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“You gotta bring some extra ammunition when you play a town like this,” said Dave Grohl, lead singer of Foo Fighters, during their sold-out Nashville performance on Saturday, Jan. 26. The band not only brought ‘extra ammunition,’ they brought a powder keg of high octane, fist-pumping rock ‘n roll.

Opening the show with “Let it Die” off their 2007 release Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace, the band’s energy and the crowd’s enthusiasm never slowed down.

“There’s a lot of stuff we have to try and fit into this rock ‘n roll extravaganza,” said Grohl. The near two-hour performance featured songs off all seven albums released by the band since their inception in 1995. 

The band played several hard hitting sing-a-longs such as “Breakout,” “The Pretender” and “Stacked Actors” from the main stage, before relocating to a smaller stage at the opposite end of the auditorium to play several acoustic tunes.

The stripped-down versions of the classic Foo Fighters’s songs “Everlong,” “Times Like These” and “My Hero” seemed to transform the sold-out auditorium into an intimate club with every voice passionately singing along.

The acoustic portion of the concert shifted the spotlight to drummer Taylor Hawkins during the song “Cold Day in the Sun,” on which he sings the lead vocal. This song was another high point of the evening, with Hawkins’ gravelly voice harkening back to pure 1970’s classic rock. 

“All My Life,” the first single released off the band’s 2002 album, One by One, served as the final song of the night with Grohl growling, “It’s the last song. Let’s dance!” The crowd obliged with arms raised and heads banging.

In addition to stellar live performances, Grohl, Hawkins, guitarist Chris Shiflett and bassist Nate Mendel recently received five Grammy nominations for Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace, including Album of the Year, Record of the Year, Best Rock Song, Best Rock Album and Best Hard Rock Performance.

The band is scheduled to play “The Pretender” during the 50Annual Grammy Awards. The performance will be part of “My Grammy Moment,” a contest in which unsigned musicians can enter for the chance to perform onstage with Foo Fighters during the award show. John Paul Jones, of Led Zeppelin, will conduct the orchestra comprised of winners.

To view submissions and vote for the winner, log on to

I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to synchronise the playback of twocopies of the same record before. Not being a Flaming Lips fan, I’venever bothered, but in an attempt to achieve some compromise betweentechnology and tradition, past and present, clarity and quality, Ithought I’d try getting the 12″ I so patiently awaited these pastweeks, (and inevitably had to trek to the sorting depot to retrieve),to hold hands with its illegally-downloaded mp3 doppelganger.

The fury followed; was it the cheap antique record deck I bought fromthat second hand shop in that village in Devon playing the LP at arenegade 35 rpm? (A Toshiba Stereo Music System SM-2100, with acomplementary copy of the translated ‘Tales for Young and Old’ by Jacoband Wilhelm Grimm thrown in for good measure.) Or was it the dodgyhotch-potch demo-ripped contraband I hoovered from the digital etherthat was the guilty party?

I decided to give both a try.

“Rising in the East, setting in the West.” Had my Czech grandfatherbeen here to answer the (rhetorical?) question posed by British SeaPower’s third long player (’Do You Like Rock Music?’) he’d haveresponded with a resounding “Ne!” He hated rock music, and pop music,and anything other than what we now call ‘classical’, but which wasprobably known to him simply as “music”.

And yet I can’t help but feel, from what little I knew of him beforehis untimely descent into alcoholism and hermitude, that he’d have beenmoved to tears by the sentiment of recent single ‘Waving Flags’.”Welcome in”, inscribed on the the inner sleeve of the vinyl in whatlooks like a cue card for colourblindess tests, is a message rarelyseen or heard once you’ve stepped out of the airport of any foreigncountry. The twentieth century was, above all, a time for borders to bedrafted, for walls to be built, for the last maps of the furthersfrontiers to be inked and printed, and for words like ‘immigrant’ and’refugee’ and, latterly, domestically, ‘identity crisis’, to rule thebroadsheets and tabloids alike.

While often preoccupied with Englishness and/or Britishness, BSP arenever foolish enough to entirely define themselves or their music byone or both. Their musical journeys may have their beginnings in thesewet islands, but their destinations can be, at times, both the harshclimates of the unexplored, and the postcard perfection of knownheritage sites.

