{Originally published on URChicago.com}

The Dutchess and the Duke certainly hold no pretenses about mingling with the peasant folk. With close to half of the audience seated on the floor around them, Dutchess (Kimberly Morrison) and Duke (Jesse Lortz) eluded the spotlight of the stage and instead chose to meander – unplugged – around the limbs and pint glasses of their guests under dim house-lights. Joined by a percussionist utilizing an upside-down plastic trashcan (with trashbag still lining the insides), an emptied cardboard box, tambourine, and bells wrapped around one ankle, this was truly a unique performance that carried with it some subtle, unexplained weight that what we were witnessing was important.

Though they’d worked on other projects in separate bands previously, Lortz and Morrison released their debut album together as The Dutchess and The Duke (She’s the Dutchess, He’s the Duke) on Hardly Art just two short months ago. Already the Seattle-based duo have rightly earned their share of blogosphere buzz, aided in part by opening several shows this summer for Internet darlings (and fellow Seattleites), Fleet Foxes. She’s the Dutchess, He’s the Duke is a brief but potent 31 minutes of vintage bluesy-folk – or maybe folksy-blues – recalling Leonard Cohen, The Animals or early Rolling Stones. In fact, Lortz’s vocals when heightened in pitch on “Strangers” are strikingly similar to a young Mick Jagger.

Though the album is electric folk at its modern best, the acoustic set at Schubas seemed appropriate nevertheless. Lyrically, the majority of tracks are heart-wrenching ballads of loves lost, loneliness and despair, pulled back from the brink by the company of Morrison’s harmonizing. The warm setting provided by a venue like Schubas is rather ideal, then, and the band seemed loose and spontaneous. Several of the tracks could have benefited from amplification, and it would be interesting to witness a rock ‘n’ roll version of the performance, but overall the intentions of this pared-down style were made clear in sheer intimacy.

Halfway through the set they hit their stride performing back-to-back “Mary” and “Reservoir Park”, the tracks from the original EP that made people take notice in the first place. The real highlight came towards the end, though, with “I Am Just a Ghost”. Unfettered by the shackles of electronic chords and cables and microphone levels, the Duke set his vocal talents free, belting out the pleas and apologies of sincere experience.

What was strange throughout the night, however, was the between-song banter between bandmates. As raw as their art itself, discussions covered belching, farting, puking, and animals at the Lincoln Park Zoo. The strict contrast between this repartee and the sad beauty of each song was a jolting contradiction, suggesting perhaps a discomfort with their own talent. Or maybe the contraposition was intentional to keep the mood light and airy; supposing the conversations were as heavy as the songs themselves the gravity of the evening would have certainly been much more to bear.

What remained, though, was a solid performance from a pair of up-and-coming artists with immense talent. Even unplugged The Dutchess and The Duke have tapped into that current of electricity that once made rock music a life-changing experience. Hopefully they can keep it flowing.

Setlist:
“Back to Me”
“Out of Time”
“Ship Made of Stone”
“Strangers”
“Mary”
“Reservoir Park”
“Scorpio”
“The Prisoner”
“You Can Tell the Truth, Now”
“I Am Just a Ghost”
“Armageddon Song”

-Jason Horine

{Originally published on URChicago.com}

I walked the seven blocks to the Metro in the drizzling rain, the kind of sprinkling rain too light to justify an umbrella but heavy enough to soak the tops of your shoulders and cuffs of your trousers. The lights of the city at night blurred and refracted through my rain-dropped eyeglass lenses, already struggling to do their job thanks to the Knob Creek and ginger ale cocktails that accompanied my dinner. As the fractured brilliance of the marquee read, The Walkmen were performing tonight, and it seemed only appropriate that I should be as soaked – in rain or in whiskey – as their booze-addled songs are.

I knew after ordering my first Jack and Coke that this seven-dollar single-shot would not do. By the time opening act – bohemian gypsy rockers, Golem – finished their raucous set, I had found my spot at the front of the balcony and was ordering a second drink. For three dollars more I received a cup twice as large but burned with what must’ve been three times as much whiskey. The house lights dimmed and the Walkmen took the stage, ready to prove (among other things) that they were undoubtedly the best band in the world to listen to while getting drunk on whiskey.

