Jack White: "Sixteen Saltines" @ Lolla 2012

Juke Box Hero critiques Lolla's Sunday headliner, Mr. Jack White.

Jack White. The man is a human pinnacle. If you want to call him “human.”

Going out on top as a White Stripe, a Raconteur, and a Dead Weather would have been an admirable career for any musician. But no, Jack had more music to make. So he started his own label, Third Man Records, and has been fostering, producing, and promoting young and eccentric music since 2001. Just pursuing that venture for the rest of his days would be impressive and noteworthy. No, still not enough. He hadn’t pressed a solo album yet. Blunderbuss, out earlier this year, is a beautiful buzz-saw of an album, complete with enough scathing rock, blues, folk, and country to dump him into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame, hands down.

And yes, he’s still touring. Not because he needs to; his name couldn’t get any bigger, his war chest any heavier – but because he needs to. Squealing, blissed-out guitar solos are just in this guy’s blood, as is leading the most backbreaking blues-rock bands the world has ever seen. You get the feeling, watching him strut and shred in his patent-white ankle boots, that if he wasn’t on stage going 100 miles an hour, he’d just lay down and die. There’s no in-between for him in this life.

The frenetic “warm-up” intro to “16 Saltines” here at Lolla sounds like the kind of controlled chaos that must be going on in Mr White’s brain 24-7 – a frightening, enlightening place. The laws of genre, class of instrument, rhythm, structure and key cease to exist. All that matters is Jack. Somehow he had that raucous outburst orchestrated, dialed in; yet things still revved up for the opening bars of “16.”

The song itself? I don’t know if I was there in person whether I would’ve simply fainted or broken myself moshing like a rabid pinball. He just rocks so damn hard. But miraculously his merry band of dapper dandies is drum-tight behind him, looking and sounding every bit the best living live ensemble on the planet.

Yes, I professed undying love for Dan & Pat yesterday, and no, I’m not going back on that. What’s that? I can’t love them both separate-but-equally? That’s like saying I can’t give all my love to both whiskey and chocolate. Why yes, yes I can. Take it away, Jack, and take me with you.

The Black Keys: "Little Black Submarines" @ Lolla 2012

Juke Box Hero has the first crack at a Lolla wrap-up. He'll be back tomorrow with more. So, who impressed you?

Though I was at least in the same country this year, I missed Lollapalooza, yet again. Thank you, Northern Virginia Swimming League, for (albeit always) scheduling your All-Star meet during the first weekend in August. But no matter. The shows went on: Minds young and old were blown, faces taut and wrinkly melted, eardrums big and small – shattered. Though I rejoice with the veterans, those who can afford “that rock-and-roll lifestyle” year after year, my heart soars for the young ‘uns, the rock concert virgins experiencing amazing bands live for the first time.

I’ve long since released my hipster hold on Akron’s other superstar entity, the titanic blues-rock banshees Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney of The Black Keys. I’m happy they’ve become so successful, truly I am, because they seem to have let most of it roll off their rugged denim and screen-print T-shirted backs while continuing to just crank out f*cking sweet, gritty, blistering jams. And they’re the main reason my 13-year-old cousin and her friend convinced the friend’s dad to escort them from northern Indiana up the coast to Chicago this past weekend. They wanted to see the Keys. Not the Bieb, not the Swift, not even the Flo (no offense, Ms. Welch) – the Keys. There may be hope for America’s youth.

A solid clip of their full set doesn’t seem to be available yet, so we’ll temporarily settle for the “Stairway to Heaven” of Dan & Pat’s oeuvre, “Little Black Submarines.” The slow-fast section contrast is as good as any IN MUSIC and the live guitar change (what’s the first one made of? Copper? Nickel? Dan & Pat’s old fillings?) both adds to the suspense and takes the payoff over the edge. The crowd just erupts. Can Sabbath do that? Anymore? Ever?

Now, I’m no blind disciple: I’ll be the first to tell the boys they too often rush like Rush in a live setting. And the “dogfight” here is no exception – I don’t need a live version identical to the recording, but the Lolla audience didn’t shell out just to see them blaze through a track that could’ve lasted even 30 seconds longer by holding back the tempo and letting the blues benevolently dictate some further soulful head-nodding.

But I’ll forgive you, D & P. You’ve done a great service in the community. Thank you for popping thousands of little boys’ and girls’ concert cherries. I’ll be seeing you.

Sigur Rós: “Hoppípolla / Með Blóðnasir”

It's three hours until the gates of Lollapalooza open!! Juke Box Hero is here with our final pre-Lolla coverage. Whatcha got for us?

I recall the leggy blonde coach briefly courted by Gordon Bombay in “D2: The Mighty Ducks” coyly explaining to a fawning Emilio Estevez: “No, Greenland is covered in ice; Iceland is very nice.” The Nice Nordics. That’s who Sigur Rós are. Only an environment of lush, cold splendor and dramatic annual shifts in the length of visible sunlight could produce a group with such a uniquely eerie, mystifying, absolutely gorgeous sound.