British Sea Power have a distinctly unmasculine (and perhaps un-rockmusic) habit of asking, not answering questions. And, cheekily, in’Lights Out For Darker Skies’, one of their more direct numbers, theyinsist “There is no reason that you need to ask why”, preempting theinevitable speculation. And yet, amongst their confounding yetenthralling lyrics is a rare celebration of vagary and exploration,exemplified no better than in the explosive ‘Atom’, where Yan squealsin joy, as much as exasperation, “I just don’t get it!”

And their language bank is no robbed loot. British Sea Power may be thefirst band in a long time to have arrived at their very own vernacular,so much so that ‘No Lucifer’ sounds like it could have been writtenusing a BSP Fridge Poetry kit. From the “Easy, Easy” Big Daddy backingchant to the baffling “You can just say no / to the anti-aircraft crew/ the boys from the Hitler Youth… To Sodom I will go / not TelMegiddo.”

We tend to be wary of literate pop stars. Their songs often make theleast sense. But isn’t it preferable to ask questions of the listener?Better than half-baked love metaphors, surely?

‘A Trip Out’ stands as a definite competitor for ‘No Lucifer’in the ‘potential first top ten hit’ category; “It doesn’t come muchbigger than this,” they rightly claim, amongst awesome riffs shadowingYan’s echoing vocals. This is the sound of a band having fun.

This is as much Big Country or Manic Street Preachers as it is JoyDivision. “Arcade Fire” is what a lot of people are saying. Well, it’s big, butnot exactly flashy. It’s global in scale, but not always stadiumesque.’Open the door’ is reminiscent of House of Love’s tenderer moments, andpuffin-munching bully bird tribute, ‘The Great Skua’, sounds likeglaciers shifting.

No, there are no answers here, just “moths that get confused / By allthe man made moons”, and lost travelers dreaming of home: “Where I comefrom, silvery trees… Why did I leave?” Perhaps we humans are stillnomadic after all this time.

The sound collage ending is less cathartic than British Sea Power’susual crescendos, but is far from being a disappointment. It just begsto be played again and again, until the needle wears out, or thecomputer collapses under the weight of a virus. It’s a blessing not tohave to ‘rate’ this album, as such, or have to quantify it. Whateverform it’s in, it’s well worth owning, worth carrying with you, whereveryou go. 

Rock ‘n’ roll used to be dangerous. The statement sounds almost absurd as soon as it leaves the lips. But still there was a time when Elvis’ hips and John Lennon’s activism seemed like greater threats to national security than the population of C Block at Guantanamo Bay.

Sure, the excitement is still there. But let’s be honest: Things have changed. If parents are still going to freak over little Johnny listening to The Jonas Brothers, they probably have bigger problems than little Johnny listening to The Jonas Brothers. But while rock music by and large has made a move toward more theatrical and arguably “safe” aesthetics, some still bravely practice the past.

Here are four records from 2007 that prove just that. Coliseum, “No Salvation”Remember when Anthrax was more than just a substance that could kill you? Probably not, but don’t worry, neither do Coliseum. But while “No Salvation” may tremble and bleed with the kind of 100 MPH attack of speed metal perfected by bands like Anthrax and Metallica in the ’80s, these boys clearly took some notes and then promptly started re-writing the book.

Tunes like the punishing “Seven Cities” carry on the speed metal torch but hold high their influences of metal-core heroes like Converge. But what really gets the jaw dropping and ears pounding are cuts like the epic “Profetas,” which employs both the urgency and ire of The Refused while crafting a metal riff so sharp it’d scare Black Sabbath.

Pissed Jeans, “Hope for Men”If music were manners, Pissed Jeans possesses all the class of a schizophrenic off his meds. Screeching, writhing guitars slam face first into walls of static and apocalyptic bass distortion. Buzz saw crafted riffs shred gruffly through droning, drugged-out madness (”Scrapbooking”). It wouldn’t be naive to assume “Hope for Men” doesn’t contain much at all. But when you jam this much punk, hardcore and noise into one small package, that’s to be expected.

