To the delight of grunge fans who enjoy off-kilter time signatures, songs about snakes and the pleasant aroma of grilled Barbie dolls, Soundgarden is planning a reunion for the new year, after more than 12 years on the shelf.

Announcing the news through his Twitter account, frontman Chris Cornell directed eager clickers toward a band site where followers can sign up to receive updates. No other info is being offered, though news outlets like Rolling Stone and Billboard are filling paragraphs with delicious background info on the band’s illustrious career.

Though Ticketmaster has yet to add Soundgarden to their alert roster, that’s one place I’d go once they get themselves updated.

More info as it comes.

Forgot to ask Santa for sweet music gear this year? No worries. Guitar Player will deliver.

Eight incredibly lucky subscribers to the gear lover’s magazine can win one of eight very generous gift packages through the GP2 8×8 Giveaway — including eight giant amps, eight gleaming axes, and seven pedals (the acoustic package doesn’t need one) to drown your post X-mas blues.

All subscribers have to do is open the latest edition of the electronic rag, wait for the registration form to pop up, and sign up. Not subscribed? Well, doing that works too … and it’s free, by the way.

So let’s see, some nice reading material and the chance to score some shiny new hardware. I’m already signed up. Check out this info page for instructions to enter yourself, plus some interesting prizes for Twitterheads who follow Guitar Player on Twitter and re-tweet their promos. Contest ends at midnight on January 31. Happy reading…

The world is filled with rock icons who are either aging or live perilously close to the edge, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t wake up each day a little worried that one of them will keel over.

Not that the ones on this list are the only ones I worry about — any rock star death warrants sitting on my couch all day with a handle of Jack and a tub of ice cream watching “Almost Famous” over and over — but there are a few special souls who would definitely make me lose it, and probably a lot of other people, too. Dammit, Michael Jackson came close.

Here are ten rockers whose deaths would make us lose it faster than our inheritance in Vegas. God forbid.

10. Ozzy Osbourne. This gentle, funny, formerly evil rock legend has gone from being the definition of rock mayhem to the definition of man-cute. He’s also the king of perseverance — his awesomeness wasn’t diluted by an entire reality series about his annoying family. He even manages to seem cool in commercials about cell phones and oil-based butter spread, acting confused and shouting “I’m the prince of fucking darkness” at the air. A world without Ozzy is a world with no rock and roll mentor. When he goes, bands will dissolve out of respect, and the news will be flooded with man-made catastrophes and mass suicides. Kitties and doggies will weep.

9. Ringo Starr. “The goofy one” (presently “the posh one”) seemed to have a definite air about him during his Beatles career. It was a sort of blind joviality, with the slight appearance of being confused over what was going on at any given time. It especially came through whenever he provided vocals, where he sounded like a musical version of someone’s dad. These days he’s enjoying coolness with his designer shades, Don Johnson stubble and ever-present peace signs, but geez, look at any photo of him. He’s still Ringo. The day there’s no more Ringo will be the day there are no more rodeo clowns, doctor’s office lollipops, corporate meeting donuts, or anything else that makes a serious situation fun. Long live the goofy one.

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A few years ago I worked at an Internet company next to a tall, lanky English guy (I’ll call him “Fred”) who seemed to know a lot more about music than your average corporate Web hack. He had well-developed opinions on bands I’d heard of and ones I hadn’t, and introduced me to a couple of very interesting groups.

Come to find out after several months that he was actually part of a little-known cult band back in the ’80s, a jangle-pop band from London called the Siddeleys. Though they were short lived (seeming mostly to be active from 1986 to 1988), they managed to catch the eye of BBC broadcaster John Peel, who was impressed by front woman Johnny Johnson’s almost Morrissey-like delivery. Peel invited the band to record one of his famous Peel Sessions, which yielded, among others, the track “My Favourite Wet Wednesday Afternoon” — one of the best-sounding indie tracks I’ve heard in a while.

Though the song is a little redundant (it could use an instrumental bridge somewhere after the third chorus), lyrically it contains imagery very evocative of a wet, nostalgic London afternoon. Lines like “Love that moves the sun, heaven and all the stars / This is just a fraction of what is rightfully ours” and  “I’ll take my dream to the grave with me if you don’t say something soon” are perfect for such a velvety-smooth Britpop track. The harmonies will echo in your memory for days. Thanks, Fred.

(Album available on Amazon)

Dave Grohl. Josh Homme. John. Paul. Jones.

Allow me to spew mindless superlatives like a hyperactive little kid, but Them Crooked Vultures is probably going to be the most mind-bending, capillary-rupturing tsunami of awesomeness to pound the shores of the modern rock scene this decade. Wait, does that sound over the top? Good.