Single shafts of light backlit Paul Maroon, hunched over his vintage Gibson, and Hamilton Leithauser, standing stoically behind the mike stand, as the minimalism of “New Country” opened the evening slowly, simply and significantly. Drummer Matt Barrick, bassist Walter Martin, and keyboardist Peter Bauer joined in for the Ennio Morricone vibe of “Postcards from Tiny Islands” next, and the packed house came to life. The Walkmen really hit their stride with breakout hit from recent release You & Me, “In the New Year”. When Leithauser wails “I never hear the bad news/and I never will/we won by a landslide/our troubles are over”, I wonder if he’s ordering from the same bartender as me.

The initial hour of the set was filled primarily with tracks from You & Me, briefly disjoined by “Thinking of a Dream” and “Wake Up”.  Something becomes self-evident during this stretch: Hamilton Leithauser would drive vocal coaches to the brink of insanity. His lilting, swinging delivery carries with it the dizzying ups and downs of the town drunk telling far-fetched tales too abstract to believe, too earnest to ignore. When he lets loose with his ululating howls he remains pitch-perfect, no different on stage than in the studio. At heart, though, he’s a crooner, some strange hybrid of Bob Dylan and Frank Sinatra. Leithauser holds no restraint on “The Rat”, but the sound is utterly natural, his vocal cords never seem strained, never a fear of polyps or injuries that plagued those progenitors.

I struggle mentally, listening to “What’s In It For Me”, wishing for more ice in my glass, trying to determine if there is, or has ever been, a better whiskey-drinking song. My fellow concert-goers have no answer for me aside from bemused glances on that front. “I Lost You” and “The Blue Route” showcase the unique percussive talents of Matt Barrick, utilizing maracas, guiros, and rim shots that make for world and jazz beats. The Mexicali blues of “Louisiana” have me wondering if I’ve been drinking tequila all along, rather than my whiskey.

When the Walkmen resume their places on stage for the three-song encore, I finish the remaining gulp like it’s the last spoonful of medicine before bed, and there’s no need for sugar to help it go down. This performance has been enough to do the trick. Leithauser and Co. have gotten me sufficiently intoxicated. As they finish the night with B-side “Fly Into the Mystery”, my head swims and my heart swells, eager to take on the unknown. I stepped back out into the rain-soaked night and started walking.

Setlist:

-Jason Horine

LANGHORNE SLIM TRANSLATES A VINTAGE SOUND

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So much of Langhorne Slim seems at first to be a throwback to the very genesis of American music. His name alone brings to mind the sepia-toned image of depression-era radio when artists with names like Scrappy Lambert and Memphis Minnie ruled the airwaves (born Sean Scolnick, Slim took the name of the Langhorne, Pennsylvania town where he grew up). He dresses the part as well, specifically with the ever-present bowler on his head. And his music – a harmonious blend of folk, soul, blues, and rock – contains within it the energy and essence of those that came before. Even his live show recalls the spirit of a tent revival in a dusty Appalachian town.

More than a nod to artists of yore, though, Slim evokes the sounds of yesteryear while simultaneously advancing old-timey music to a post-contemporary landscape. After a critically acclaimed solo debut (When the Sun’s Gone Down), he now brings his brand of Americana to Kemado Records along with band-mates, The War Eagles (Paul Defiglia, on upright bass, and Malachi DeLorenzo on drums). Produced by Josh Ritter keyboardist, Sam Kassirer, Langhorne Slim & the War Eagles is, in Slim’s words, “our most comfortable, cohesive and soul-shaking music to date”.

A slight departure from the 2005 debut, the banjo-laded ditties have been shelved a bit in favor of lush piano and string-instrument orchestrations, resulting in a more immediate and accessible sound sure to draw a wider audience. With a recent appearance performing the soul-shaking single, “Restless”, on Late Show with David Letterman, this folk-pop sound is drawing some well-deserved national attention. “My hope is that you get better with age,” Slim says. “It’s a constant path to find your voice and to express what you’re doing as truthful and bad-ass as possible. I’m on my way, but I’ve got a long way to go.”

Though Slim is looking forward, the ghosts of his apparent influences haunt the latest release. The undulating boot-stomp of The Pogues, the bittersweet soul of Ray Charles, and the country-twanged folk of Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger are all felt at various points. At the core, though, is the element that is likely what gives the music such a timeless feel: these are love songs. Despite any association between folk music and politics, Slim draws the comparison, but also draws the line: “For now,” he says, “I deal in the politics of love”.

