FLORENCE— A little Nirvana and then it was Lit and Country Thunder was, well, lit, thanks to the rock-influenced set of West Texas native Brandon Ray.

As the opening act for Country Thunder on Thursday, Ray’s crowds won’t be the biggest the main stage area will see, but he knew it was his job to set the tone.

“It’s intimidating,” he said. “You’re the first impression these people get.”

Though it was his first time as a solo artist at Country Thunder, he wasn’t unfamiliar with the Arizona desert, having played six years ago as a guitarist in another band, and playing in Brett Eldredge’s band in the same role before that.

His sound isn’t what many country music traditionalists may expect, but in the genre’s changing landscape, it may be exactly what it needs.

“You gotta do your own thing and stick to it,” he said. “The beauty of country music is it’s all over the place. The hardest thing we do to ourselves is compare ourselves to others.

“You’ve got to blaze your own trail.”

In a sense, he’s doing that, getting six weeks in the top spot on CMT with his music video for “American Way,” one of the two singles he’s released. It didn’t have any of the storyline and flair of some music videos—it was a live take letting the words and energy of the song speak for itself.

He also got played on Sirius XM’s The Highway and The Bobby Bones Show, and saw “American Way” find its way into the Top 10 of country music singles on iTunes for a time.
“I’ve been doing this for 10 years, and I get one play from Bobby Bones,” to get that result, he said.

He plays with his wife on backup vocals and his brother on drums, along with two of his best friends filling out the band.

“I came from nothing. My parents worked their asses off to put food on the table,” he said of his upbringing in Big Spring. “Now I’m on the road for 250 dates a year, selling T-shirts just to pay for gas money.

“For us, it’s ‘Hell yeah, let’s do whatever we’ve got to do.’”

He’s making progress though, working with Keith Urban on some new songs that he hopes to get a chance to play live when he plays the same day as Urban at Country Thunder Wisconsin over the summer.

As one of the most prolific neo-psych bands of modern times, Of Montreal have some incredible albums (2008's Skeletal Lamping) and some fabulous disasters (we’ll let you pick one of the last 15 studio albums that clashed with your personal rhythm at the time of release.)

The thing that always makes them an incendiary live act, no matter which album they're touring, is their 100-percent unironic commitment to bandleader Kevin Barnes' obsession of the moment. His sharp lyrical turns has been honed through reading, serially fucking and taking psychedelics, not necessarily in that order, for the last 20 years.

With lines like "he's the sort of guy who will leave you in a k-hole to go play Halo in the other room," Barnes can tell it like it is because he's been there. Sunday night with Athens' favorite experimental band promises color and pathos and passion.

With Christina Schneider's Jepeto Solutions on Sunday, April 9 at 7 p.m. Rialto Theater, 318 E. Congress. Tickets are $14 to $17 for this all ages show—unless, of course, you win tickets from us. Enter below:

If you close your eyes in a desert sea of sun cup wildflowers and listen to their rustle in the wind you can sort of imagine the beauty of Australia's The Paper Kites. The gentle, mixed-gender harmonies of Broken Social Scene or Yo La Tengo, or even Graham Nash solo ('70s), couple with the hypnotic acoustic instrumentation of guitars, banjo, and mandolin. Indeed, each becomes a resonating musicbox in their hands—airy, restrained notes and soundscapes uphold vocals that lilt and soar. Songs like "Halcyon," "A Silent Cause" and "St. Clarity" simply hum, while others, such as "Revelator Eyes," are pure-pop-adjacent singalong. "In Reverie" and "A Song for Mr. Gray," are sweetly informed on west coast '60s psych. Mostly it's melancholic splendor that teeters between folk and pop. Sometimes it's the sound of hurt, a beautiful thing. Two-million monthly streams on Spotify can't be wrong.

See them Monday, April 3 at Club Congress, 311 E. Congress. 7 p.m. $15-$17. All ages. This is a one-off show around their sold-out tour dates with Passenger.  

