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Jupiter Coyote

For fourteen years, this “mountain rock” band has proven itself one of the finest and most unique Southeastern bands in a field that is too often cluttered with soundalike groups whose repertoires are almost indistinguishable.

While there are elements of bluegrass, jam music and full-on boogie in Jupiter Coyote’s approach, they are first and foremost a pop group. Fans of The Allman Brothers and Widespread Panic will find much to like about the way this North Carolina-based group can give their songs an extended workout, but those who appreciate the tunsemithing of John Prine, Jerry Jeff Walker or Jackopierce will also enjoy the band’s emphasis on lyrics and harmonies. Fri., 8 pm, City Market Courtyard.


With an androgynous look that is frequently compared to the late Marc Bolan (but is in reality much closer to the butch posturing of The Sleez Sisters of Times Square fame), this New York-bred songwriter is nothing if not an enigma.

While fronting the underground band Lionfish, she caught the ear of Cracker’s David Lowery, who enlisted the classically-trained vocalist to guest on his 1998 album Gentlemen’s Blues, and produced her 2001 debut, Heart-Shaped Scar.

Her insistent new indie record, Suburban Sprawl & Alcohol. Produced by Alan Weatherhead, (The Cardigans), it’s filled with stick-in-your-head choruses and arrangements that are just lush enough to seduce assistant program directors, but not too baroque to elude justice by a four-piece band in a smokey dive bar.

But what’s L.P. (who refuses to give her full name and opts instead for just her initials) up to, exactly?

Her impressive vocal range is certainly the focal point, but with such a powerful set of pipes, why insist on aping the sneers and drawls of other, more established singers? For example, “Get Over Yourself” is a smoothie made from Joan Osborne’s Relish and any one of the last four Aimee Mann discs, while on “The Darkside” and “Never Was” she might as well be Gwen Stefani.

And then, there’s the marketing. “Wasted,” the sicky-sweet Meredith Brooks channeling Sarah McLachlan single – with it’s double-entendre lyrics that equate getting high with falling in love, and a video that plays off the public’s current fascination with lesbian chic – seems destined for a decent shot at “song of this Summer.”

L.P. has what it takes, including an almost preternaturally fetching lip curl (that she employs just enough to let you know she’s hip to its pull), and a great band that she says were “willing to work for twenty dollars and a pat on the ass.”

Now, if she can just keep her distance from Linda Perry (who’s gotta be hot to turn her into Pink with a guitar), she might be able to live through this. Make the show if you want to know what everyone will have in their iPods eight weeks from now. Fri., The Jinx.


This Miami-area band mines the same vein as hordes of similar groups from their neck of the woods: emotional and melodic hardcore delivered with plenty of bombast, distortion and frenetic energy.

Yet, there’s a certain giddiness that some reviewers have noted which helps to set them apart from the pack.

Not nearly as dark and morose as many of their peers, Glasseater (despite the name) at times seem downright happy to be blowing off this much steam. They formed in 1998, and their last CD bowed on the respected Victory Records label. Also appearing on this ALL AGES bill are Victory labelmates Hawthorne Heights, St. Louis emo-core group Calico System, and regional metal band Version2point0. Sun., 7 pm, Teaser’s Café.

Amps II Eleven

These guys say their hard-drinking, hashed-out blasts of pre-punk embody the “long nights and short tempers” of Cleveland’s everymen.

Released by the hard-to-go-wrong-with indie label Smog Veil (home to Cleveland’s seminal – and recently resurrected – proto-punks Rocket From The Tombs), it’s filled with fist-pumping anthems with titles like “Blood Runs Black” and “Jesus Hates Cleveland,” (a sly nod to an obscure Iggy Pop/James Williamson cut).

The group wisely admits to copping licks and looks from such influences as The Hellacopters, Grand Funk and Motorhead, but there’s plenty of Destroy All Monsters in their trick bag as well.

Hell, any band that lays it down like their van could crash later on that night, and has the balls to ditch Uriah, and simply call ‘em “the Heep,” gets plenty of points in my book.

If you dig Wayne Kramer’s solo stuff or The Streetwalkin’ Cheetahs before they pussed out and went soft (?), you’ll show up and buy these guys a round of whatever they want. Thurs., The Jinx.