So the argument of what's considered "rock" gets bandied about with indifference these days, and every band in the past four years wants to think it's started the "rock revival." Fort Lauderdale's Pandabite isn't part of any rock revival, but it should get props for making music so loud and bombastic that it could practically make you shit in your pants. Its debut EP, Doom Box, contains four songs that are thicker than Guinness and sweep through the speakers like a wrecking ball. As for the live shows, two types of people can usually be spotted: the folks with the glassy-eyed stare who are too paralyzed with fear to make a run from the band's ear-assaulting metal and those who are there to do the heavy-metal hair swing right along with singer Juan Montoya.
So the argument of what's considered "rock" gets bandied about with indifference these days, and every band in the past four years wants to think it's started the "rock revival." Fort Lauderdale's Pandabite isn't part of any rock revival, but it should get props for making music so loud and bombastic that it could practically make you shit in your pants. Its debut EP, Doom Box, contains four songs that are thicker than Guinness and sweep through the speakers like a wrecking ball. As for the live shows, two types of people can usually be spotted: the folks with the glassy-eyed stare who are too paralyzed with fear to make a run from the band's ear-assaulting metal and those who are there to do the heavy-metal hair swing right along with singer Juan Montoya. Readers' Choice: The Freakin' Hott
Not many rappers choose to operate with their given names, but this young, part-time Browardite (he spends a few months out of the year in L.A.) keeps it real real. To his credit, West doesn't need a stereotypical appellation like Professor Murder, MC Nightmare, or Dr. Drastic. Even without a fancy handle, the 25-year-old remains one of the highest-profile, independent, hip-hop upstarts around. What does he rap about? The thug thang, dog. What else? Though he's been featured in The Source, XXL, Ozone, and other glossy bastions of hip-hop literature, West still gets absolutely no love from his hometown police department. The Sunrise cops routinely target his Chevy Caprice for traffic stops, a topic he's sure to address on his upcoming disc, A Westside Story Chapter One. Until then, West is keeping his profile high, winning a sponsorship from ThugLife Clothing and making an appearance on MTV's new show Pimp My Ride.
Not many rappers choose to operate with their given names, but this young, part-time Browardite (he spends a few months out of the year in L.A.) keeps it real real. To his credit, West doesn't need a stereotypical appellation like Professor Murder, MC Nightmare, or Dr. Drastic. Even without a fancy handle, the 25-year-old remains one of the highest-profile, independent, hip-hop upstarts around. What does he rap about? The thug thang, dog. What else? Though he's been featured in The Source, XXL, Ozone, and other glossy bastions of hip-hop literature, West still gets absolutely no love from his hometown police department. The Sunrise cops routinely target his Chevy Caprice for traffic stops, a topic he's sure to address on his upcoming disc, A Westside Story Chapter One. Until then, West is keeping his profile high, winning a sponsorship from ThugLife Clothing and making an appearance on MTV's new show Pimp My Ride. Readers' Choice: Eminem

Timb is a singular sensation. Timb is like catching a rainbow in a jar. The tall, blond, and skinny Boca Raton singer/songwriter has covered Rob Zombie, composed songs in German, and written a song about his life that's named after Robert Stack, all while pulling off dog collars and bondage pants. Timb's music inspires haikus: Glittering death ride/Strum your guitar and ears bleed/German cinema.

Timb is a singular sensation. Timb is like catching a rainbow in a jar. The tall, blond, and skinny Boca Raton singer/songwriter has covered Rob Zombie, composed songs in German, and written a song about his life that's named after Robert Stack, all while pulling off dog collars and bondage pants. Timb's music inspires haikus: Glittering death ride/Strum your guitar and ears bleed/German cinema.