Johnny Marr was once half of Manchester, England’s The Smiths, who, in their heyday, drove single after single up the UK pop charts while also gathering North America’s uncanny adulation.

Their debut album took the UK press by the hand and forged a love affair with lead singer Morrissey—an eccentric in all things. Maudlin, obsessive, an asexual poet weaned on The New York Dolls and Oscar Wilde and in the clothes of a religious figure.

Marr, a consummate guitarist in his early 20s, an outsider with style to spare, guitar lines that wound around each melody with spacious fragility and room for Morrissey’s anti-world brand—his misery’s company—so crucial to the fans who'd dress like him and wish to be him. The music, an effigy of the duo's own silence and brooding kinship.

Johnny Marr cemented his contribution to Rock 'n' Roll on their genuine tremolo-driven hit ‘How Soon is Now"—a hard-hitting single with hooks so fresh that even skeptics would give Marr his due.
The yin-and-yang of angst personified, Marr and Morrissey found their breaking point in '87 and Marr left the band for good. Having carved a niche for Oasis, The Stone Roses, and others, Manchester would mourn and revere them.

Marr quickly threw himself into a range of eclectic projects, lending his style to many, including The Pet Shop Boys, The The, Billy Bragg, and Tom Jones. With his first two solo records, The Messenger in 2013 and Playland in ’14, he took over the vocal chores for the first time. He was not that brave new voice knocking down doors but something more akin to ‘Television’’s Richard Lloyd or any number of musicians who took the spotlight with reluctance, yet gave all that they had to their craft. Marr’s hard work paid off, especially in Europe.

His songs draw from the well of Britain’s literate sense of place, class lines and thematic jewels of her Majesty’s empire—rich in both—its irrelevance to modern generations and the traditional fascination with its own power, betrayal and failings of the royal flesh.

On The Messenger album, the song "New Town Velocity" opens with a wall of acoustic chords followed by textured sonic lines, and Marr crooning verses and choruses where "symphonies play for you and me,"  all backed by big bold strokes on his fender Tele and it all works like a five-minute wide-open dream.

Johnny Marr, a true practitioner of the guitar, running deep in a catalog of symphonic, immediate and transcendent sound—when he lays hands on his instrument, those who will listen, may be healed.

A sizable crowd of people, many clad in red and blue UA apparel, dominated the early evening at Sky Bar this past Thursday night. It was the NCAA Sweet 16 Tournament and the place was packed. Bands scheduled early had to wait until the game—that saw Arizona lose to Xavier—concluded or risk riot.

The crowd thinned, many left bummed, after the defeat. But for those who stayed, the night was just beginning to unveil delights.

Louise Le Hir

Local chanteuse Louise Le Hir took stage first. The natural performer sang like a siren, danced, and bounced a tambourine off her hip. Along with her ace band—Joel Crocco on guitar, bassist Gabe Hostetler and drummer Adan Martinez Kee—they offered an impassioned set of their country-tinged French dreampop.

Le Hir later updated us on what they’re up to:
“We are recording with Matt [Rendon] on an ongoing basis,” she said. “Once we get Kill Pretty out properly we'll have our third record ready.”

Is there a working title for the album and how does this new recording differ from Kill Pretty?
“No title, yet. But yeah, we are going in a different direction so far with the sound.”

See Louise Le Hir Saturday, April 8 at Owls Club, 236 S Scott Avenue with Tele Novella (from Austin, TX).

The Mission Creeps
Founded in 2006—inspired by old horror flicks, Link Wray, The Dead Kennedys, and dark and otherworldly shit that may or may not have taken root during the African diaspora that brought voodoo to New Orleans … Tucson vets The Mission Creeps, in all of their pallidness, were next.
Drenched in ’verb, twang and feedback—provided by guitarist James Arr and his Gretsch Electromatic and the incessant drumming of George “Of The Jungle Beat” Palenzuela—The Mission Creeps unleashed a fury. They recently added saxophonist Adrian “The Graverobber” Daley to bolster the sound. And no one rocks harder than bassist Miss Frankie Stein, and that’s saying a lot—bending backwards and striking chiropractor-flinching poses—she pounded and rounded out the foundation that led the band to the edge of chaos.