Formed in 1994, in Reykjavik, around lead singer Jónsi Birgisson (and named after his baby sister), Sigur Rós are now six albums deep and growing steadily in popularity. Unlike many foreign groups who aspire to make it big on the international stage, they haven’t converted their music, song or album titles to English, making them the most popular group to do so since Ritchie Valens and “La Bamba.”

In fact, their lyrics aren’t even intelligible to their countrymen. Jónsi and his crew sing in “Volenska,” or “Hopelandic,” a language of gibberish that lacks the typical subject-verb structure you and I are used to communicating with. What?! Basically, it’s the next thing up from just repeating the syllable “La.” Vocal formations that jive with the music and have little to no meaning – voice as instrument only. It must be fun to invent your own language and get away with it. I’m going with #highconcept on that one.

To be honest, it’s not easy finding a Rós track to “jam” with. They generate broad, sweeping electro-soundscapes that glimmer with Birgisson’s piercing falsetto and rise and fall by the strokes of his characteristic string bow over guitar strings. It’s a lot of mellow, moody stuff, and Birgisson can get a little whiny-wimpery at times. But there’s beautiful depth there, the kind you can close your eyes and dream to: Imagine epic adventures with mythological beasts romping around the expansive northern landscape. Yes, that sounds nice.

The Weeknd: "Wicked Games"

The week of magic is upon us!! Lollapalooza starts this Friday. Juke Box Hero and I are cranking out final recommendations all week, starting with the Weeknd, Saturday at 6 p.m. on the Red Bull stage.

What better way to remind ourselves of the fact that it’s Monday and the beginning of another work week than featuring a song from Ontario-born R&B vocalist and songwriter Abel Tesfaye, aka The Weeknd? The silky-voiced 22-year-old has only just burst on the scene in the last couple years, but his paltry catalogue of three mixtapes has already drawn critical acclaim from numerous music mags and critics. Oh, and he had an hour-long set to himself at the wildly popular Coachella Festival in April earlier this year.

Style-wise he’s a little reminiscent of Ben Harper, though guitar does figure a bit less prominently for The Weeknd. And there is perhaps a less-heavy influence from psychadelica. But the wide crooning range is definitely there: Tesfaye works his vocal spectrum beautifully by sliding between full and head voices with nimble precision.

Tesfaye’s smooth tenor bears a resemblance to the King of Pop’s, gaining him both extra credit as well as extra scrutiny. For some reason, “Wicked Games” reminds me of MJ’s “Dirty Diana.” (Fast forward to 1:10 to avoid gratuitous crowd noise.)

Obviously there’s a bit more electronic production going on in the 1988 performance versus the 2012 to make it more exciting. But I like that in each case we’re basically just seeing one man on stage – making it easier to conclude that while singers lucky enough to have voices like Terfay’s may draw comparisons to Michael, no one comes close to his pure energy delivery level. Yes, totally different kinds of songs, these, and could we ever call MJ an R&B artist? Maybe not, but the point is The Weekend is already a mighty musical force for being in the same paragraph as MJ with just two years of “public” (YouTube was an early recording-sharing platform in 2010) experience under his belt.

Now, Lolla-goers, you’re in somewhat of a tough spot: Though I can’t fairly speak to Washed Out, LP and Skream & Benga, The Weeknd goes on just 15 minutes prior to Franz Ferdinand (Saturday, 6 p.m.) and finishes 15 minutes prior to him. The savvy festivaller will bounce around, and it should be possible to see some of both acts, if not more, depending on how quickly the stage crews are moving.

Franz is great, but that’s my recommendation. And it may be nice to have a break from that inevitably dense, sweaty, and disgusting mass of people screaming the words of “Take Me Out” over and over again. So in both the case of the actual weekend and the band, each signifies a getaway from the grind.

Die Antwoord: "I Find U Freeky"

Juke Box Hero advises us on the unofficial Lolla Freak Show, a.k.a. the set of South Africa's Die Antwoord on Friday at 5 p.m. on the PlayStation stage. This is easily the creepiest press photo I've seen in awhile:

Take it away, JBH!

First, I apologize for dipping into the Letterman vault again, but sometimes it’s hard to find decent live videos outside of the talk show circuit, ok?

So, this group both excites and scares me. And not just because of their blatant disregard for correct spelling of the English language. Watching the South African duo perform onstage is like watching a great white shark in the water: You can see and appreciate the raw natural power, but you have no idea what they’re thinking, or what they'll do next. That’s a bit troubling, but it gets the pulse pounding, and who doesn’t love a bit of danger-based thrill?

Die Antwoord's raucous, aggressive brand of electronic sound qualifies as “rap-rave” and is fueled by the anti-posh yet somehow still posh virtues of South Africa’s “Zef” counter-culture movement. Apparently it’s built on a frugal foundation of “less is more,” but it sounds to me like Cape Town’s version of hillbilly.