Some bands take time to find their niche, continually building upon their sound and trying to improve any way they can. For other bands, however, it's the audience that is slow to catch on. Such is the case with Boynton Beach's Die Stinkin'. Formed nearly two decades ago by the lifeguard-punker duo of John Silvernail and Brian McManus, Die Stinkin' has witnessed the ebb and flow of music trends without succumbing to the urge to go with the flow that unfortunately consumes most other bands. Patience does have its rewards, and after the 2000 release of its CD The Smell Is in the Air, Die Stinkin' found a whole new generation of kids who dig its high-humored brand of punk rock. Not to be confused with the MTV variety of bland, sappy "pop-punk," Die Stinkin' is punk in the classic sense: irreverent and fun. Oh, and it's not just hardcore; Die Stinkin' serves up plenty of sweet '60s pop and surf tunes as well. At any given show, you'll hear Del Shannon's "Runaway" sandwiched between originals like "Piss Bomb" and "Liposuction." Whether you're 15 or 55, are into the Big Boys or the Beach Boys, Die Stinkin' is definitely one band you should sniff out.

Some bands take time to find their niche, continually building upon their sound and trying to improve any way they can. For other bands, however, it's the audience that is slow to catch on. Such is the case with Boynton Beach's Die Stinkin'. Formed nearly two decades ago by the lifeguard-punker duo of John Silvernail and Brian McManus, Die Stinkin' has witnessed the ebb and flow of music trends without succumbing to the urge to go with the flow that unfortunately consumes most other bands. Patience does have its rewards, and after the 2000 release of its CD The Smell Is in the Air, Die Stinkin' found a whole new generation of kids who dig its high-humored brand of punk rock. Not to be confused with the MTV variety of bland, sappy "pop-punk," Die Stinkin' is punk in the classic sense: irreverent and fun. Oh, and it's not just hardcore; Die Stinkin' serves up plenty of sweet '60s pop and surf tunes as well. At any given show, you'll hear Del Shannon's "Runaway" sandwiched between originals like "Piss Bomb" and "Liposuction." Whether you're 15 or 55, are into the Big Boys or the Beach Boys, Die Stinkin' is definitely one band you should sniff out.

No doubt about it: A good jazz guy is hard to find. The music of Diz and Bird and Miles and Mingus doesn't play as well in the subtropics as it does in some other parts of America. Jimmy Buffett is, unfortunately, more our speed. But Paul LeGrande, Rich Caruso, and Jim Chapek, who perform Friday and Saturday each week at Luce restaurant in downtown Hollywood (954-920-2500), riff in a style reminiscent of the giants of the genre. Caruso, who lives in Fort Lauderdale, has played with everyone from Luciano Pavarotti to Lionel Hampton. Chapek, of North Miami-Dade, has beat the skins with Chet Baker and Wynton Marsalis. Of course, the 2-year-old trio, which has a jones for the music, doesn't do covers. It comes up with a lot of original music and won't play anything else, says LeGrande, who lives in Hollywood and wields the bass violin and electric bass. "When someone comes in and asks, 'Will you do something by Miles Davis?' we say, no, but we'll do something with the same notes," he explains.

No doubt about it: A good jazz guy is hard to find. The music of Diz and Bird and Miles and Mingus doesn't play as well in the subtropics as it does in some other parts of America. Jimmy Buffett is, unfortunately, more our speed. But Paul LeGrande, Rich Caruso, and Jim Chapek, who perform Friday and Saturday each week at Luce restaurant in downtown Hollywood (954-920-2500), riff in a style reminiscent of the giants of the genre. Caruso, who lives in Fort Lauderdale, has played with everyone from Luciano Pavarotti to Lionel Hampton. Chapek, of North Miami-Dade, has beat the skins with Chet Baker and Wynton Marsalis. Of course, the 2-year-old trio, which has a jones for the music, doesn't do covers. It comes up with a lot of original music and won't play anything else, says LeGrande, who lives in Hollywood and wields the bass violin and electric bass. "When someone comes in and asks, 'Will you do something by Miles Davis?' we say, no, but we'll do something with the same notes," he explains.

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