Blogs
  • Go! 3/7-3/9
    06:00PM 03/07/08
  • R.E.M. Accelerate: An Advance Review and Song-by-Song Analysis of the Band's New Album
    04:06AM 03/08/08
  • Your Weekly St. Louis Food Blog Digest
    03:45PM 03/07/08
  • This Is Hawkwind -- Do Not Panic
    06:08PM 11/09/07
Recent Articles

Recent Articles By Roy Kasten

  • The Campbell Brothers
    8 p.m. Friday, February 15 and 11 a.m. Saturday, February 16. Edison Theatre, 6445 Forsyth Boulevard
  • Nina Nastasia
    8:30 p.m. Saturday, February 9. The Bluebird, 2706 Olive Street.
  • Richard Thompson
    8 p.m. Monday, February 11. The Pageant, 6161 Delmar Boulevard
  • Parachute Musical
    9 p.m. Friday, February 1. The Bluebird, 2706 Olive Street.
  • Giant Bear
    9 p.m. Wednesday, February 6. Off Broadway, 3509 Lemp Avenue.

National Features

  • Houston Press
    "It Was Like an Armageddon Movie"

    For days after Hurricane Rita, a Texas prison was hell on earth.

    By Chris Vogel
  • SF Weekly
    The Candidate

    Our columnist knows Ralph Nader's running mate all too well.

    By Matt Smith
  • The Pitch
    How Not To Be a Rap Star

    First of all, lay off the Ecstasy.

    By Nadia Pflaum
  • Village Voice
    Project Runaway

    What becomes a gossip columnist most?

    By Michael Musto

Debut albums from the sons of famous parents shouldn't be this good, this original. Fame and tragedy haunt Elvis Perkins' story: His father, Anthony Perkins, died from an AIDS-related illness; his mother, the photographer Berry Benson, was aboard the plane that hit the North Tower on 9/11. But Perkins' will and imagination more than merely exorcise ghosts; he transmutes and owns them. His band — woody drums, gypsy violins, bowed bass, and borrowed trumpets and vibes — will begin a tune reluctantly, then gather the force of a Gil Evans Orchestra. And his words spill like sparks from a torch: "I tossed and turned/Till I closed my eyes," Perkins sings on the startling, surrealist opening track. "But the future burned through/The planet turned a hair gray/As I relived the day." Perkins' voice has force too, less a warble or croak than a distended cry, the sound of someone emerging from drowsy opiates and discovering the waking world is more beautiful and strange than reveries. He knows Dylan, Cohen and Buckley Sr. well enough to know that mimicking their moves would be self-defeating. So Perkins tempers bohemian visions with resonant Catholicism, unpredictable sensuality — and many, many quiet apocalypses of the heart.

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