Singer Matt Korvette barbarically channels everyone from Iggy Pop to David Yow of The Jesus Lizard on tracks like the primal attack of “I’m Turning Now.”

I’m not here to cheer or grieve the end of 99.7 KY.

I know some of the folks who were made unrestricted free agents last week when Entercom dissolved the iconic rock station, and I feel genuinely bad for them.

Otherwise, I’m neutral: I don’t spend much time with commercial radio.

A lot of the negative comments that have been posted on KansasCity.com and Back to Rockville in reaction to KY’s demise are a bit over-the-top and personal, as if the DJs broke some public trust. If you’re angry at anyone, make it the people who really decide what gets played on the air — and it isn’t the on-air personalities.

Most classic-rock formats never expanded their playlists beyond one era. If Zeppelin was classic rock in 1980, why isn’t Nirvana classic rock in 2008? Or Violent Femmes or the Pixies? Did they ever play the Ramones?

The format also didn’t acknowledge that younger bands — Wolfmother, the White Stripes, the Libertines (to pull a few off the top of my head) — were making music that fit the classic-rock format. Did KY play those bands? I assume not, but I could be wrong. I’m pretty sure the station played the Black Crowes, but why not the Hives or Rancid?

I don’t think the music it played killed KY. Younger kids are catching on to the golden years of rock. I had lunch recently with a guy who has been in the radio business (off-air) for decades. He was telling me his son is getting into the classic-rock canon through the video game “Guitar Hero.” I’ve seen the same thing: high school kids singing along to “School’s Out” or “Carry On Wayward Son” while their buddy navigated the rhythm guitar progressions on-screen.

This weekend I judged at a high school debate tournament in Liberty. Between rounds I watched some of the boys basketball game. During one time-out, the PA played “You Shook Me All Night Long,” and the student section erupted.

The best classic rock music isn’t outdated; in fact, I think it sounds better than ever. Having heard so many dull and barely adequate hard-rock bands over the years, I have developed a fresh appreciation for the genius of Led Zeppelin — the perfect synthesis of violence and precision, beauty and fury. Why would a station ever not play them?

The music wasn’t KY’s problem. The repetition was, and that’s the problem with nearly all commercial radio. Most stations have a playlist of less than a few dozen songs. If they add one, they drop another. Even if they’re playing music half the time they’re on the air, say, 84 hours a week, that’s way too much repetition.

But that’s how Top 40 hits are made: by coercion. You bombard listeners with a song so much they submit to it. (“Hey there, Delilah!”) It’s also how listeners are cultivated: You assure them implicitly that every time they tune in they’ll hear something familiar. Some people don’t like surprise or risk or change. They like habits and routines. They take comfort living in a deep, warm rut.

Even if it excluded music recorded after 1990, KY could have entertained those listeners and cultivated more by enriching its playlist. If you play the Eagles, why not the Flying Burrito Brothers? If the Stones, why not the New York Dolls or MC5? The Stooges? It’s not because the DJs didn’t want it; it’s the suit-and-tie guys, consultants, etc.

As for the wider question of stations playing “new” bands or independent artists: Radio long ago surrendered the illusion that it breaks or promotes new artists. Songs that get on playlists get there for reasons that have little if anything to do with a DJ’s personal tastes. There’s a lot of quid pro quo behind it (concert promotions, etc.) and other “incentives” that small bands and small labels can’t offer.

It’s not completely surprising that the Army wants to hire a band to tour its bases jn Afghanistan and Kuwait.  The armed services get all kinds of folks, to entertain the troops.  "But it’s the way that they solicit for rock bands that makes the whole thing hilarious," Stephen Trimble notes. 

First, a summary of what the Army is seeking:

Professional Celebrity Rock Music Band, group not to exceed seven people for tour of FOB’s [forward operating bases] in Kuwait and Afghanistan for February 4-13 2008. The band should be an active rock band, with a music genre consisting of Southern Rock, Pop Rock, Post-Grunge and Hard Rock. At least one member of the band should be recognizable as a professional celebrity. Protective military equipment, such as kevlar, body armour, eye and ear protection will be provided when the group is travelling on military rotary or fixed wing aircraft.