Once the track takes off, it really blasts. You can't help but want to dance along as spastically as the man onstage. He’s acting out what’s in everyone’s head. Don’t worry about trying to make out the lyrics while you’re jumping around: The duo employs a combination of English, Afrikaans, and Xhosa that is nigh unintelligible.

But no one can understand shark either. Find yourself a safe cage.

Childish Gambino: "Heartbeat"

Juke Box Hero kicks off your weekend with a track from the decidedly unchildish Childish Gambino, who will perform Sunday at 8:45 p.m. on the Google Play stage.

American Donald Glover, who draws his stage name Childish Gambino from a web program known as the "Wu-Tang Clan name generator", is a despicably enviable modern media renaissance man, wearing hats as a writer, actor, comedian, and, naturally, successful recording artist. Without employing the typical hip hop tropes ("But here I am rapping about money, hos and rent again") he writes sweet rhymes, drops fat beats, and hooks as catchy as flypaper on velcro.

The Wu-Tang name of yours truly? "Amateur Warrior." Now, who wants to sign me?

Blind Pilot: "We Are the Tide"

Juke Box Hero brings us Blind Spot -- er, Blind Pilot, who will be performing Friday at 3:30 p.m. on the Google Play stage.

If the city of Portland, Oregon, had its own theme-background music – music playing in the arrivals hall at the airport, reverberating through the trees in the parks, and pissing off all the super hard street punks – it would definitely be Portland’s own indie-folksters, Blind Pilot. I’ve only visited the fair, hipster-riddled city, but with its impression of relaxed creativity and general spiritual creaminess firmly planted in my braincicles, BP sounds like Portland coming out of speakers. They're similar to Arcade Fire in musical identity and multi-instrumentalist personnel (Letterman goes off on the trumpet/organ player), but it's like if you gave Win and Régine both an Ambien before putting them on stage.

Not that there’s anything wrong with their mellow-yellow approach to indie. The group’s 2008 debut 3 Rounds and a Sound is a great mood-setter for a totally chill afternoon or evening soiree. It’s full of sweet major and minor harmonies, rounded out with laid-back guitar, ukulele, string bass, etc. Lead singer/guitarist Israel Nebeker’s velvety tenor cruises along; the man has an extremely pretty voice in the vein of Beirut’s Zach Condon, but maybe less forced-sounding. If that’s possible? It just sounds so dern effortless.

BP made indie headlines in ’08 by touring the West Coast on bicycles fitted with custom instrument-toting trailers – could they be more Portland? Needless to say, the gimmick worked, and their stock started to soar. Before they knew it, they were touring Europe alongside headliners the Hold Steady and the Counting Crows.

The group’s sophomore record We Are the Tide came out last September and features a lot more of their characteristic chill melodies. But a number of tracks, including this title cut, pick up the pace, volume, and energy. I love the bigger drums driving throughout the song, bringing more of a sense of urgency to the music.

Okay, so it’s still no match for Arcade Fire’s “Wake Up,” but to be fair, I’d be extra jacked too if David Bowie guest-sang in my band.

JEFF the Brotherhood: "Heavy Days"

Juke Box Hero shines the spotlight on a swampy garage rock brother duo out of Nashville. Catch JEFF the Brotherhood on Saturday at 1:30 p.m. on the PlayStation stage.

They could’ve called the band Nature AND Nurture. Biological brothers Jake and Jamin ("jammin"?) Orrall hail from Nashville and happen to both be sons of singer/songwriter/producer Robert E Orrall. They were bred into music and formed JEFF the Brotherhood in 2001, as high school students. The pair couldn’t have avoided music if they tried, but it’s clear there is some God-given talent at work here as well.

Though their successful pop was more focused on country music, Jake and Jamin blend punk, psychedelic, metal, and even surf rock into an aggressive package that still manages to give off a laid-back sentiment that sets them apart from other blue-collar, male duos from the heartland. Yes, both produce wicked blues-based rock; but whereas Patrick and Dan of The Black Keys deliver a more soulful sentiment that is, by now, pretty tight, the Brotherhood sounds more unhinged, more helter skelter – somehow, more garage.

"Heavy Days" could be the most beautiful assertion of post-punk teen angst in the post-Nirvana era. With the entrancing guitar hooks and über-nonchalant, Jonathan Richman-esque vocals, it’s an anthem for simultaneously not caring and being angry as hell at the world. The observation "I guess it’s nice to see my friends, things are going pretty ok," bobs along over stripped down guitar (it only sports three strings – damn cheap hippies) in an aggravated salute to the mundane.

The lyrics suggest a reluctance to accept life being "pretty ok." The boys sound boxed in to the ho-hum world those lines create, and they pass on the turmoil via driving wah-wah guitar effects, raucous drums, and a vagueness in tone that not-so-subtly screams discontentment. You kind of want to smack them for delighting in cool affectedness. But they’d probably get off on that.

Let’s just agree to turn it up and enjoy them for what they are: A talented, eccentric duo that’s making the most of musical genes and circumstance, putting out a creative rock mélange that probably sounds as good in their basement as it will on the Lolla stage.

