Ahead of the April 14 release of Edge of the Sun, Calexico performs "Falling From the Sky" on Conan.

Meanwhile, NPR is now streaming the whole album here.

NPR's Tom Moon notes:

The miracle of Calexico: Though the scenery of the American Southwest remains largely unchanged — give or take varying degrees of water panic — the band's sense of it continues to deepen and grow. What began, nine albums ago, as a series of outsider snapshots has evolved into a more studied portrait of something beyond ersatz trinkets and cheap norteno knockoffs. Something poignant, nuanced, reverential. It's too early to tag Edge Of The Sun as the band's masterpiece, but song for song, it's the most textured and dimensional Calexico record. It starts with a screaming blast of pure pop asking the musical question, "Where do you fall when you have no place to go?" and from there, it rambles through all the desert permutations of no place to go — the tiny cantinas where the narcocorridos tell their tales, the gulches by the side of the road where the drifters rest, the places best described by their nothingness.

All of it drips heat. As with everything from the band, especially the similarly diverse 2003 album Feast Of Wire, Edge Of The Sun covers lots of stylistic ground — what knits it together is that constant, tremolo-like shimmer of sun radiating off of brush, dirt, pavement. The sources of inspiration, evident in various ratios at various times during this variously populated band's run, are usually rendered in reviews as an equation involving mariachi, tequila, Steinbeck, narco ballads, Morricone, norteño, Hank Williams, border wars, Barbara Kingsolver, the kitsch wing of indie rock, Dylan circa John Wesley Harding, psychedelic surf of the '60s, Byrds-y high harmonies and baritone guitars.

From these, Calexico has fashioned an alluring, sometimes overstuffed, strangely durable audio mythology. The sonic aesthetic has evolved over the years, but mostly in small ways: Edge Of The Sun features some snazzy brass writing, and vocal-harmony arrays that scream rainbows the way the Grass Roots and other pop acts of the '60s did. The atmospheres, as richly detailed as they are, exist in service of sly, high-level songwriting. Founders Joey Burns and John Convertino understand the forms and structural basis of the styles, as their take on mariachi draws on the chord progressions and melodic turns embedded within some of the form's classics. While the music can ride a wave of irreverence — see the giddy bilingual "Cumbia De Donde," featuring Amparo Sanchez — it's never simply a glib touristic re-creation. You can learn something from it. There's always basic respect for the forms, as well as sensitivity to the ways to subvert them: It's an act of worship to transform something as easily stereotyped as mariachi into music that's vivid and cinematic and original. That's what's going on here.

BRYDES' Kaia Mazza might be more familiar to you under her previous performing name: Kaia Chesney. When playing as Kaia Chesney, her music was light and ethereal but still powerful. It was delicate, acoustic guitar centered folk with Chesney's brassy vocals over top. However, you wouldn't really know any of this from her new project BRYDES.

The first BRYDES release, "Turquoise," came out in the middle of last month and the five-song EP distinguishes itself from Mazza's former work in the first second. In fact, the synth-heavy pop jam "Gila Bones," which kicks the record off, sounds more like Haim than the indie singer-songwriter ballads Mazza was known for. It's got '80s sensibilities that, thanks to Robbie Williamson, amount to a textural wall of glittering synth.

From there, "Cat Call" strips some of the layers out, showcasing Mazza's ever-strong vocal ability. It still has some of those little flourishes and the same Peter Gabriel-esque drum machine for the beats. However, the song also shows restraint, an auditory reprieve after the first song's bright intensity.

"Bright Eyed Boy" is definitely the album's most accomplished song. It has the more subtle, straightforward moments of "Cat Call" building effectively into the blown out, triumphant and sunny pop anthem the album started with from "Gila Bones." It switches between these modes, making the chorus something you eagerly anticipate each time. It leaves you wanting more, but unfortunately by the fourth track, "Wrong to Assume," the repetitive lyrical moments that made the first three songs catchy pop tunes ended up to be too much. The phrase "don't hold on for me" is repeated six times as the chorus, which cycles through at least four times. 