Then, there’s the highly-calibrated method the service will use to evaluate these Professional Celebrity Rock Music Band applicants.  The contract will be awarded based on "Past Performance, Contractor Capability, Contractor’s Experience, Celebrity Status of the Proposed Artists, and Price. Contractor Capability, Experience, and Price. The celebrity status of the proposed artist is slightly more importantthan these 3 combined, and all 4 combined are slightly more importantthan Price."

And how will each of these criteria be judged?

Let’s look at "Factor 4, Celebrity Status of the Proposed Artists."

In other words, the bigger the name, the better the proposal.  A Paris Hilton-fronted band wins out over, say, one from Kim Deal. K-Fed’s new project trumps Wilco or Rancid.

Or does it?  Let’s examine "Factor 2, Contractor Capability."

Northern Liberties Sat., Jan. 19, 8pm. $5. With Slumlord + Spades. Tritone, 1508 South St. 215.545.0475.
www.tritonebar.com

Northern Liberties are like a mini goth-punk cottage industry, spanning comps and
7-inches, live EPs and a DVD limited to 23 copies. Their third album Ghost Mind
Electricity is a thudding, low-end-heavy journey through sorcery, unborn
children, cremation and dead deer made all the more unsettling by the trio’s guitar-less
setup and drummer/singer Justin Duerr’s half-detached, half-crazed missives, akin to
those of Wilderness’ James Johnson. If there are metal tinges to “Silver Fire,”
“Changing” is quiet and even pretty. This may be their best showing yet, but the way to
experience Northern Liberties is live, where the crunching and munching of bone is right
in your face. (Doug Wallen)

Drink up Buttercup Tues., Jan. 22, 8pm. $8. With Cheers Elephant, Love Songs for Robots, Coltrane Motion
+ Sisters 3. Khyber, 56 S. Second St. 215.238.5888. www.thekhyber.com

Describe a band with the words “Beatles” and “pop” and people think they’ve got
nothing to worry about. A little music hall piano, a clever turn of phrase, a few
well-placed power chords, and there you have it: a pleasant but nonthreatening evening.
Well, Drink up Buttercup may belong to the Beatles pop family, but it’s made of more
aggressive stuff. Signature song “Mr. Pie Eyes” rides a primal punk-ish lurch, all four
band members slashing away at the same iron-giant-toppling riff. And when “Seasickness
Pills” comes up, singer James Harvey works maniacally, guitar rampaging, tambourine
banging and mike cowering before him. Visceral, exciting, theatrical, yes—but “Penny
Lane” it definitely isn’t. (Jennifer Kelly)

Israeli Jazz Fest Mon., Jan. 21, 7:30pm. $15. Through Jan. 24. World Cafe Live, 3025 Walnut St.
215.222.1400. www.worldcafelive.com

Is there “Israeli jazz”? The artists in this four-night showcase may bring the sound
of their native country into the mix, but they’re not neatly unified, nor in a bubble
apart from the innovative swirl of the current New York scene. Guitarist Roni Ben-Hur
has deep roots in the bebop tradition. Eli Degibri is a fierce saxophonist with major
sideman gigs (Herbie Hancock, Al Foster) and the fine recent CD Emotionally
Available to his credit. Alon Yavnai is the pianist of choice for Cuban
jazz master Paquito D’Rivera. Anat Cohen, who rocked Chris’ back in November with her
sensuous clarinet, will appear with her brother, trumpet phenom Avishai Cohen.
(David R. Adler)

An American Chinese Thurs., Jan. 17, 9pm. $8. With Aderbat, Bon Savant + Peasant. Johnny Brenda’s, 1201
Frankford Ave. 215.739.9684. www.johnnybrendas.com

Riding the wave of freak-folk and orchestral rock (think Devendra Banhart and Sufjan
Stevens) while paying homage to psychedelic outfits of eras past are Philadelphia’s own
An American Chinese. The seven-piece ensemble plays whimsical, wanderlust tunes with
witty lyrics, while avoiding the pretentiousness that makes such groups a bore live.
With their heavy use of percussive instruments, An American Chinese play well with
dynamics and layers—the contrasting male/female vocals are the highlight of most tunes
and add to their enigmatic sound. Fancy-pants adjectives aside, they still rock. Their
songs are quirky, catchy and memorable, and their stage presence is both engaging and
endearingly low-key. (Katherine Silkaitis)