M83: "Midnight City"

Juke Box Hero goes French electro with M83.

If, like me, you’ve been aurally fixated on the elated, loop-tastic tones of eccentric popster Kishi Bashi for the past week and could use another setting of good strong electro-pop to burrow deep into your cranium and nest for a while, look no further than M83 and the radio-darling "Midnight City," off the French group’s 2011 double album Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming.

This cut, with its shrieking drone, walls of spacey synths, and pounding beats, has been getting quite a lot of airtime this summer, and not just because dance is dominating the pop charts: The song has everything. There’s futuristic male-female vocal harmony, wicked drum machine combos, sexy sax solos, and a head-swaying groove that refuses to allow your body to remain still. Did I mention the sexy sax solos?

Did I also mention the track bagged Pitchfork’s nod for NUMBER ONE on its list of Top 100 Tracks of 2011? Because, well, that’s worth mentioning.

After forming in 2001 as the brainchild of Frenchman Anthony Gonzalez (not the crazy-fast wide receiver), M83 released a series of steadily more successful records while simultaneously pursuing the ever more popular practice of remixing famous artists’ hits with a signature sound and then getting featured on their remix albums. Coattails can be a beautiful thing.

M83’s characteristic musical sound blasts are oft associated with the dronyness of the shoegaze genre, though that may be an unfair generalization. Particularly as the album count has risen, Gonzalez’s compositions have gotten more structured, more creative, more multi-faceted. Also, he tends to focus more on varieties of electronic sounds for melodic leads rather than guitar. And, thankfully for the Lolla crowd, these guys do a bit more onstage than just stare at their sneaks.

Black Sabbath: "Hand of Doom" & "Rat Salad"

Juke Box Hero brings us the low-down on the oldest band on Lollapalooza's line-up, Black Sabbath (complete with Ozzy Osbourne). Catch them Friday at 8 p.m. on the Bud Light stage.

What more can be said about one of the most legendary rock bands of all time? The fathers of heavy metal? Members of both the U.S. and U.K. Rock and Roll Halls of Fame? (Do many other countries have them?) Their truly unique brand of gritty, over-blasted, blues-based, anthemic rock set a powerful benchmark few groups have come close to matching.

The original foursome came together in 1968 as "Earth," but a year later made the change to their current moniker after discovering someone else already had the name. Led Zeppelin came from the same vintage; it was a good age for music in the U.K. The years between have been fraught with reunion runs for the two iconic ensembles, but the Led has called it quits for good. The fact that you can see Sabbath this summer – ALIVE – is pretty special.

If Sabbath reuniting with Ozzy – who was fired from being their lead vocalist in 1979 after picking up a bad drug habit – and playing festivals with the original lineup for the first time since 1997 sounds like just a lazy, money-grabbing scheme, take heart: Last fall, the aging rockers announced they were recording a new album. The group hasn’t released new music with that combination of personnel since Never Say Die in 1978.

Whether you can still create great rock music and be a card-carrying AARP member, remains to be seen. But at least they’re giving it a go. And hopefully there’s some genuine creative energy juicing these guys up for their Lolla performance.

Though it should be a kickass set, doubtless it would take more than a healthy dose of Viagra and a ventilator to get a performance like today's jam, recorded in Paris in 1970. Watching/listening to it, you realize you've forgotten just how powerful (and genuinely haunting) Ozzy’s voice was, and also what a scintillating guitarist Geezer was. I'm sure these facts were not lost on the astonishingly small crowd of Parisians, who witnessed the band in their infancy, as their first two album releases came that year (Black Sabbath and Paranoid). Can you imagine seeing the Prince of Darkness and his minions of rock on such a small stage?

What I love most are the brief moments when you see Ozzy glimpsing back, hesitantly, at his band mates, showing their relative inexperience. It’s the unsure, unhinged exuberance of a kid lighting a massive firework: You know what you’ve got is gonna be big, you just haven’t figured out how exactly to control it after the spark.

More than 40 years later, let’s hope there are a few more "booms" left in their sticks.

Passion Pit: "Sleepyhead"

Juke Box Hero pits Passion Pit against MGMT. Catch the former on Friday of Lolla at 6 p.m. on the Bud Light stage.

If someone took Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon aside and gave him a handful of happy pills, he’d come out sounding like Michael Angelakos and band Passion Pit. This guy is about as straight-up bubble gum techno power pop as you can get. It’s infectiously danceable, it’s soulful, it’s creative without being a chore to listen to – it’s pretty easy on the ears.

Angelakos started composing just three years ago at what has become the instrument of choice among Generation Y’ers: his laptop computer, using multi-layered tracks to bring the orchestral cacophony in his head out into the aural world. From the comfy bubble of his college dorm room, naturally.