Finishing up, the album doesn't slow down on "The One You Ask For." By this point, you honestly wouldn't expect it to. This first taste of BRYDES is most successful at providing an album insistent on its poppyness but not being vapid. At a time when everyone is resurrecting the psych and prog of the '70s and '90s grunge, Mazza and Williamson both jumped in head first to the '80s. "Turquoise" is unapologetically fun, doing something unique to Tucson music and proving Mazza's versatility. 

You can visit the BRYDES Facebook page for information on where you can snag a copy of the record and for information on upcoming shows.

In 1970, Tucson's Pioneer Hotel set fire, resulting in the deaths of 28 people. At the time, 16-year-old Louis Taylor was convicted of the murders. However, 42 years later Taylor was freed.

From a cover story we did on Taylor two years ago:

For more than 10 years, a team of volunteer attorneys and law school students from the Arizona Justice Project took on Taylor's case—combing through old files and doing interviews that eventually led to enough new evidence to enable his attorneys to request a new hearing. Attorneys told reporters that much of the evidence had to do with science. If the Pioneer Hotel fire happened today, experts would have determined it was not arson.

There was also clear evidence that prosecutorial misconduct had taken place, such as the suppression of evidence that supported Taylor's innocence. Which only made it more difficult when Pima County Attorney Barbara LaWall fought and maneuvered to prevent Taylor's case from going back to court, finally offering a plea agreement that didn't exonerate him from the crime but allowed him to go free based on time served.

Carlos Arzate tells the story of wrongful imprisonment, corrupt court proceedings and the double tragedy of both the deadly fire and what happened to Louis Taylor afterwards in a new song called "The Ballad of Louis Taylor."

The song is part of a partnership with the Arizona Justice Project—a nonprofit that seeks to help victims of injustice like Taylor. "The Ballad of Louis Taylor" will be released on the forthcoming album "Got Me Wrong," which will donate a portion of its proceeds to the project. You can also donate to the cause via the AJP Paypal account.

Here's Arzate's "The Ballad of Louis Taylor":


Editor's Note: This post has been updated from its original content to include more information on the Louis Taylor case.

Joey Burns and John Convertino of Calexico talk about making their new album, Edge of the Sun, which drops April 14.

Tucson People just released their second video in a series of four featuring Arizona artists. This time Tucson's Steff and the Articles perform their jazzy "Call You Mine" at St. Cecilia Studios. 

The T-Town Sessions, headed by videographer Abril Castillo, aim to showcase local music by using professional video and recording equipment, including Cloud Microphones. In a previous interview with The Range, Castillo said the series aims to be a little bit like the Tiny Desk Concerts put on by NPR, but focused on Arizona music.

"The idea is to expose and show everyone around the world what Tucson is doing," Castillo said. "We want to have a documentary about what is happening in the music scene in Tucson and in Arizona."

The first T-Town Sessions video features The Mission Creeps performing "Severin." Castillo will also be releasing videos featuring Dutch Holly and the Gabriel Ayala Quintet. After that, Tucson People will be searching for the next four bands to feature in the second series.

So, without further ado, here's Steff and the Articles' T-Town Session:

The members of Wisconsin sextet PHOX set a no-compromise policy when recording their debut album.

Any and all elements of jazz, folk, pop, soul and rock that had developed since the band got together in 2011 in the small town of Baraboo were to be incorporated into the overall PHOX sound.

“Every time I’ve been in a band and put a record, at some point in the process of creating the record, we decided to cull and condense everything and go with one of these sounds and let’s not confuse anyone,” says guitarist Matthew Holmen. “With this one, we figured let’s be completely true to what we’ve been up to that point, and make a version of the record that’s unfiltered and didn’t have any compromises.”

