There’s something about 3hive’s hard drives and Coltrane Motion. Sam’s crashed three years ago shortly before posting about Chicago’s Coltrane Motion, and mine recently had to be replaced, too, shortly before posting about them. I had intended to also post some photos I took of Coltrane Motion when I saw them in May 2006 while in Chigaco, but I may have to blame a different hard drive crash from last summer for misplacing most of those. Which is rather unfortunate, as they played in an old church, and I got a sweet shot of Michael Bond bouncing under an enormous lighted cross while still trying to keep his mouth at microphone level and not tipping over his laptop stand. Michael, the driving force behind Coltrane Motion, is also a dead-ringer for 3hive’s Sam, but alas, that photographic evidence is also missing. I did find an poor quality shot I took with my phone inside the church, which is below. Sam’s description of Coltrane Motion still holds true, as further demonstrated by their first 7″ release “The Year Without A Summer b/w Maya Blue,” out tomorrow.
Original Post by Sam on 14 Jan 2006:
My hard drive crashed this week which, as reliant as I am on my PowerBook, is like suffering short-term memory loss. One of the few artists I remember having on tap for 3hive is Coltrane Motion, who are members of a Midwest artist-run collective/label called, irony of ironies, datawaslost. These tracks are a good representation of Coltrane Motion’s “sound” — in quotes because they seem to have as many “sounds” as they have songs, due in part to their habit of making their own software and instruments. This makes remembering what I wanted to say about Coltrane Motion even more difficult. Was I pogoing to the urgent dance-punk of “I Guess the Kids Are OK” or singing along to the sizzling crooner pop of “Pi Is Exactly Three”? Cutting rug to the cheeky Beck send-up “Supersexy ’67” or stroking my chin to the backmasked glitch ‘n’ beats of “The End of Every Movie”? Couldn’t tell ya. So I guess I’ll own up to liking all four. And, please, before you start downloading: a moment of silence for my hard drive…
The Awesome Snakes are Danny and Annie carrying on the legacy on their dear, departed Minneapolis band 
Yes, I was stoked on this song right away. Yes, it reminded me of Jawbox. No, I wasn’t surprised to see that J. Robbins produced the record. No, the Jawbox comparison doesn’t do the band justice. Yes, there’s much more to Sylvie than that. Yes, you can stream the whole record 
They’re young (barely 18), German (yes, they sing in their native tongue), angular (think Wire, The Fall), and they’re following in the footsteps of obscure ’80s post-punk compatriots (Palais Schaumburg anyone? Yeah, they were new to me too). I’m showing my age when I say that I remember when people actually pogo-danced at shows, but 1000 Robata’s Liquid Liquid groove coupled with their angry-Devo delivery bounce me back happily to those seminal years.
Italy’s Mojomatics automatically struck a chord with me. They amp up The Plimsouls’ folksy-punk, or Jon Spencer’s bluesy-swagger, with their hyper tempo and snarky tone. And get this: there’s only two of them!! I’m dying to see how they pull this off live. Make sure you grab all three of these tracks. I had a hell of a time deciding my favorite. Hit the banner below to stream a full album of honky-tonk-cow-punk, perfect for 100 MPH square-dancing. Giddy-up!
In this time of political posturing and ramblin’ rhetoric I’ve found someone with whom I can agree: Introducing The Upallnights, who have proposed the following plan for potential supporters: “Let’s go to the airport and catch a random flight…Let’s got to where the governments don’t lie and everything you eat tastes like blueberry pie.” If they’re including a scoop of vanilla bean ice-cream in the deal, count me in! The Upallnights are nothing more than four unassuming lads from Stockholm armed with guitars, drums, blasting out jangly punk pop bullets that will keep your feet dancing. The cover of their new EP, Factory Sessions, should give you an idea of the band’s modus operandi. If you’re unfamiliar with the concept of young boys with light sabers, let me tell you they mean business. Stay out of their way, cuz they, um, just wanna have fun.
At the risk of revealing myself as A) behind the times, and B) a complete tool, I’m going to share that I’ve recently gotten back into heavy exercise. At the gym, I usually listen to (here’s where the “complete tool†part comes in) This American Life or some other talky podcast where I don’t have to worry about (tool again) consistently high-energy beats. But praise be to Pittsburgh’s Greg Gillis, whose Night Ripper from 2006 is a (the behind the times part) mashup masterpiece that (tool) keeps my adrenaline PUMPED, man! For my money, Z-Trip is still the high-water mark of such guerrilla hip-hop-classic-rock-punk-pop-whatever mixing, but what Gillis does with the riffs from The Pixies, the Strokes and Weezer in “Hold Up†helps me burn 500 calories in two minutes. Girl Talk’s newest, Feed the Animals, is available 
The summer may have just begun, officially, but it’s that time of the year: the late June music funk. Funk not as in George Clinton funk, but funk as in I just can’t find anything I want to listen to. 
Although the shuffling Gypsy cabaret of “Prove Me Wrong” may not sound like either rock or punk (or folk, for that matter — genre categories can be so imprecise) a trip through E.S.L.’s full length album Eye Contact will offer up all that and more. A rollicking Polish love song (sung po polsku), experimental strings and craziness, rock, Beastie Boys, Neil Young and Velvet Undergraound covers — this all-girl Vancouver quartet’s got it. You know, today is my birthday; maybe they’ll play at my party.
And here comes another one from the department of better late than never… I think for a long time I was resistant to listening to O’Death because, well, from my brown girl New Yorker perspective “Appalachia Punk” seemed a little far flung. Well, this week is a time for changes and a week for realizing that we are all ready to stop thinking inside our little boxes. I bought a message t-shirt that says “Obama Mama”, I signed on to O’Death’s frenetic mixing of seemingly discordant genres. Times are a-changing. But really in the end, labels mean nothing. This twanging and yelling and somber tone really just throws me back to the good old Tom Waits days. And we liked them days. Three cheers to the