-JASON HORINE

[Click image to enlarge]

FEB 29: THE HIVES ROCK THE RIV

photo by Jason Horine

Youth is alive and well in this country. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. The pure energy, vigor, rage, and spirit have not yet been consumed by complacency, and for this we should be grateful. Adolescence is a time of rights and wrongs, dos and don’ts, all or nothing – and perhaps it’s this duality that drives the vitality of young life. Maybe the album title for the latest release from The Hives, The Black and White Album, is not intentionally referring to this particular paradox, but their sound is certainly a fitting background score.

When the Swedish quintet took the stage Friday night at The Riviera Theater, the packed house of sweating, undulating, violent youth consumed every power chord, howl, and scissor-kick. With their punk rock sound more refined than ever (and black and white outfits pristine as always), The Hives were simultaneously precise and frenetic, volatile and predictable, and came off as true rock veterans.

Lead singer, Howlin’ Pelle Almqvist carries the most magnetism, doing his best Mick Jagger struts and pouts and hip-pops, demanding noise and applause from his audience like an attention-starved child. In return, he provides plenty of reason for a vibrant reaction, and the band’s connectivity with the crowd is inspiring. Even his English-as-a-second-language between-song-banter is pure rock ‘n roll: “It is quite possible,” Almqvist proposes midway through their set, “that this is the best Hives show in the history of the world.”

Opening with “Hey Little World” and “Try It Again” from their latest album, it was Almqvist and lead guitarist, Nicholaus Arson, that really set the tempo. Spending time in Oxford, Mississippi, recording Black and White appeared to have rubbed off on Howlin’ Pelle, lending even more justification to his nickname, as he often sounded like a southern bluesman trapped in 130 pounds of skinny Swede. Arson was just as compelling, thrashing through each song postured in classic rock stance or tip-toeing the edge of the outreached fan fingertips.

Along with Dr. Matt Destruction (bass), Vigilante Carlstroem (guitars), and Chris Dangerous (drums) – who generally stayed to the background letting Almqvist and Arson shine brightest – The Hives worked their way through several tracks from Tyrannosaurus Hives, but really lit The Riv up at the halfway mark; truly in top form, they nailed crowd fave “Hate To Say I Told You So”, reminding us why so much hype surrounded the band several years ago.

Unfortunately, there is a reason that punk rock songs tend to be no longer than three minutes long. The repetition and simplicity that defines the genre can also be a limitation, so when a set lasts longer than the normal 35 to 45 minutes that constitutes a typical album, the final few songs tend to feel a lot less fun. The band certainly maintained a high level of energy throughout, and the moshing and crowd surfing never seemed to wane, but when latest single, “Tick Tick Boom” – a romping wall of guitars and vocals that is inherently a great single – begins to sound strikingly similar to “Hate To Say I Told You So”, it’s time to wrap things up. Fortunately, that’s just what The Hives did.

Opening the night were veteran rockers, The Donnas. Their watered-down punk-meets-glam rock was fun ten years ago when the novelty of an all-girl rock group was appealing. The only real remaining talent seemed to be with guitarist Allison Robertson’s face-melting solos. Unfortunately, she was relegated to second billing, while the tight jeans and hair-and-make-up of lead vocalist, Brett Anderson, took center stage.

-Jason Horine

photo by Jason Horine

THESE UNITED STATES MAKES PATRIOTS OF US ALL

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Once upon a time, America was a place of great optimism, hope, and spirit. We cynics tend to forget this notion, especially given our current state of affairs. Then something comes along – perhaps something musical – that in some way reminds us why our young country still inspires such sincere aspiration to so many envisioning their own Dream.

The aptly named These United States, is pure Americana. Their sound is a veritable melting pot of genres that boggles the pigeon-holing minds of music critics (is it folk? Alt-country? Jangle-pop?). Their whirlwind tour includes 33 shows over 38 days, and encompasses all 3,000 miles of purple mountain majesty and waving amber grains. And the band itself is a group of troubadours who have settled in the nation’s capitol.