For those of you who hate living in sunlight, Dave Grohl is the accomplished (and slightly self-inflated, from what I hear) ex-drummer of Nirvana and current Foo Fighters champion, Homme is chief asskicker of Queens of the Stone Age and an all-around brilliant songwriter, and John Paul Jones is John Paul Jones. From Led Zeppelin. (Twitch, twitch. Puke.) Them Crooked Vultures is the supergroup they formed in 2005 (joined by live rhythm guitarist Alain Johannes of QOTSA). Their debut album is due out November 16 in the UK, and November 17 in the US, which probably means there are already pirated versions flying around hither and thither.

This is still OK, though, because the entire album is available right now through the band’s YouTube channel. Of course it’s sweet, from the killer drum opening and chomping guitar riff of “New Fang” to the simple jaw-busting power of “No One Loves Me & Neither Do I.” I suggest you void your bowels to make room for the sheer rock infusion that will ensue, grab the first copy you can get your hands on, and devour that ambrosia like it’s green beer on Saint Patty’s Day.

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First of all, I love indie. I love it like a 15-year-old boy loves Megan Fox, sans anything involving posters on ceilings. So before you get up in my face with loud, defensive, aggravated comments about how great it is — I know, I know. Mellow.

But again like our halter-wearing temptress, there are a lot of seemingly reasonable people who HATE indie. And when you start to talk to these people about their hatred (once they get past the asinine jabs about hipster jeans, beards and technical guitar skills, like those even matter), you start to realize they may actually be on to something. Because even though indie is awesome, it’s only really awesome if it’s done right. And sometimes, you just have to take a loved one by the collar and tell them when they’re not doing something right. Right?

Here are some of the things indie musicians do that piss off people who otherwise have good taste in music. (Subtext: if you hate indie because the only style of music you like is speed metal or radio country, then this list, and my entire blog, will probably mean nothing to you.)

1. Whine a lot more than necessary. Most people understand that songwriting is about expressing emotions, so like-minded listeners can identify when their parents get divorced and they’re shuttled back and forth like a fake ID at a sorority house. But those alleged “genuine” emotions shouldn’t cause stool to run soft in the bowel, and those “genuine” lyrics shouldn’t have to become ironic Facebook status updates. Despite the majority of indie songwriters who express their inner ingénue at an appropriate level, a lot of them tend to dwell on the idea of adult male vulnerability, riding it like the bow of the Titanic until people in the crowd are considering dialing a hotline. The result: indie rock that is backed only by overdramatic 14-year-old girls and moms who are just glad their kid isn’t listening to Insane Clown Posse. And the woe in my heart bleeds like yesterday’s undercooked pot roast.

2. Sing like the deaf. Okay, part of being vulnerable and “real” is not having an overtly superior singing style. No one expects to be empathizing with Bono, or relating on a personal level to Axl Rose. (Yikes.) Still, there are a couple of fundamentals that are just part of singing — like pitch control, and not making the audience laugh out loud. So when the biggest Clap Your Hands Say Yeah single sounds like Joe Assface got up on karaoke night and ran a schoolbus over the solfege scale, it’s tough to hold the contempt in check. It’s even worse when it’s a cover of a song people are already familiar with, like Clem Snide’s abhorrent version of Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful,” or Ben Gibbard’s cringe-inducing take on Bjork’s “All is Full of Love.” I don’t care how cute his own songs are, taking on Bjork’s most well-heard single with his northern-accented po-boy whimper is like climbing Mount St. Helens in a T-shirt and Converse low-tops. When the tone that comes across is “this didn’t sound like it did in my head, but oh well,” something is probably lost.
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Like many people, there are songs constantly streaming in my head. They can fade in like a mist, or come crashing onto the scene like a warthog. They can drown out things like real-life conversations, or simply hang in the background while I go about my day. It’s like having a built-in music player, sans record-industry meddling. iTunes, meet iBrain. Now kindly go get iBrain a Dr. Pepper.

The thing about my iBrain, though, is it doesn’t cost anything. Not a dollar a download, not one cent a download, nothing. Even better, there’s no account to sign up for, no annoying emails to block, and no mega-corporation to decide what songs are allowed to be there. Unless you count taste. I usually let Taste, LTD pretty much do what it wants.

So here are a few of the songs that have been occupying my iBrain rotation as of late. Feel free to listen in, start your own mental download, and show the industry suits that you’ll listen to whatever you want, when you want. As long as it’s not while your boss or significant other is saying something important. That’s just bad for business.

The Vines, Autumn Shade II. Like the first one, but Craig Nichols nailed the wispy, esoteric harmonies even harder, and it survives more than three listens.

Blur, Tracy Jacks. Because that guitar part is catchier than a left-fielder with sonar. Whoa, did a sports analogy just make it onto this blog?

Radiohead, I Might Be Wrong. This riff could smash a hole in the side of your grandaddy’s barn without an ounce of remorse. I heard it even robbed a nun in broad daylight. Shame on it.

