Guitarist/singer John the Cop and fretless bassist the Other Guy are built for comfort, not speed, and they're built for bars, not theaters, convalescent centers, or gazebos. No, this old (John the Cop recently retired from the Fort Lauderdale police force) Delta blues duo know each other and their loyal, hard-partying fans well enough to know not to mess with a good thing. So one John the Cop and the Other Guy set is pretty much the same as any other, with Robert Johnson, Peatie Wheatstraw, and Muddy Waters tunes served up well-marinated and warm. The sharp, sprightly sound John wrings from his six- and 12-string resonator guitars is so authentic and pure that it practically ensures that you stay until last call. The day these two start doing shows at Starbucks next to the frappuccino and vanilla lattes or inside some snooty wine bar, best check your watch: It's probably time for the world to end. Until then, find 'em at the Downtowner Saloon or the Poor House in Fort Lauderdale. Right where they should be.
"Noise is alive and well in Lake Worth!" proclaims Kenny 5, onetime member of Detroit's infamously ear-splitting Princess Dragon Mom, former proprietor of Lake Worth's now-defunct Downtown Books and CDs, current owner of hippie-trippy head shop/toy store Purple Haze, and famed inventor of the electric grease pan. Now, we fully understand that a baking sheet fished from a trash bin isn't a musical instrument to most people. And we certainly grasp the fact that even after Kenny gets finished with it, it's still not a musical instrument to most people. But with a guitar pickup on one end, a bridge on the other, and 18-gauge steel wire in between, it sure do make a helluva racket. So do his electric surfboard, skateboard, lunchbox, and shoe. He's powerful pleased with that 'lectric skateboard: "Six wheels and a whammy bar!" he says proudly, as if it's a mint-condition Cadillac convertible. When he's not out searching for the ever-elusive Lake Worth Lagoon monster, the "pied piper for crazy art and noise" is making a horrifically pretty din, usually amplified, somewhere in the otherwise calm hamlet.
"Noise is alive and well in Lake Worth!" proclaims Kenny 5, onetime member of Detroit's infamously ear-splitting Princess Dragon Mom, former proprietor of Lake Worth's now-defunct Downtown Books and CDs, current owner of hippie-trippy head shop/toy store Purple Haze, and famed inventor of the electric grease pan. Now, we fully understand that a baking sheet fished from a trash bin isn't a musical instrument to most people. And we certainly grasp the fact that even after Kenny gets finished with it, it's still not a musical instrument to most people. But with a guitar pickup on one end, a bridge on the other, and 18-gauge steel wire in between, it sure do make a helluva racket. So do his electric surfboard, skateboard, lunchbox, and shoe. He's powerful pleased with that 'lectric skateboard: "Six wheels and a whammy bar!" he says proudly, as if it's a mint-condition Cadillac convertible. When he's not out searching for the ever-elusive Lake Worth Lagoon monster, the "pied piper for crazy art and noise" is making a horrifically pretty din, usually amplified, somewhere in the otherwise calm hamlet.
Perhaps the best South Florida rapper you've never heard, Bolansky has a new CD arriving in stores by the end of May through local rap collective Block Bottom Entertainment. Judging from his past performances on a variety of compilation albums, the Dirty South is about to get a whole lot dirtier, but not in the traditional booty-shakin' way. Bolansky raps about drugs and thugs in the sort of tone that lets you know he draws on personal experience. Time will tell if South Florida is ready to abandon its dance pretenses for some straight-up gangsta flava. Dig?
Perhaps the best South Florida rapper you've never heard, Bolansky has a new CD arriving in stores by the end of May through local rap collective Block Bottom Entertainment. Judging from his past performances on a variety of compilation albums, the Dirty South is about to get a whole lot dirtier, but not in the traditional booty-shakin' way. Bolansky raps about drugs and thugs in the sort of tone that lets you know he draws on personal experience. Time will tell if South Florida is ready to abandon its dance pretenses for some straight-up gangsta flava. Dig?
Twenty-two-year-old South Florida singer/songwriter Isaac Lekach performs and records under the rubric Poulain, with friends lending helping heads, hands, and feet. And Lekach -- a shy guy with sweet, saucer-sized brown eyes and a mop of tousled brown hair -- has plenty of pals to help him fill out his melancholic, wistful ork-pop or dork-pop or whatever his homespun-but-orchestral tunes are called these days. His ear for brooding balladry and gimmick-free love songs has made him South Florida's answer to the Magnetic Fields, evidence of which can be heard on his two upcoming discs: one recorded in Athens, Georgia, with Andy LeMaster (Now It's Overhead, Macha) and another he's working on in L.A. for big-deal indie label Fiddler Records.
Twenty-two-year-old South Florida singer/songwriter Isaac Lekach performs and records under the rubric Poulain, with friends lending helping heads, hands, and feet. And Lekach -- a shy guy with sweet, saucer-sized brown eyes and a mop of tousled brown hair -- has plenty of pals to help him fill out his melancholic, wistful ork-pop or dork-pop or whatever his homespun-but-orchestral tunes are called these days. His ear for brooding balladry and gimmick-free love songs has made him South Florida's answer to the Magnetic Fields, evidence of which can be heard on his two upcoming discs: one recorded in Athens, Georgia, with Andy LeMaster (Now It's Overhead, Macha) and another he's working on in L.A. for big-deal indie label Fiddler Records.
Jerrods Door started out as a sort of elite drum circle featuring didgeridoo. A few other musicians remained on the fringes of the band, but the nebulous group always seemed to center almost solely on percussion. And if you dug the sort of trancey stuff Jerrods Door was capable of producing, that was all fine and good. But over the past year, a subtle transformation has occurred. Sure, a Jerrods Door show still includes a varying number of percussionists, but the bass, guitar, and other instruments that used to be ambient background music now play a larger part, and Jerrods Door is sounding like an honest-to-goodness rock band. An extremely patchouli-scented rock band, but a rock band nevertheless. One almost gets the impression these folks have been, like, rehearsing or something. No, seriously! The group tends to open for most jam bands that come to town, and it's getting to the point where they even upstage the main act on occasion. If Jerrods Door continues to flesh out its sound and its members grow tighter as musicians, we'll just have to take up our bong habits again and get our microbus back from the repo man.
Jerrods Door started out as a sort of elite drum circle featuring didgeridoo. A few other musicians remained on the fringes of the band, but the nebulous group always seemed to center almost solely on percussion. And if you dug the sort of trancey stuff Jerrods Door was capable of producing, that was all fine and good. But over the past year, a subtle transformation has occurred. Sure, a Jerrods Door show still includes a varying number of percussionists, but the bass, guitar, and other instruments that used to be ambient background music now play a larger part, and Jerrods Door is sounding like an honest-to-goodness rock band. An extremely patchouli-scented rock band, but a rock band nevertheless. One almost gets the impression these folks have been, like, rehearsing or something. No, seriously! The group tends to open for most jam bands that come to town, and it's getting to the point where they even upstage the main act on occasion. If Jerrods Door continues to flesh out its sound and its members grow tighter as musicians, we'll just have to take up our bong habits again and get our microbus back from the repo man.

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