Ringleader of These US is Jesse Elliott, singer/songwriter/poet and blogger. Lyrically, Elliott has already drawn justifiable comparisons to Bob Dylan and Paul Simon. But through the band’s Myspace page (http://myspace.com/theseunited) and blog (http://theseus.tumblr.com), he combines the stream-of-consciousness ramblings of Kerouac, the playfulness with language of ee cummings, and the disregard for the Queen’s English of a 13-year-old text-messager. Joining Elliott on tour and in recording their debut album, A Picture of the Three of Us At the Gate to the Garden of Eden, are Tom Hnatow, Robby Cosenza, and producer, David Strackany (aka Paleo). A most promising debut, they seamlessly slip from chamber pop to Appalachian stomp, anthemic sing-along to ardent love song.

Their current U.S. tour is unique in that they will be performing the 33 shows with 33 different backing bands, so to speak. Although, “backing band” isn’t the appropriate verbiage, as each act is not only on the same bill, but also performing with These US. Fortunately, maintaining consistency is hardly a concern; Elliott explains the idea “actually sprouts mostly from a disdain for consistency”.

What is assured is a singular performance each night for fans and the band alike. “We want them to leave with some new tiny polished button or ragged shore rock in the pocket of their mind,” Elliott says. “For ourselves, our minds’re filled up and over and ever by all the folks we meet along the way. It seems like a just trade. Information, communication, art, love, death, empathy – all were meant to be free; so here we are, just doing our small part to let one tiny yellow bird out of a cage every day!”

-JASON HORINE

{Read more about Jesse Elliott and These United States here on The middleCoast}

GREEN APPLE FESTIVAL CELEBRATES EARTH DAY

In the clear Spring sky, the sun shone brightly on the majestic lion. As he stretched and sunned himself on the perfectly placed boulder, lazily glancing at his surroundings, I found myself wondering if this king had any awareness of what had become of his kingdom. I’m often conflicted at zoos. On the one hand is the feeling of pity for the displaced animals relegated to their makeshift habitats, and mild indignation at humanity for creating such a façade. On the other is the knowledge that this lion could instead be starving to death in its natural setting, or facing death at the hands of a poacher, so perhaps the zoo may very well be the ideal kingdom after all.

This particular dichotomy is not all that uncommon, to be sure, but it was likely overlooked on Sunday, April 20th, at Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago. Though the lions were relegated to the background, the zoo was an appropriate setting for the third annual Green Apple Festival. Together with the Earth Day Network they presented a free day of music and eco-awareness exhibits as part of a national, eight-city push to draw attention to climate change and the human impact on the environment. Speakers included freshly-shaven Bears QB, Kyle Orton, a few corporate sponsors, and Senator Dick Durbin, a staunch environmental activist who gave a rousing speech displaying his passion for the topic. Musicians included Meshell Ndegeocello, Dirty Dozen Brass Band, and headliners Three (comprised of Grateful Dead drummer, Bill Kreutzmann, Allman Brothers bassist, Oteil Burbridge, and Max Creek guitarist, Scott Murawski).

Given the combination of an outdoor Earth Day festival and live performances from jam bands (not to mention the date conveniently being 4/20), the crowd was comprised primarily of…hmmm…what’s the word? Oh, right: hippies. Our friend the lion had a clear view of tie-dyed tees, white kids with dreadlocks, and hacky-sackers, all noodling for the Earth, and a whiff of the crisp, late-April air was filled with patchouli, body odor, and other recognizable scents associated with hippies and the aforementioned date. Unsuspecting zoo-goers gingerly steered their strollers through the crowd, and headed to less perilous territories such as the Lion House or the Bear Habitat.

Wondering among the festival’s exhibits I was incessantly handed flyers promoting products or events designed to fight climate change. Wisely, most were made from recycled paper; Chase Bank definitely won the award for greenest flyer, as the entire thing was manufactured from seeds – in fact, it came with instructions to plant the card in soil and watch its wildflowers bloom. Unfortunately, despite the sponsors being clever enough to at least display the “printed-on-recycled-paper” logos on their flyers, many ended up strewn along the ground. And the zoo itself continued to sell water in plastic bottles, and trashcans were far more accessible than recycling containers.