David Bowie, New Killer Star. The bassline to this song would make me punch a guy in the face, if the music video didn’t make me feel dizzy.

The Primrose League, Stealing All Those Cars. It’s not as well-known as some, but the intricate guitar work and vocal harmonies manage to find their way into your bloodstream.

The Smashing Pumpkins, Hummer. That opening solo is like a bucket of cold water on a saturday morning, but somewhat more awesome.

The Von Bondies, C’mon, C’mon. Ok, I watch TV. But screw you if you don’t appreciate 1-2-4 guitar stumming and a loud voice. At least I’m not repping Jet.

Versa Vice, It’s Clear. Another lesser-known band, but the guitar and bass are the muggers who 1-2 you to death in the alleyway behind Circle-K.

Blur, Death of a Party. I usually try to avoid dumping the same band on people twice, but the creepy vibes from this one have a tendency to linger. You just try to shake them off.

Queens of the Stone Age, Make It Wit Chu. Who knew a song titled in text speak would actually be good? Josh Homme once again demonstrates his ability to get inside your head with a piano and a guitar.

Gran Ronde, Wisdom. This short number hits the pleasing-guitar-riff quotient right on the head.

Screw reading, skip to the songs

There are three things everyone seems to have opinions about: politics, religion, and Radiohead. On two of those topics, one dissenting view can cause a flat-out argument. When it’s Radiohead, it can cause someone to go insane. It’s quite a phenomenon.

That’s because, like politics and religion, Radiohead is complicated. When an ardent Radiohead fan hears disparaging remarks, or even worse, lack of acknowledgment about their favorite band, it’s easy for them to assume the disparager is uninitiated, and therefore not equipped to make the call. Because “getting” Radiohead isn’t like “getting” Puddle of Mudd. It doesn’t just happen after hearing a couple of songs on Internet radio (“They’re so dreary and weird … how can you like this?”). Most people who are wanton over Radiohead have listened to them for years, seen them evolve, and have grown immensely attached to them.

This is why whenever you ask someone what they like about Radiohead, you get a vague, impassioned gushing of adjectives, with no real explanation. It can leave you even more clueless than before. Or thinking your friends are hippies.

But if you’re into music, and a little open-minded, Radiohead is totally worth getting into. Because the hype is true. They’re like the 200-piece orchestra of pop bands. They’re a punk mentality shoved into something that is about as far from punk as you can get (without involving bagpipes or accordions. Yet.) Their music explains why Thom Yorke is so twitchy and paranoid, and why he sings like that. (He doesn’t always.) Radiohead is pure, 80-proof sonic bliss, if you get what they’re doing.
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Apparently, Oasis guitarist and absolutely the most arrogant dude in rock history, Noel Gallagher, has left the band after the cancellation of a Paris concert Friday. This sucks big time.

Oasis had planned to play the Paris concert Rock en Seine Friday night, but canceled just before they were due onstage. Event organizers explained, holding back no detail, that the cancellation was caused by an “altercation.” (Further details provided that the altercation occurred “in Paris.”)

Afterward, the hard-headed guitarist, who has also written the bulk of Oasis’ material and provided backup and occasional lead vocals, posted a statement on the band’s Web site saying he was calling it quits.

The statement reads: “It’s with some sadness and great relief to tell you that I quit Oasis tonight. People will write and say what they like, but I simply could not go on working with Liam a day longer. Apologies to all the people who bought tickets for the shows in Paris, Konstanz and Milan.”

If Noel means what he says, and we all know how insistent he can be, then it’s definitely a sad event in music, especially considering the new direction the band had been taking. Now who will bear the brunt of my obnoxious snob analogies? I don’t know.

The story is available at NME.com.

Followers of Justin Kennedy’s Twitter stream the past few months got a nice indie-2.0 treat: a ride through the backstreets, pubs and record shops of the UK on the coattails of Los Angeles-based indie outfit Army Navy. Fans tweeted and gabbed with the band as they toured in support of their self-titled debut album, released in October 2008.

Sending Twitter updates from the road, from motel rooms, and from wherever they could find free WiFi, front man Kennedy kept followers posted on the band’s crazy, rowdy and sometimes grueling tour through the angled country with pics, jokes and commentary. One tweet spoke of “living off very little sleep, lots of pints, and walking miles every day with all our gear,” evoking images of the band trudging through narrow, rain-soaked alleys, amps hoisted above heads like Vietnam grunts. In reality, it wasn’t far from the truth.

“It was pretty brutal,” Kennedy said through a recent email interview. “The tube is great and gets you all over, it’s just lugging all the gear into the tube and trying to find the clubs was a bit stressful … Next time we are hiring a helicopter.”

At least the beer was good.
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