The Mission Creeps said post-show that they’re finishing up mixing songs recorded in May at Wavelab: “We're working towards releasing an EP, on the 4th of July, called Welcome to the Murder, Stein said. “Some parts have more wiggle, some a tad more naked sophistry,” Arr added.

The Blind Suns
After performing at SXSW, en route for shows in California, French band The Blind Suns made a stop in The Old Pueblo and closed the night with a white-hot post-mod set.

The Blind Suns have released three albums, the latest is 2016’s I Can Sea You. We were intrigued so the band’s singer/guitarist Dorota Kuszewska answered a couple questions:

What is that sound of yours?
“We're inspired by surf rock, oldies like Dick Dale, The Surfaris, Wanda Jackson, Johnny Kid and The Pirates (we covered "Shakin' All Over”) and some psychedelic/shoegaze stuff like The Raveonettes, Mazzy Star or The Jesus and Mary Chain. We mix sweet, pop melodies with dirty arrangements. Oh, and we love reverb!”

Where's home?
“We all live in Angers, France, situated between Paris and Brittany, two hours drive from the Atlantic Ocean. Romain Lejeune [lead guitarist/vocals] and Jérémy Mondolfo [drums/machines] are French, but I originally come from Poland and have been living in France for ten years now.”

When did you form?
“We released our first album in October 2014. The Blind Suns was basically just a studio project. We were all playing in different bands and had a couple of spare songs that we decided to release as the Baltic Waves album but didn't really expect anything of it. It's been three years now that it became our main band.”

Any SXSW highlights?
“Definitely Hotel Vegas where we played our official showcase. We played on the Volstead stage [classic vintage cocktail lounge] and had some amazing liquid light show projected on us. We also played at Electric Church, Kitty Cohen's for the French Pool Party, Butterfly Bar and at Cheers' Rooftop for [a daily online viral music show] Balcony TV.”

What’s next?
“We're working on our second album. We've also created a label/booking agency—Wild Valley that we're trying to develop in France and abroad. We'd like to focus on promoting our music by touring around the world. And come back to the USA for a bigger tour again, hopefully next year.”

The naysayers proclaiming that rock ’n’ roll is dead can sod off. It was alive and kickin’ on a chill spring night at Sky Bar.

Mick Moloney is a singer of songs, a teller of tales, a player of tenor banjo and guitar, and a scholarly folklorist who can tell you the meaning and origin of every note and word he sings. And he’s funny and charming to boot.

That rare commodity, a folk musician with a Ph.D., Professor Moloney has taught Irish Studies at New York University for years. He can tell you how immigrants coming to America changed the Irish music they brought with them. A recent CD, If It Wasn’t for the Irish and the Jews, “celebrates the joyous and creative era in American popular song from the early 1890's to the end of vaudeville and the start of the Great Depression.” Every song on the album is a collaboration between Irish and Jewish musicians who were immigrants or the children of immigrants.

A Limerick man, Moloney performs and records widely. He’s worked with PBS on the TV documentaries Out of Ireland and The Irish in America: Long Journey Home. His book Far From the Shamrock Shore: The Story of Irish American History Through Song has an accompanying CD.

For the Tucson concert, the last blast of Tucson’s Irish Season, Moloney teems up with Athena Tergis, an American-born prodigy who began playing the fiddle at age 4. She’s a master of Irish fiddling styles from the Auld Sod as well as from the Irish diaspora in North America. She’s performed on Broadway in Riverdance, plays regularly with Moloney in the band Green Fields of America, and she even toured the world with the late Clarence Clemons, sax player with the E Street Band.