This new paradox sits rather nicely next to my earlier dichotomy. As I cynically sift through my collection of business cards and flyers (not to mention my 14 laser-printed pages of press material), I have hope that the other attendees will also recycle or reuse. I have hope that zoo groundskeepers sorted the litter that remained, rather than dumping it all into the same trashcan. I have hope that the call for change not only rang true, but also inspired people to action. I have hope that my skepticism for the corporate sponsors is unfounded. And I have hope that the lion’s kingdom can be saved by the same human hands that have been pushing it towards extinction.

-Jason Horine

The Whigs Will Get You Wasted On Their Southern Indie Sound

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Like the classic cocktail you always order when not sure what else to drink, the chemistry of rock ‘n’ roll is a simple concoction: equal parts guitars, drums, bass and vocals. Sure, you can add a splash of this or that and end up with some newfangled martini, but nobody likes a hangover. More often than not, stick with the basics to have the most fun. Following that formula, southern garage-rockers, The Whigs, offer intoxication without the hangover.

The first major-label release from the Athens, Georgia-based trio, Mission Control (ATO Records), dropped in January to much critical acclaim. Geography isn’t the only reason they’ve drawn favorable comparisons to labelmates My Morning Jacket and hometown neighbors Drive-By Truckers: The resonant guitar twangs and drum thumps of instant classic “Right Hand On My Heart” certainly justify the tag “Southern.” Meanwhile, singer/guitarist Parker Gispert’s strident growl recalls ’80s indie rock and ’90s Seattle grunge, , as a track like “Production City” brings The Replacements to mind. Bassist, Tim Deaux, does his best to keep each track simultaneously crisp and raw, and the Keith Moon-meets-Animal drumming of Julian Dorio begs to be set loose onstage.

While the album displays the band’s classic rock talent, it’s the live show that Dorio says they thrive on. “For us, the live stage is everything we focus on when we’re putting songs together. There’s nothing more revealing than the stage.” With Lollapalooza as one of the last stops on a world tour, The Whigs are sure to serve up an inebriating rock ‘n’ roll libation.

-JASON HORINE

Tricky
Knowle West Boy
Domino, September 9
Rating: 3.0/5.0

In 1997, still reeling from the acclaim of his seminal debut, Tricky performed on a pitch-black stage, the only source of light coming from the burning ember of the enormous blunt securely wedged between two fingers, barely illuminating his face. The ambiance was appropriate for the weed smoke-soaked blues that came to be known as trip-hop, and later translated into grime. Eleven years later, Tricky is still trying to reach the bar he set so high with Maxinquaye. His latest release, Knowle West Boy, is replete with intimate tales (“Past Mistake”) and misplaced nostalgia (“School Gates”) over an amalgamation of dancehall reggae (which bores), electro punk (which fails), and saturated beats (which remind why he’s still relevant). As always, it’s on those tracks – when Tricky inhabits the dark, smoke-filled corridors – he truly shines brightest.
-Jason Horine

The Silent Years
The Globe
First Date, August 12
Rating: 4.5/5.0

Start to finish, the sophomore release from indie pop-rockers The Silent Years is cohesive, concise, and complete. Awash in luxuriant sonic landscapes aided by producer Chris Coady (Grizzly Bear, TV on the Radio, Blonde Redhead), The Globe is the rare album that is simultaneously immediate and timeless. What sounds so right the first time you hear it sounds even better the 50th time. Hailing from Detroit, The Silent Years are no Rock City garage band, more likely honing their craft in the attic or on the roof. Their songs reach gloriously upward, and The Globe progresses in that direction with shades of a concept album. The dense compositions are themselves grand assertions, and Josh Epstein’s lyrics and vocals follow suit. The album title is the metaphor at play, a symbol of scale in each direction, and the songs shift naturally from the microscopic to the universal.
-Jason Horine

Wild Sweet Orange
We Have Cause to Be Uneasy
Canvasback Music, July 15
Rating: 2.5/5.0

Wild Sweet Orange make some beautifully melancholic and wistfully nostalgic pop rock. Unfortunately, only half the Alabama quartet’s debut, We Have Cause to Be Uneasy, is made up of songs fitting that description. The remainder primarily comprises rather whiny power-pop tracks sounding similar (due mostly to Preston Lovinggood’s vocals) to Coldplay knock-offs. Ultimately, Uneasy actually has a rather easy, cinematic temperament befitting Grey’s Anatomy or a Zach Braff project. Opener “Ten Dead Dogs” has been the claim to fame, and with good reason. Additional songs “Sour Milk” and “An Atlas to Follow” establish just how talented Lovinggood and Co. are at making bittersweet and intimate heart-wrenchers. But where Okkervil River and Death Cab for Cutie succeed in creating emotive and cerebral dream-pop with elegance, half of Uneasy comes off as emo for frat boys.
-Jason Horine