Though he writes for just himself, Passion Pit’s live shows typically feature a full compliment of other humanoids, each manning one of the tracks separated from his initial compound. Which I’m sure helps add energy to the music – both for creative flourish and performance vigor. Which they need in order to keep up with these guys:

I hear a number of similarities between P-squared and MGMT. You’ve got your catchy synth hooks, your impromptu dance party beats, your borderline-annoying falsetto male vocals… But here’s the thing: I think MGMT just does it all better. Maybe it’s that they’ve been around longer – could be more musically mature. It’s a shame they’re not all playing the same festival so we could just bounce around like ecstatic five-year-olds to scientifically determine which group’s better at helping us reimagine our childhoods through LSD-tinted glasses…

Amadou & Mariam: "Wily Kataso"

Juke Box Hero brings us the low-down on African-influenced blues rock duo Amadou & Mariam.

I’ll never be able to see the genius of Ray Charles on display live. It's tragic, but there's nothing I can do. Nor have I seen Stevie Wonder, however I’m not a big enough fan to pony up a month’s worth of swim lesson money for tickets. But I was lucky enough to catch the brilliant Malian blues-rock duo Amadou & Mariam in concert a few months ago. They’re not a household name yet, but give ’em another year or two. Although I don’t know how much bigger up you can blow than playing for Obama in the 2009 Nobel Prize ceremony:

When I saw them perform live they didn't extinguish the lights, as is often the case for them, but knowing the husband and wife are each blind, thus approaching the performance with a different balance of senses than most musicians, made it a truly special experience.

Though the pair stands stoically side by side throughout shows, their arms touching, sharing each other’s musical energy through physical as well as aural contact, their shows are anything but calm. This video is a stripped-down session, but it’s easy to imagine "Wily Kataso" electrified and filled with additional percussion, including a drummer with a bongo mounted on his shoulder who constantly wanders the stage and jives with the other instrumentalists in turn. It’s a sweet and beautiful thing to watch them perform, seeing and hearing this unique love story play out onstage.

And people come to these shows to dance. This pair’s brand of African-influenced blues-rock sets an entrancing groove in the vein of repetitive-style Mississippi legend Junior Kimbrough. Once Amadou establishes a juicy hook, Mariam’s voice flutters to life and the layers of sound and energy just keep building. This music gets in your bones, and you can’t help but put your head down and sway. And eventually, jump around.

When you see the smiles on these musicians’ faces while they’re playing, you know they’re doing the same thing on the inside.

Band of Skulls: "The Devil Takes Care of His Own"

Juke Box Hero keeps us alive this week with the Band of Skulls. Catch them on Friday of Lolla at 6 p.m. on the Google Play stage.

This alt-rock trio from Southampton, England, might have gotten some of the biggest career breaks of any group in the last couple years. And I’m glad they did. These guys flat out rock.

Their debut album was put out by "boutique" (read: small but mighty) record label Shangri-La Music in 2009 after merely two years of the group bouncing around a London pub circuit. For a body of artists and fans (indie), that equates "staying underground and unknown" with "cool, this rapid commodification may not sit well." But here’s the thing: People gotta eat. Your "cred" grows or diminishes depending on how you act once you’re eating steak tartare instead of SpagettiOs.

For obvious reasons, Shangri-La brought the Skulls into their mini-but-elite fold. You may have heard of some of the other outfits under the Santa Monica house’s hip yet limited umbrella: The Pretenders, Willie Nelson, Monsters of Folk. These guys may be mini, but they know how to manage and promote greatness. 

And for Band of Skulls, that meant getting them a featured iTunes single, play time on the acclaimed TV series Friday Night Lights, and a spot on the Twilight soundtrack. One could easily assess their rise to greatness as calculated, shallow, and not exactly warranting musical "cred." But listening to "The Devil Takes Care" and the rest of Skulls’ YouTube oeuvre, I don’t care how they reached my ears, I’m just thankful they did.

Summer, meet your antidote to Carly Rae Jepsen (or at least distraction, because let’s be honest, the song is genius and we all know it).

A British blues-rock trio AND the girl plays bass? On paper, I’m already drooling. Then a juicy guitar lick staggers into the airspace with a seedy, mischievous confidence, like a gator weaving through the swamp. Commence self-fanning. Tight, eerie male-female vocal harmony? Shut up. Pounding, gritty southern-rock chorus that would make Lynyrd Skynyrd call "uncle"? Sweet baby Jesus.

Aside from the harmonizing, they’re not overwhelming vocally. Solid, not special, individually; though as the voices intertwine, their union does start to take on an ethereal quality that’s both unsettling and infectious. Do we ultimately hold it against the Skulls that they had to go through Robert Pattinson & co. to find us?

Or just congratulate them on their luck and then go back to rocking out?

White Rabbits: "Percussion Gun"

Juke Box Hero bridges history today, connecting 70-year-old Paul Simon with the beats of the 8-year-old, Brooklyn-based White Rabbits.

I know what it is about this band that makes them so gosh-darn infectious: multiple drummers. When the Brooklyn-based indie rockers’ dual-threat percussion section gets spooled up, an indefatigable energy pulses through the song.