The self-titled “PHOX,” released last June on Partisan records, accomplished those goals and more. It’s a record of surprising variety, depth and nuance, led by the single “Slow Motion” (one of Paste Magazine’s top-10 songs of 2014) and star-in-the-making frontwoman Monica Martin’s captivating and soulful vocals.

In fact, it was convincing Martin of her own talents that was the push PHOX needed.

Trans Van Santos' Mark Matos splits his time between Tucson and San Francisco, a fact that's abundantly clear in the motifs of his latest release "Moon Mirage"—an album that successfully evokes the feeling of driving through the desert for hours at a time on your own.

The album starts off simply with "Wild at Heart," which, if you didn't listen longer than the first few seconds, might have you assuming that Matos was going for a strong Townes Van Zandt vibe. However, moments later the album's first hint of psychedelia wails in by way of a single strum of a heavily distorted guitar. The song uses harmonica unlike run-of-the-mill folk's melodic solos, instead using it as an ambient layer of sound. In terms of content, the first song enforces "Moon Mirage"'s overall thematic melancholy and restlessness.

"Turquoise and Silver" uses woodwinds in a similarly textural way—simulating a coyote's howl more so than playing a tune. All of this lends to the album's strong sense of place. It feels like the desert in a way that bands like Timber Timbre have only recently also accomplished. It's dark and unyielding. It's mysterious and almost mythological. It's the '60s without the optimism.

The somber notes of the first two songs are broken almost instantly when "Rocket Man" chimes in as the album's third track. It's the sort of infectiously catchy, plucky song that you'll remember off of the album, though it certainly isn't the album's highest moment. If anything has overt pop viability, it's this song, which would fit in on a Diablo Cody soundtrack as the quirky lead character rides past on a bike in some ironic, but endearing outfit.

After the sunniness of "Rocket Man" subsides, "Moon Mirage" descends deeper into its Cimmerian mood. "The Flight" doesn't seem to want to stick with you at all in any of the more traditional earworm kind of ways. Instead, it's a spooky, messy, but methodical bit of gloomy psychedelic folk music that isn't more of one than the other by any means. It's the kind of song you'd do peyote to, not mushrooms.

After that the "Agua Fria" and the seven-minute droning, listless "Homecoming King" finish out the album with moments of choral vocals, organs and an overall mellowness that smooths out some of the more intimidating moments on "The Flight."

In that way, Matos as Trans Van Santos creates a range of emotion successfully on an album that sides heavily with the dark side. He also accomplished the fusion of two genres—neo-psych and folk—which seem to typically butt up but never quite cross paths.

You can visit Trans Van Santos' website for information on how to get your hands on a copy of his newest release "Moon Mirage."

Atmospheric indie rockers The Attic Ends are finishing up a month long tour and one of their last stops is in Tucson. On Wednesday, April 1, the Brooklyn-based band will be bringing their mellow, piano-centric brand of indie rock to The Hut in support of their new live EP "Stripped: A Live Recording."

The EP itself features five very clean and crisp live recordings of The Attic Ends and if their live performance in town is anything like this recorded one, it'll be a good one to sit back, relax and sip on one of the Hut's tropical-themed cocktails. Best of all, the show, located at 305 N. Fourth Ave., is free to attend.

The Attic Ends will perform at The Hut at 11 p.m. with local indie funk band Rotary Speed Dial opening the show starting at 10 p.m. For more information on this event and other upcoming concerts at The Hut, visit the bar and venue's website.

You can also check out The Attic Ends' aptly titled song for Arizona "The Heat is Hell" below:

Booking hip hop shows in Tucson can be tough and no one knows this better than Pike Romero. As both a performer and booker himself, Romero has struggled to find a place that is welcoming to hip hop acts in a town saturated with old desert rock, psych revival acts and the occasional cumbia or mambo band. So where exactly does hip hop fit into that? 

Well, for Romero, the answer was to start something new. He began booking shows through his own agency named WeAreBugginOut and scheduling acts at a small DIY venue in a converted church off of Speedway Boulevard.