The show starts at 7:30 Thursday, March 23, at St. Francis in the Foothills, 4625 E. River Road, at Swan. The church’s music hall has only 200 seats. Advance tickets are $20, $18 for seniors and member of TFTM, $3 more at the door. You can get them at www.inconcerttucson.com and at Antigone Books, 411 N. Fourth Ave., and The Folk hop, 2525 N. Campbell. For disability seats, call 981-1475. You can listen in to a sampling of songs here.

South by Southwest is not just about music. It’s also about waiting in line.

Waiting in line to maybe get in. To maybe be shoulder to shoulder behind the tallest man in Austin. To maybe strain to see a stage that’s a foot off the ground. To maybe – just maybe – find that sweet spot with a band you love and enough room to lose yourself.

On Friday evening, I’m looking through the list of that night’s bands, all within a half-hour walk of each other. Hmm, should I see Wyclef Jean, M. Ward or Neko Case? Or maybe I should check out Talib Kweli, Ryan Adams or Future Islands.

And then I see a new addition—Lana Del Rey! (Yes, I’m a fan. And the idea of seeing her in person kinda makes me swoon.)

She’s scheduled to go on at 9, in two hours, so I headed over. The line is already curving around the building, about 150 people. The doors are at 8, and there’s room for 450 badge-holders. Sweet! I’m a badge holder.

Eight p.m. comes and goes. The line begins to move but only a few feet every 20 minutes. At a quarter to 9, they’re at capacity. Only about 120 badge-holders got in. I guess they had more VIP show up than anticipated.

This is a normal occurrence at SXSW. Maybe 400 VIP get in first, then those who paid hundreds for badges, then people who just bought a wristband for a specific show. The last category of people usually wait a very, very long time, if they get in at all.

Abandoning my dreams of seeing Lana, I headed over to the Weezer show, a 10-minute walk. The line for wrist-band holders is a few dozen, for badge-holders, almost no one. I get right in and head toward the front of the stage to wait for midnight.

I’m close to the front. I hold my ground when broad-shouldered men try to push their way in front of me. But I scoot over for a couple women. And somehow I find myself, as I often do, standing behind the tallest man in Austin, straining to see opening bands on a stage only feet away, but totally blocked from sight. My legs hurt, my glass is empty, and the 90s are long gone. Weezer just isn’t worth it.

When I hit the street, the line of people waiting to get in is in the hundreds. But I know I made the right choice. I can move. I can breathe. I walk down the very busy Sixth Street, weaving in and out of the crowd, determined not to let anybody slow my role. My phone is about to die, but I know where I’m going. I’m giving SXSW’s Friday night one last shot at redemption. I’m going to Minus the Bear.

There’s a decent line outside of Barracuda Backyard. I asked the door man if they’re at capacity.

“For wristbands, yes, but you go to the good line,” he says, pointing to the alley.

Around back, there’s no line, just dumpsters overloaded with beer bottles and paper plates. Inside it’s a wonderland of space. I walked right to the front of the stage and stretch my legs. The Minneapolis band 4onthefloor is rocking the stage. The lights are low. People are dancing. Full-bearded frontman Gabriel Douglas, sings about being drunk on Tuesdays. I get a drink.

After 4onthefloor is the Mothers, from Athens, Georgia. I get comfortable on a bar stool and endure possibly the most boring show at SXSW. The band’s vocals are as lazy as their stage presence. Every song the same—a monotone whine and absence of all body movements or facial expressions.

When Minus the Bear comes on at 1 a.m., I easily make my way to the front. The indie-rock band from Seattle is getting into their groove, but the vocals are totally drowned out. I start to get jostled. My ears begin to ring. I go to the back of the room.

The stage is high enough, I can still see the band. And from the back, I can hear all the sounds. I can hear the guitar, rocking and weeping. The bass, grooving and the drums, pounding. And I can hear frontman Jake Snider’s vocals, soothing and strong.

And I dance. In the back of the room, in the middle of the night, I found my sweet spot. And so I dance.

The lead singer of Future Islands reveals his soul while he performs. The persona most of us wear when in public, guarding our emotion, our inner selves—front man Samuel T. Herring motions pulling off his mask while on stage at Thursday night’s Pandora showcase at SXSW.