Yes, they do play slower songs than "Percussion Gun," with less driving drums. But the additional percussive elements play a strong role in the overall sound, offering a diversity of timbres from the drum set to rumbling toms and cymbals (on some tracks played by a third band member!). Even the keyboard sounds at times more like a pitched mallet instrument, and together they all convey a sense of fervent motion. This is music for movement.

This will no doubt translate to a wicked live performance, and at a time (2:30 p.m. on Sunday) in the line-up where Lolla weekend warriors just might find themselves in a bit of an afternoon slump. Fortunately, the Rabbits are already renowned for consistently delivering high-energy gigs, having built up a touring resume that includes stints with The Walkmen, Spoon, and Interpol. They should be like Red Bull for your ears.

I wonder where the wings would come out...

If I had to voice one grievance with this track, it would be that it finished too soon. Three and a half minutes is too short to fully enjoy such a great beat as they’ve established here. It’s like when Paul Simon's "The Obvious Child" finally arrives at the booming climax that’s been building throughout the song, only to fade away after a precious few blissed-out bars:

Drum beats aren’t forever, I know. And their limited existence in circumstances such as these does make them more special, I guess. But man, wouldn’t you love to see Paul’s army of drummers here just go nuts for a couple of hours straight? I imagine the White Rabbits were there for this concert in NYC, and I imagine they were begging for the same thing.

Jus+ice: "D.A.N.C.E."

Juke Box Hero ends the week with a short rant and two videos from French electronica duo Jus+ice. If you'd rather dance than rock out to Jack White on Sunday night of Lolla, these are your guys.

Before I get into this nuts French electronic duo, allow me to start by ranting briefly about how hard it was to find this nice HQ video of them performing live. The pile of hand-shot garbage I had to painstakingly sift through was just maddening. It’s not enough that the quote-unquote fans shooting these block everyone’s view with their smartphones or cameras thrust in the air, but they’re subsequently gumming up YouTube with their shaky, distorted smut and making it more difficult to unearth quality reproduction. Snap a few photos if you need a visual memento from the concert (I’m guilty as any), but be discrete and then stow the device. And anyway, I don’t see how people can enjoy a show while constantly re-framing their phone’s viewfinder. Perplexing, annoying, unnecessary, unwanted. Rant over.

So Jus+ice. (The upper-case cross features prominently in the band's visual branding, though they don’t otherwise have an explicit religious persona or message.) The Paris-based pair of Gaspard Augé and Xavier de Rosnay – kickass names, right? – concoct a Pink Floyd-on-Red Bull blend of electro house infused with epic rock hooks, heavy dance beats and the occasional funky children’s choir. Like School House Rock in da Club.

The boys are well-established in their own right after getting their start by creating wicked remixes, such as this tasty rendition of MGMT’s "Electric Feel":

For obvious reasons, they eventually caught the attention of Daft Punk manager and fellow Frenchman DJ Pedro Winter (aka Busy P) at Ed Banger records. You can’t ask for a much better launch pad than that.

These guys hit the major Euro festival circuit after breaking through with a few pieces of MTV and Grammy bling under their heavily studded belts. Augé and de Rosnay cut their live-gig teeth on massive stages -- you might have also seen them at Lolla 2011 -- and they should return to Chicago with a full head of steam after releasing their second full-length studio album, "Audio, Video, Disco," last fall.

The tragedy here is scheduling. The boys happen to have the same slot as Mr. White when they visit The City of Big Shoulders, performing on the Bud Light stage at 8:30 p.m. on Sunday, August 5. (Jack White is on the Red Bull Soundstage at 8:15 p.m. the same day.) What is a conflicted festivalgoer to do? From the Third Man’s inevitably seething stage, I’m sure you’ll catch a couple of bass pulses from the Frenchies’ set, but if dancing is what you’re in the mood for, seek Justice rather than Jack. I’m sure he’ll understand.

The Afghan Wigs: "My World is Empty..."

Juke Box Hero re-introduces us to a famed '90s punk outfit playing Friday at 4:15 p.m. at the Red Bull Soundstage. (Oh, did you hear? The Lolla time and stage schedule went up!)

Retirement must be overrated. At least that’s what I tell myself when I think of my meager 401K. But 2012 appears to be a popular year for reunion performances, what with At the Drive-In, Refused, and others plugging in after years of broken-up silence. Jumping on that angsty bandwagon are alt-grunge icons The Afghan Whigs, hailing from Cincinnati, who blasted their raspy "Seattle sound" from 1986 until 2001. They announced just before the close of 2011 that they’d be back together and on the road in the new year.

In light of the media’s Age & Experience vs. Youth & Vigor paradigm for covering the Celtics, Heat, and Thunder in the final rounds of the NBA playoffs, it would make sense to follow suit and extol the virtues of these battle-tested rockers and the enduring value of their "grunge-transcending" (thanks, Wikipedia!) music. But I caution readers that, due to their 11-year break from each other and their songs, The Afghan Whigs might not cut all the same mustard anymore. They might not be able to rock the Lolla like those vigorous fellow buckeyes Patrick and Dan, or even the still-chipper Glaswegians, Franz Ferdinand.