The Skratch Shack has only been open for about a month or so, but it's already attracting about 50 to 70 attendees per show. Romero tries to make each of these events more than just a hip hop or rap concert. He includes elements ranging from live art to performing magicians and even one time a live goat at an event at The Flycatcher.

"I want my shows to be refreshing. They should always be something different," Romero says.

To that extent, Romero has also commissioned a massive functional drum machine for one past event and has planned future live streaming beat making sessions for others. 

Although having dozens and dozens of people at a technically residential spot might seem like a recipe for a noise ordinance violation, Romero says his neighbors have been very welcoming and supportive of the Skratch Shack. Besides, the location is actually prime for not bothering other people, as most of the buildings around it are used commercially and closed when Romero puts on shows.

In the future, Romero hopes to have at least one show every other week. The next concert at the Skratch Shack will feature Johnny Polygon, Josh Sallee, A.R.K. Noah and more on April 8. For more information on this event and upcoming events at the Skratch Shack, visit the WeAreBugginOut Facebook page. All events at the Skratch Shack are 21 and over. 

I learned today from local drummer Winston Watson that Ernie Menehune, Hawaii's suntanned Irishman, has died. I haven't tracked down the details, but Menehune was in his early 90s.

Menehune was inducted into the Tucson Music Hall of Fame in 2007. Gene Armstrong profiled him:

Ernie Menehune has been performing music of all styles—including country, pop, big-band jazz and Irish music—but he is most famous for his elaborate Polynesian revues, including a big band, a chorus of singers and dancers. He has been professional entertainer in excess of a half-century, and a fixture in the Tucson music community for more than 30 years.

At 84, Menehune looks about 20 years younger with his deep tan, white teeth, sparkling eyes, Hawaiian shirt and puka-shell necklace. He arrives at an interview driving a massive red-and-silver sport van.

"My kids want me to give up the show and all that, but I say no, because I still enjoy it," he says. "The day I walk on that stage because it's just work, just a job to make money, that's the day I quit."

Billed for years as "Hawaii's Suntanned Irishman," he was a huge nightclub draw in the 1960s and '70s throughout the Western United States, playing the supper club circuit—everywhere from Caesars Palace to Tucson's once-glamorous-but-now-in-ruins Spanish Trail, on Interstate 10.

I was lucky enough to see Menehune perform a few times at the Airport Lounge, Ye Olde Lantern and the Tucson Polynesian Club at Tucson Meet Yourself. He was always charming, hysterical and fun to talk with.

I first heard of Menehune when my friend Peter Gilstrap came to Tucson to interview him for the Phoenix New Times.

Gilstrap's whole profile is worth a read, but here's how he described Menehune's act:

So let's say it's some Phoenix evening in the late Fifties. We enter a club with the Menehune name on the sign outside, score a nice table, the candle is winking through its bamboo holder, the drinks have been delivered. What happens?

Ernie smiles and squints from 1996 all the way back. "The lights would be off, and I would come out with a conch shell. I'd blow the conch shell, there'd be a drum roll, and then—'Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, we proudly present Hawaii's Suntanned Irishman, Ernie Menehune and his Polynesian revue!'—Ta da da. The girls would come out with the gourds and the skirts and the whole thing, very flashy. Then it would calm down to a happy medium, music, singing, jokes, then POW again and we'd go out. I used to do the flaming-knife dance as a finale. That was fun, fun, fun."

From the late Fifties well into the Sixties and Seventies, fun for the Menehune nightclub tribe reigned supreme. Bookings were constant, and Ernie added Anglo aspects to his act when necessary.

"I saw that after the floor show was over, they always had a house band for dancing. So I decided to capture both ends—all that Tony Bennett, Eddie Fisher type of music was in—so I started rehearsing my band with that type of music so that people wouldn't get tired of Hawaiian music all night long. We'd have country, rock, everything. We did all that Aquarius stuff."