This is a bit atypical of the bands that we generally choose for Synthesis Band of the Day. No horn-rimmed glasses, waifish broads with ugly indie-rock haircuts, ‘roid-bicep hardcore meatheads, striped sweater wussies or epic Dungeons & Dragons progressive metalheads. No, Phredley brings the funk-rock.

In my fledgling college days, back when tie-dye wasn’t as vomitous and my roommate’s constant Phish-Grateful Dead-Phish musical rotation didn’t drive me completely bonkers, I would have broken my left leg to check out a band like Phredley. Now bad photoshop effects kinda irk me, patchouli oil makes me want to hurl and hippie funk in general just pisses me off. But not Phredley. They’s alright.

Based around a brother-sister duo (Phred Brown on Vocals, Guitar & Horns; Alesha Brown on Keys & Vocals) and a rhythm section (Paul Loos, Drums & Vocals; Samuel Tobias Winn, Bass & Vocals) Phredley lays down funk that is far closer to the heart of nearby Detroit than that of longhair revivalists in Colorado or Vermont. And when they stray toward the pop side of the spectrum, it comes across more as radio-friendly than looking for a parking lot miracle. More importantly (for me at least), their lyrics hold water. With the aforementioned hippie-funk enthusiasts, it’s most often the lyrics that drive me to enraged hysterics; Phredley uses some clever (or nearly clever) turns of phrase. No, Phred’s not Leonard Cohen by any means, but in a sometimes poppy, sometimes rocky funk quartet, it works. Their track “The Truth About Capricorns” also has some pretty, Beatelesque, tonally complex passages. If you’re a big fan of Ben Harper/Jack Johnson/Maroon 5, or your ’70s R&B records don’t have much dust on them, do yourself a favor and look into Phredley.

I remember my first South by Southwest experience pretty well, considering the whole kid in a candy store / free music, free booze thing that happens in Austin TX every March. But the one thing I remember most was how much my feet hurt after the second day, and how happy I was when I visited the Riot Act Media party and found out that they were giving away free shoes. Saucony Jazz sneakers. I had brought nice-looking, but ill-fitting kicks with me, and once slipping into a pair of comfy shoes I was good to go for the rest of the week. It was like walking on the wings of sponge-angels. I podcasted something to that effect on the Synthesis radio site. In fact, since 2006, I’ve bought nothing but Sauconies (How’s that for good marketing, yo? You’re welcome for the free plug, thanks for the free shoes). Having saved my feet in 2006, David Lewis will forever be a saint to me.

This year, however, I failed to make it to a party featuring free shoes, and right now my brown Saucony Jazz sneakers, going on 6 months old, are in flattened shambles. It’s true, as outlined in my astute friend’s blog, musicismyboyfriend, there’s pretty much nowhere to sit at SXSW for more than a minute. You’re on the go from venue to venue to venue the entire time because, honestly, there’s just too much to see and so little time to see it. Sure, there are rickshaws (known in these parts as pedicabs), and I did use one after Chiodos‘ set on Friday night since La Zona Rosa is kind of a long walk from the main drag on 6th street. Otherwise I was on foot, and as of Sunday I’ve been developing the gnarliest athletes’ foot you’ve ever seen. If it gets any more personality I may have to give it a name. Updates as they come. In the meantime, Check out Video Matt being a drunk ass on a rickshaw. Hilarity! Snoochy Boochies!

Like most small Northern California mountain towns, Chico has a serious cougar problem. Maybe “problem” isn’t the right word, many of them kill it at places like Monks Wine Bar; hell a few Synthesis Inner Sanctum matrons are quickly approaching cougar status. Still, I’ve never seen one of them kill a snake (though I’ve heard tales), so I’ve decided to give the time-honored Band You’ve Never Heard of Band of the Day distinction to Portland, Maine punk rock trio, Cougars Kill Cobras.

From the look of ‘em you might expect some quirky indie rock, but from one second listening to their ear-piercing feedback and pummeling beats and you know you are about to get your dose of garage-style indie-punk. Drawing firmly from the DC hardcore scene, this trio kills it with smart lyrics, abrasive scream-singing, distorted-octave riffs and tones that make you want to tear out your hair….in the best way possible. Check out their web site for useful information, or just check the space. And if you find the guitars are too gnarly for you, just hang in there for a second: it’s worth it, trust me.

…is removed, but homeboy still looks kinda like Jabba The Hut.

Huang Chuncai holds the record for most facial tumors and is the most interesting looking person on the planet.

“I used t feel very uncomfortable. Now that the more-than-10 kilogram tumor has been cut off, i feel very relieved.”

Full Story HERE.

Neurofibroma is a Motherfucker.

sorry, but I’d hate myself more if I didn’t point this out:

Stack your cred by buying legendary indie label Sympathy for The Record Industry for the bargain price of $600,000 - $700,000.

Includes:
questionable/nebulous rights to nearly 750 releases by over 550 bands (including early releases by Hole, The White Stripes, Turbonegro, Rocket From the Crypt, etc)
current distribution deal with foremost U.S. independent distributor with strong international
distribution as well
existing stock modestly estimated at a wholesale value of 1.8 millon dollars
all master tapes, acetates, stampers and mothers to continue production of titles
massive personal archive of sympathy rarities (lots of amazing surprises)
preliminary cover layouts/some original artwork/interesting and valuable artifacts galore
established web site and vastly lucrative mail order business

ZOMGGGGGGGGGGGG CRED $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$