But if lead singer Greg Dulli & co. are even half as brooding, balls-out, and brash as in this ’94 video from Dutch super-festival Pinkpop (and yes, I realize that's asking a lot after 18 years), then there’s much to look forward to in their set: cool, catchy bass riffs, blissed-out wah-wah guitar solos, some slight emotional desolation, and, well, Dulli. His voice has that grating texture, that devil-may-care/take-a-quick-drag-before-I-sing-this-next-verse-because-it-looks-so-damn-cool-as-a-silhouette-against-the-crowd attitude...

The guy reeks of the loneliness he’s singing so fiercely about. (Remember, this is grunge.) But in this ecstatic, angry, unstable way: The sides of his mouth turn up slightly as he delivers his direct verbal despondence, like The Incredible Hulk about to have an "episode." Except we all like him better when he’s angry, right? The emotionally fragile protagonist and wild-eyed, broken-hearted beast are well-balanced in "My World is Empty."

What?! Oh yes, how silly of me to forget mentioning the Whigs are known for their unique ability to blend R&B and punk, adding some soul to thrashing and injecting some cyanide into Motown. They also do (did) covers, good ones. Check out the same song in its original form, performed by The Supremes.

It’s quite a leap between the two, wouldn’t you say? Or maybe you’re more creative than I and can imagine Diana Ross draped in flannel and wielding a guitar. Or Dulli in a leisure suit, picking out his afro...

Bless 'em. As the Whigs attempt to exit retirement, let’s just hope they haven’t cashed in their Roth IRAs quite yet.

Doomtree: "Beacon"

Today, Juke Box Hero brings home the bacon--er, beacon.

It can’t be easy being a musical collective. I mean, it can’t be easy being in any kind of creative group where there’s no defined leader and everyone contributes independently while creating art collectively. But music is especially difficult, because there are so many strong personalities; that’s why you mainly see solo singer-songwriters or groups with a distinct lead singer/lead creative. Or you see groups split up when creatives clash.

But the Minneapolis-based "alternative hip hop" ensemble Doomtree carries the "collective" banner as well as anyone. Though each of the members has a role, there is no clear leader, just contributors going in turn, making plenty of room for the others – a feat, given that the group is comprised of DJs and performers, many of whom run their own gigs on the side. The stage looks a little crowded, actually, but they share it effectively, and the overall sound you hear is the thriving product of all those minds working together.

Hip hop is not necessarily my thing, and it may not be yours either, dear Reader. But fear not: If you like a good, fatty beat, solid female vocals, intelligent (and fantastically articulated – more on that later) lyrics, and high-energy performance, you WILL like Doomtree. In the electronics-heavy "Beacon" and others, they’re able to fuse more genres like alt rock and R&B into a broader musical performance than many of their hip hop peers. Can you feel yourself crossing over yet?

They get me most of the way there – into their camp, I mean, not into a pure, unadulterated love of all hip hop – as their sound is quirky. It’s almost too good: too clean, the transitions too planned, the rap enunciations too immaculate and too pronounced. I’ve just started listening to them and I can’t tell if it’s something I’ll grow to appreciate more or less.

In a genre that’s characteristically slurred, slick, and grimy, these guys are crisp. You take notice, and maybe that’s a good thing. And with so many individuals throwing their weight around, to have such a well-organized execution should be considered pretty darn impressive. So let’s go with that.

Sharon Van Etten: "All I Can"

Juke Box Hero brings us his report on a gorgeous stripped-down version of indie singer-songwriter Sharon Van Etten.

On a recent family road trip, I was in charge of choosing music for the interior of the car during periods when I wasn’t driving. Or during the fuzzy patches between local NPR stations. My brother was plugged into laptop headphones delivering the soundtrack of Dragon Warrior Monsters, but my mother would listen as I played a non-confrontational assortment from my iPod.

When she’d ask, I found myself describing most of what came on as "indie-this" or "indie-that" (I am a cool dude). She had a hard time understanding what the "indie" prefix meant, and maybe that’s because I started the explanation with, "It means you don’t generally hear it on the radio." Fair enough, right?

Mom, meet Sharon Van Etten, a bona fide "indie" singer-songwriter based in Brooklyn. The 31-year-old New Jersey native has put out three records on small, independent labels – the most recent is February 2012’s Tramp on Jagjaguwar – and her airy, sullen, and introspective folk-rock is a fine specimen from the indie spectrum. The instrumentation she uses is also characteristically sparse, keeping the impact of each musician more audible and relevant than some superfluously orchestrated cut from One Direction or Nicki Minaj.

For this performance of the tragic love ballad "All I Can," she’s stripped down more than normal, to just guitar and two voices; she’s more vulnerable, more exposed, more raw, more awesome. It’s fitting for such soul-baring poetry ("I want my scars to help, to heal"). Van Etten’s dark, raspy tone delivers the delicate balance of depression and strength truthfully, like she’s literally singing through the pain.