Poi Dog Pondering Sun., Jan. 20, 7:30pm. $20. World Cafe Live, 3025 Walnut St. 215.222.1400.
www.worldcafelive.com

Chicago’s long-running, heavily populated folk-ethnic-jam collective has been pared to
an acoustic quintet for this tour, but since almost everyone in the band plays three or
four instruments, it’ll still likely be jubilantly, elaborately orchestrated. Poi Dog
founder Frank Orall crosses genres the way Mendel experimented with sweet peas, infusing
jazz, funk, world and rock music with a lighthearted, easygoing lilt. He’s enlisted
Susan Voelz (who’s also Alejandro Escovedo’s favorite fiddler), as well as longtime
collaborators David Max Crawford and Ted Cho for a handful of small band dates; a full
ensemble tour will follow in March. By that point there’ll be a new album—the first
studio recording in five years. (J.K.)

Misha Mengelberg Quartet Fri., Jan. 18, 8pm. $17.50-$25. International House, 3701 Chestnut St. 215.895.6546.
www.ihousephilly.org

The godfathers of Dutch progressive jazz, pianist Misha Mengelberg and drummer Han
Bennink came to Philly last March with their famed Instant Composers Pool Orchestra. Now
they return with a quartet for the second installment of the Ars Nova Workshop’s “Out
There” series. The group includes two Americans: trumpeter Dave Douglas, one of the most
feted and prolific artists of our day, and Brad Jones, the solid bassist, a veteran of
groups led by Douglas, Marc Ribot, Don Byron and many more. In 2001 this lineup gave us
Four in One, a subversively swinging date packed with tunes by
Mengelberg and Monk. Their reunions are rare, always worth catching. (D.R.A.)

Teddy Thompson swaps folk for pop

Jan 16 2008by Gavin Allen, South Wales Echo

WITH both parents being famous folk rock musicians, it was unlikely Teddy Thompson’s childhood taste for Norwegian poppers a-ha was welcome.

As the son of 70s celebrity couple Richard and Linda Thompson you might think Teddy’s life in music was pretty much mapped out.

But three albums down the line he is slowly creeping away from the family tradition and into poppier climes.

“My parents were never pushy and I never felt any pressure to be a folk musician,” said Teddy, 31, whose younger sister Kamila is also a singer/songwriter.

“I was always into pop as a kid and when I was 13 or 14 I really liked a-ha. They had some great singles – I stand by that – but it really wasn’t up my parents’ alley.”

Teddy heard less music than you might imagine in his earliest years because he was born in a religious commune in East Anglia, to which his parents had retreated to escape the pressure of celebrity.

“I was too young to have anything other than a few vague memories of it,” he said of his time among the followers of Sufi, a peace-loving branch of Islam.

“I remember meals were always a big thing, there were lots of silver trays being carried in, like it was a feast every night. But I remember it being a really happy place to grow up because there were always lots of other kids running around.”

The Thompsons left the commune in 1979 when Teddy was three and from there on he was mostly raised on country music, which explains why his third album Up Front and Down Low is a selection of country classics beautifully arranged for strings.

“I definitely get it from my parents,” said Teddy, usually noted for his introspective lyrics, of his love for Dolly Parton and Co. Very few rock musicians come home and put on rock music because they don’t want to listen to what they have been doing all day.

“So for them it was anything but folk.”

In his mid-teens he began writing songs and at 18 moved to Los Angeles to pursue his own music career, while briefly moonlighting in his father’s band.

“My dad was never the type to look over my shoulder,” he said with a mischievous laugh that was loaded with undisclosed details. It was a quiet tour because they had all done the sex, drugs and rock and roll thing years ago; that tour was more about tea and scrabble for them.

“But I could do whatever I wanted.”

He found a kindred spirit in flamboyant musician Rufus Wainright, also the son of two folk artists and with a famous performing sister, Martha.