Under his mask, he’s crying unabashedly, in front of the hundreds in the audience. He pounds his chest. He growls in to the microphone. He reaches out a hand to the audience as if to say, “Be real. Be strong.” Sweat pours down his face. He reaches a hand to the sky. It’s a difficult time in our country, he told the audience when he stepped on stage, and he’s so excited to be here.

With band members Gerrit Welmers on keyboards, William Cashion on guitar and a hired drummer, Future Islands music is hard and emotional. The audience was lost in the moment as Herring danced across the stage and leaned into the crowd to sing directly to them—each and every one.

The Secret Sisters are as joyful on stage as their songs are depressing. Laura and Lydia Rogers love the dark days.

“We sell antidepressants at our shows,” Laura jokes on stage at Cooper’s BBQ’s Americana Music Association showcase, which became Americana Ladies’ Night when the organizers realized all their headliners were women.

In front of a brick wall with a neon Budweiser sign over the shape of Texas, the Alabama women sing “Bad Habit,” a song their mother calls “intense.”

The huge head of a longhorn bull looks down on them as they harmonize with a rapturous twang. Over 100 people sit on the floor, fill the tables and stand along the walls. The whole room is silent, enchanted.

Between songs, Lydia tunes her guitar, and Laura chats with the audience, joking and telling stories. Chewing gum, she tells them about meeting the Everly Brothers. Laura says she was so excited, she burst into tears, and they weren’t pretty tears. She looked like she’d “just been born—red and shiny and wet."

The sisters love music from another time, and most of their favorite musicians are dead. It shows in their music—an old-timey feel with a sadness that’s older than they are.

“And now we’re going to segue into happier material by playing a murder ballad,” Laura says. It’s a sequel to their first murder ballad and will be on their next album, “You Don’t Own Me Anymore,” produced by Brandi Carlile and out this summer.

“Don’t tell us if you don’t like it,” Laura tells the audience, laughing. “That’s like telling someone they have an ugly child.”

The women get a lot of their inspiration from failed relationships, which is why Laura hasn’t written a song she likes since she got married to a “redneck from Alabama” last April. So they play the last good song she wrote: “He’s Fine,” about the last man who broke her heart.

Last night I decided to check out the closest thing to a local band South by Southwest has to offer those from Southern Arizona.

Hailing from the Mexico side of Nogales, Lights on Ceres is a three-piece band self-described as “space wave,” which must be in reference to their heavy use of electronic components and voice effects.

Comprised of 28-year-old Alberto Espinosa on lead vocals and guitar; drummer Roberto Garcia, 32; and Jorge Pablo Zarate, 26, on keyboard and backup vocals, Lights on Ceres offers a fresh sound with a solid beat.

Their music feels like something out of a 80’s night club with an updated style for the 21st century. The blend of throwback and fresh sounds makes for a set you can’t help but swing your hips to.

Espinosa’s experience stood out as he manipulated his voice to hit the effects just the right way, and Garcia’s affinity for the drums held up the backbone for each song as Zarate threw in the details for the full experience.

The band played an eight-song set with a few songs off their EP, Space Waves: “Moon Dance,” “Show me Love” and “Fly,” but most of the set was new compositions written since the release of the EP (recorded in Phoenix) last year.

Zarate said the SXSW show was a pretty big deal for the band as they drove 16 hours in a rented pickup just to stay in town for the night.

Lights on Ceres should have no trouble getting off the ground on their own merit, but Espinosa’s previous notoriety from Nikki Clan, which had a decent following in Mexico, along with Grammy-winning Gardner Cole, who has written songs for Cher, Tina Turner and Madonna, acting as producer, it should be no time at all before you start seeing these guys around.

The show at SXSW marks their fifth live gig together and the band hopes to make an appearance at Tucson’s Hotel Congress or The Rialto in the near future, so keep an eye out.

You can head to their website or check out their music on Spotify and Facebook.