Expect a larger production and band membership in her showcase at Lolla. Expect it to be loud, and expect it to be emotional. She’s a master of the "aggressive shoe-gazer" guitar stance, as well as the badass "I’m just going to take a peek at the world from time to time from behind my low-hanging, sweaty black bangs" affected rocker appearance. And yet she still maintains this good-girl sweetness. That’s how she draws you in, before she breaks your heart, and that of everyone else in earshot. The radio may not be her medium, but believe me, the Lolla stage is another story.

At the Drive-In: "Quarantined"

Juke Box Hero kicks off the short week with the sixth-listed on the Lolla line-up, At the Drive-In.

Apparently, the Lollapalooza promoters (or webpage/poster designers) think At the Drive-In is the sixth-most popular band performing at this year’s festival. I’m sure Brittany’s linked to the full line-up already, but if not, here ye be. This puts them just ahead of some fairly big names, including The Shins, Passion Pit, Sigur Ros, Franz Ferdinand, etc. But I’ll be honest: Hadn’t heard of ’em til now. Apparently, I’m no expert on post-hardcore of the late ’90s - early ’00s. Please accept my sometimes slower, yet often-more-broadly-expressive-and-creative-than-hardcore apology.

These rockers, who formed just after their apparently emotionally oppressive high school years in El Paso (Spanish for ‘The Paso’), Texas, are kind of a big deal in their sub-sub-genre (punk-hardcorepunk-posthardcore, if you’re keeping score). They’ve influenced plenty of bands with creative, rainy-day names that you’ve never heard of, who also express their waves of inner turmoil through the muse of fast-and-loud rock, stage-writhing, and affected-intellectual crowd banter.

Don’t get me wrong: I like these guys. (I also like Rage Against the Machine; they’re kinda similar. If you’re not in that camp, even just a little, there may be no hope for you.) As do Spin and Rock Sound magazines, and the BBC, mate. Their noise is tight, fun to listen to, really pretty un-joyful. And they’ve paid their indie dues – well, collectively; there’s been a carousel of membership but whatever – having basement-bar-bus-toured for the better part of a decade while developing a solid fan base.

And they’ve been gone long enough to marinate a solid fan-yearning buzz. They split up in 2001, but as of January this year they've pulled a Blues Brothers – clearly they’re broke, assisting a religious institution avoid tax trouble, or both – and announced reunification for the purposes of "nostalgia." Whatever. Can y’all still get loud, angry, and innovatively expressive? Your fans will know the difference. Lolla fans will…probably be dehydrated.

On this track from their third and final LP, the slow-burning rhythm (SO post-hardcore) is actually a pretty sweet jam. I love the loping bass lick, blissed-out guitar notes floating all over the place, and Cedric’s (lead singer) crazy bendy-knee thing he has going on. Oh, and his man-siren gives me the tinglies.

Things get a little too slow and proggy for my tastes during the spacey improv session in the song’s midriff, but when the hardened groove comes back around in the last minute: Pay dirt. Got to get me one of those billowing rock afros… or is it Rock-a-fro? Punk puff? Ro-fro? Afro-rock? Wait, apparently, that is a thing.

Bloc Party: "Like Eating Grass"

We gleefully welcome back Juke Box Hero, our guest blogger extraordinaire, who will henceforth be posting two days a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays. Good to have you back, sir. Take it away!

Some songs you feel like you’ve heard a million times but can’t really put your finger on the first listen. Some, though not in your iTunes top 25, had a memorable introduction that embedded in your brain, and now you can’t help but think about that experience any time it comes on. Is that a virtue of the song itself or more a combination of the company, the volume, the situation as a whole? Music cognitive scientists, talk amongst yourselves.

Hearing "Like Eating Glass" by London-based indiesters Bloc Party (no real political significance, they claim) takes me back, each time, to my girlfriend’s car. She was picking me up for a drive into Chicago and the moment I buckled in, without any other greeting or exchange, she just said, "You have to listen to this."

She cranked the volume in her little Toyota Corolla as high as it would go and pushed play on the opening cut from Bloc Party’s debut album "Silent Alarm," which had recently been released. The tense buzzing as the track opens had her speakers vibrating immediately. As the spaced-out guitar and the cymbals rattling with hectic, building energy added their angsty thoughts, the dainty sedan filled with sound. Then singer Kele Okereke came wailing in like Morrissey’s angrier, more high-pitched little brother, and things really got going.

Also, we were driving, so that helped.

It’s a sad song, this one. Okereke could be lamenting a broken relationship. Or his might be the lovedrunk snarls of a spurned admirer. Either way, the emotion is raw and visceral, and pretty damn catchy.

And if the drum-tight ensemble you see here on Jools Holland is anything to go by, the recently reunited group (returning from individual projects in September 2011) should be a riot at Lolla. If it’s your first time hearing them there, hopefully the experience is embedding, car or no car.