“Most obviously both our parents were folk musicians but we are about the same age and our parents split up at around the same time,” he said of their friendship.

“It’s not as if we sit around discussing the fact that we were both at the 1983 Winnipeg Folk Festival.”

Teddy credits Rufus with leading him gleefully astray in the grand tradition of the rock‘n’roll lifestyle but Thompson has calmed down on hard living these days.

“I got bored with feeling really crap all the time,” said the New York-based Englishman. My constitution is not as strong as everyone else’s and I would always be the last one shivering in a corner the following day.

“And you have to take a bit of responsibility for performing because it does affect you.”

With a clear head most mornings he now says he is feeling happier in himself and that fact is guiding his latest songs.

“I was looking at the new songs recently and they are just… happier, more up tempo,” he said, picking his words carefully.

“I think the new album will be much… poppier.”

Teddy Thompson plays at The Glee Club, Cardiff Bay, on Sunday, January 27. Tickets at £10 from 0871 4720 400

— Two-thirds of the synth-pop outfit White Williams may currently be living in the Williamsburg neighborhood of Brooklyn; the band may practice there and be based there; and they may have shared bills with Dirty Projectors, A Place to Bury Strangers, MGMT and other bands profiled in our recent piece on the new Brooklyn scene. But please don’t call White Williams a “Brooklyn band.”

“Not at all! I’m really just living here to live near my friends,” said Joe Williams, the 23-year old computer-music savant who effectively is White Williams. “I have no associations to Brooklyn as a musician or anything. I mean, we didn’t come out of any ’scene.’ I made this all in my bedroom. There is no city to attribute the music to. My music’s not from any scene — except just nowhere. It’s a bedroom scene.”

A series of bedrooms, actually — in Cincinnati, San Francisco and New York — where over more than 18 months Williams, a Cleveland-born graphic-design student, sequestered himself to fashion a collection of 11 arch, ironic and infectious pop songs into an album called Smoke. True to the cliché, where there was Smoke, there was also fire. The album landed Joe a release by indie Tigerbeat6 (and more recently, an international deal with the Arctic Monkeys’ home, Domino) and a slew of performing offers, including opening slots on tours by Battles and Girl Talk, a.k.a. Williams’ friend Gregg Gillis. That meant that Williams had less than a month to turn his bedroom recording project into a touring band (he recruited guitarist Hayes Shanesy and bassist Tyler Drosdeck in August).

(Check out video of the band rehearsing right here.)

“I made the record completely in isolation,” Joe told me at the Brooklyn rehearsal space where the guys were putting the final touches on their set for their first-ever headlining tour, which kicked off over the weekend in Cambridge, Massachusetts. “All I had was song files of 30 or 40 tracks of different stuff, so thinking about how I could try and translate that to a live show was pretty impossible — and I didn’t really want to think about it either. But then the Girl Talk/ Dan Deacon tour came up and suddenly it was like, ‘You’ve got to be a performer now.’ “

Girl Talk and Deacon are both famous for their unhinged live shows, which feature rabid audience participation. Suffice it to say that White Williams are a bit more restrained in their live shows — and the contrast between opener and headliners on that tour earned Joe something of a rep for being aloof, though he attributes his initial onstage reserve to “trying to get everything right.” Since then, the trio say they have loosened up, expanded their set list and were eager to head out on a nationwide tour on which they’ll will be supported by indie bands Ecstatic Sunshine and Health.

And while Joe Williams may be a relative newcomer to the press game, he has no problem critiquing rock reporters, particularly over their fondness for telling the story of his teenage years with a noise-rock outfit called Oblongata (”That was a long time ago, we were really young, and I think there’s a tendency of journalists to try and tie everything together”) and the frequent mention of his vocal resemblance T. Rex’s Marc Bolan (”It’s like what Thom Yorke says in that Wired interview with David Byrne, that the first thing that is written about you dictates what everyone else writes about you. So all of a sudden, White Williams sounds like Marc Bolan.”).

