In this crazy, mixed-up world, dear readers, there are only three things you can count on for sure: death, taxes, and the names of Jack>"/>
In this crazy, mixed-up world, dear readers, there are only three things you can count on for sure: death, taxes, and the names of Jack White and/or Courtney Love in bold every week, right in these here pages. This week, we fail you not, bringing new juicy bits on both. First off, Mr. White: It seems the singer/guitarist/A&R rep is adding another slash to his crowded r鳵m頷ith an appearance in the upcoming Nicole Kidman/Jude Law Civil War romance, Cold Mountain. He'll be writing at least one song for the soundtrack—and to us nothing says 1865 like raw Detroit rawk—while also getting screen time in some sort of walk-on capacity. Those of you who caught sampled bits of Citizen Kane in the song "The Union Forever" on last year's White Blood Cells will know that White is quite the cinema superfan; no word yet on whether the Stripes' follow-up album, working-titled Elephant, will have more of the same. We also don't know what poor Meg will be up to while Jack goes gallivanting off to Romania for the shoot. Knitting him a scarf for those Cold nights? . . . Courtney, meanwhile, got herself ripped yet another new one by a mouthy Dave Grohl this past weekend at England's T in the Park festival. Following the Foo Fighters' performance of "Stacked Actress," Grohl let it rip, saying from the stage: "Now, I've been pretty nice about this Courtney Love stuff for a while—but now that shit is REALLY PISSING ME OFF. I gotta do a fucking deposition with my lawyer—FUCKING SHIT." He was referring, of course, to the ongoing lawsuit he and Krist Novoselic are fighting against Love for the rights to Nirvana's back catalog, which is set for a late-September court date. No response yet from Love, who's likely too busy fighting off lawsuits filed by a Hawaiian spa suing her for failure to pay up on $15,000 worth of beauty treatments (insert sarcastic comment here,
meanies) and a Beverly Hills rental property on which she allegedly owes large damages. . . . We mentioned last week that the Flaming Lips were asked to play backing band to Beck on a possible upcoming tour. Well, the dates are happening but minus the Lips; Winona's favorite Scientologist (unless there's something we don't know about her and John Travolta) will be hitting the road solo and acoustic, beginning his tour at our very own Paramount Theatre on Aug. 2. For a sneak preview of his latest material, check out www.beck.com to download the new track "The Golden Age." . . . If you thought Rivers Cuomo was one cool cat, now you know for sure: He's been busy recording with none other than Crazy Town—the musical visionaries who brought you last year's strip-club anthem, "Butterfly" ("Come my lady/come, come my lady/ you're my butterfly, sugar, bay-beh"). Cuomo reportedly recorded a guitar part for their upcoming song "Hurt." . . . Speaking of freaky musical pairings, a trusty spy tells us that last week at a Mariners game, visiting dignitary Stephen Malkmus and pint-sized rapper Lil' Romeo were seated cozily side by side, following Romeo's performance of the national anthem. Word of any future collaboration has not yet reached us, however. . . . This past week was some kind of Seattle Show Bonanza, and DOON did our best to hit them all, so here's our reports so far: First, former Crowded House-mate Neil Finn at the Showbox, according to Weekly performance editor and Huge Fan Steve Wiecking: "As drunken New Zealand patriots (and who knew we had any of those?) cheered him on, Finn sang a good chunk of his new release, One All, and came back for several encores, including a final, solo guitar version of "Don't Dream It's Over" that saw a moved, faithful crowd singing along. And, yeah, Eddie Vedder showed up, and had a great time, too. Proving that he's so damn hot he can even
pull off that wack mohawk, Vedder jumped around on stage for a set that included 'The Kids Are Alright.' And they were." . . . And from Bob Mehr, music ed and King of the Secret Show, these two reports: "Thursday's John Entwistle tribute at Chop Suey lived up to all the preshow scuttlebutt and more. The How—featuring Kurt Bloch, Rusty Willoughby, and Mike Musburger—kicked things off in fine fashion with a sterling 'Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere.' The rest of the band's frenetic opener stuck mostly to rarely heard nuggets like 'Bucket T' and B-sides like 'Here for More.' Midset, Bloch turned to the wings announcing, 'and your waiter this evening is . . . ,' at which point a mohawked Eddie Vedder [again!] walked out to toast the late great John Alec Entwistle with a memorial round of cognac, the Ox's drink o' choice. 'I can see why he died,' quipped Vedder, downing the hooch, before launching [again!!] into 'The Kids Are Alright.' Later, the Low Numbers (actually, Vedder, Tim Brown, and Olympia's C Average) took the stage dressed for the occasion—bassist Brown actually appeared in old-school Entwistle wig 'n' beard mode—before ripping through a murderous hour-long set of hits. Admittedly, Vedder's mike-twirling skills leave something to be desired, but he showed plenty of Daltrey dexterity with set highlights 'Young Man Blues' and 'My Generation.' The night closed with shambling all-star renditions of 'Summertime Blues' and a riotous, feedbacked take on 'Shakin' All Over.' Sunday, Mudhoney followed their Saturday Capitol Hill Block Party performance with a not-so-hush-hush set at Sit & Spin that found them mixing classics with an especially strong sampling of songs off their forthcoming Sub Pop comeback." . . . A fun time was had by nearly all, of course, at the aforementioned Block Party, though the bookings proved to be almost too good; on the mainstage, folks were
packed tighter than David Lee Roth's pants, and smaller participating venues like the Bad Ju Ju Lounge were forced to turn away many impatient hopefuls at the door in order to keep up with fire codes. A few highlights: Hell's Belles' new "Angus," who was happy to show her chops and her panties simultaneously, stripping down to her unmentionables for the majority of the band's (ahem) balls-out set; Sleater-Kinney's youngest fan, who bopped around on stage for the last half of the band's excellent Sunday-night performance as her proud mama looked on from the front row; and the freaked-out antics of Jackie Hell and Ursula Android, who literally personify Al Qaeda's worst nightmares (and a few of our own). . . . Same hairdos, separate lives: We mourn the just-announced end of the decades-spanning union between Valerie Bertinelli and Eddie Van Halen. Their 21-year marriage was one of the longest-running of the volatile actor/rock-star pairings, and now we just don't know who to put our hopes on—Heather Locklear and Richie Sambora? Sheesh.
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