And one more thing — Joe insists he’s not just an ’80s revivalist. Yes, much of Smoke sounds like a modern take on the new wave of 25 years ago, and yes, it includes a cover of “I Want Candy” (Williams’ experiment with remaking a song using a MIDI file), but to attach his music to one decade is, in his words, “reductive.” “I mean, yes, it has a lot of the same ingredients that music had in the ’80s,” he said. “The fact that there’s synthesizers … I guess if you turn on your rock or ‘alternative’ stations these days you’ll hear very little synthesizers or quantized rhythms. That’s more something you’ll hear on rap stations — samples and synths and drum machines — but that’s the type of pop music I prefer. Right now, I’d rather listen to rap than any rock music that’s on the radio. It’s all garbage.”

Ouch! White Williams will be playing a Domino Records showcase at March’s South by Southwest festival in Austin, Texas; but over the next few weeks, keep an eye out for them as their tour traverses the continent before winding up on February 10 in — where else? — Brooklyn.

EMI, the iconic record company that soundtracked generationswith a rock roster that boasted the Beatles and the Rolling Stones,the Sex Pistols, Pink Floyd, Robbie Williams and Kylie Minogue, isdropping down the charts.

It sales are so bad the former bond trader who owns the companyis doing his business thing: axing 2000 jobs and putting singersand musicians on day rates or salaries instead of advances. Moneyman Guy Hands says he intends turning EMI into a lean, mean musicmachine.

With CD sales plummeting, pirate or otherwise digital downloadsplaying havoc with profits and artists forsaking records to maketheir money touring, the suits have routed the jeans at EMI.

Some lead acts aren’t even bothering to await the culturalchange that has accompanied Hands’s arrival: Paul McCartney hasgone on the run, Radiohead fled to a new space and Coldplay isgetting cold feet.

McCartney quit even before Hands walked in the door, sayingtraditional companies such as EMI had become “very boring”.Radiohead launched their latest CD on the net with an anarchicpay-what-you want price tag before signing with an independent.They said the Hands regime was like a “confused bull in a chinashop”.

Hands, the founder of the Terra Firmer venture capital groupthat bought EMI last year for $5.73 billion, plans cutting up to athird of the company’s 5500 worldwide workforce and culling itsroster of 14,000 artists.

“We believe we have devised a new revolutionary structure forthe group that will improve every area of the business,” Hands tolda London press conference this week. He said EMI “like the rest ofthe music industry, has been struggling to respond to thechallenges posed by a digital environment.”

Hands ain’t exactly rock’n'roll. The 48-year-old has no musicbackground and made his fortune investing in a wide portfolio thattook in pubs, cinemas and waste management. He told London’sFinancial Times that he was a “contrarian investor” with ahistory of proving his critics wrong.

EMI is not alone in losing big names. With the big acts ofyesterday wandering around making millions from the nostalgiamarket, some have left the record companies that nurtured them,hoping not only to cut them out of profits but also to harness morecontrol over their own brands.

Bizarrely perhaps, McCartney signed with a record company, HearMusic, backed by the Starbucks coffeehouse. Three months agoMadonna left her lifelong label at Warner for a $120 millioncontract with the concert promoter Live Nation Inc. Williams’smanagement has told London newspapers he won’t release anotherrecord on EMI until the management makes its plans clear. “We haveno idea how EMI will market and promote the album,” Williams’smanager, Tim Clark, said. “They do not have anyone in the digitalsphere capable of doing the job required.”

Rock-classical fusions rarely float, but the Dallas Symphony Orchestra meshed well with Zebra singer Randy Jackson and his taut four-piece band on epics like “The Rain Song” and “Kashmir.” The orchestra charged with gusto through “The Song Remains the Same,” but the best surprise was “Since I’ve Been Loving You”: Newly added violins made the song weep like B.B. King’s “The Thrill Is Gone.”

With Mr. Jackson’s band playing at 110 decibels, the DSO couldn’t be heard half the time. Other times, it was totally unneeded. If any song in the history of music doesn’t require flutes, it’s “Black Dog.”

A good blend of hits (”Stairway” was the encore) and lesser-known tunes (”Four Sticks,” “Dancing Days”) won over a capacity crowd made up of graybeards and young-’uns who weren’t even alive when Zeppelin broke up.

Thor Christensen