The Saturday Knights
Mingle
Light in the Attic Records, July 24
Rating: 2.5/5.0

The confluence of rap and rock tends to have a negative connotation lately. Done properly, however, and that first genre-melding collaboration between Aerosmith and Run-DMC leaves an appropriately positive legacy. Seattle party-rappers, The Saturday Knights, make their attempt to successfully mix rap and rock on their aptly-named debut, Mingle. As DJ Suspence playfully mixes skater punk, surf jams, and classic rock, Barfly and Tilson refreshingly rhyme about elbow patches and girls they meet at the dog park. A few tracks – “45”, “Count It Off”, “Motorin’” – skillfully fuse the necessary hooks and beats to prove their worth, but unfortunately Suspence is a tad too liberal with the mixture, and the album comes off as a bit schizophrenic. A promising debut, but the Knights could benefit from narrowing down just how much they mingle if they want to build their own legacy.
-Jason Horine

Cassettes Won’t Listen
Small-Time Machine
Self-released, March 11th
Rating: 3.0 / 5.0

Promise and anticipation can damage an album. Such is the case with Small-Time Machine, the first physical release from Cassettes Won’t Listen (né: Jason Drake). The hip-hop- and breakbeat-infused electro-pop of 2006 EP The Quiet Trial, along with tracks crafted through the moniker CWL (remixing El-P, covering Pavement), established Drake in the company of James Murphy or DJ Shadow. Machine, though, seems an attempt to match the success Murphy had with Sound of Silver – transforming LCD Soundsystem from a dance-punk romp into an earnest and developed brand of songwriting. Unfortunately for Drake, angst-ridden lyrics of naïve romance and bittersweet escapism weigh down the dance-pop grooves and complex layering of electronic beats, bass lines, and riffs that otherwise make the album inherently enjoyable. But with vocals reminiscent of Ben Gibbard, the album recalls The Postal Service – pretty pop without depth – rather than Silver’s skillful compositions.
-Jason Horine

Sons and Daughters
This Gift
Domino Records; January 29th
Rating 3.5 / 5.0

Johnny Marr enthusiasts should delight in This Gift, the latest release from Scottish quartet, Sons and Daughters. Producer Bernard Butler even broke out Marr’s Gibson 335 12-string for guitarist/vocalist Scott Paterson, and tinges of The Smiths’ influence (minus Morrissey’s crooning) is evident throughout. While the swing-and-stomp swagger of 2005’s, The Repulsion Box, still exists in the jangle pop of “Chains” and “The Bell”, Butler scales back the rockabilly-via-Glasgow sound in favor of power-pop anthems. Paterson now fills the role of backup vocalist to the controlled chaos of Adele Bethel’s lead. Fans of their vocal interplay still get their fill, but Bethel leads the charge on this go-round, commanding attention like Karen O or Beth Ditto on tracks “Iodine” and “Flags”. But it’s the driving fury of opener, “Guilt Complex”, that embodies the romping tone of this spirited and cultivated collection.
-Jason Horine

While there are truly some fresh and creative band names out there, some of you struggle mightily with the all-important task of naming your band (we’re looking in your general direction, Puddle of Mudd). No worries, though, as we at middleCoast are here to help. Just follow one or more of these simple guidelines and you’ll be opening for Puddle of Mudd in no time.

Rule #1. “Definite Article + Plural Noun”

See: The Beatles, The Kinks, The Strokes, The Shins, The Roots

How-To: This one’s by far the easiest for all you stoner rockers out there too lazy to get creative. Simply look around the room, pick out an object, and make it plural. For example, some band names to be made from mC offfices: The Chairs, The Steps, The Speakers, The Mugs, The Mints. Get it?

Warnings:
1) Be sure to utilize Google to make sure other stoner rockers haven’t already come up with your new band name.
2) Make sure you’re in the right room before using this trick, as The Bongs, The Ashtrays, and The Shitstains do not make for high quality band names.

Variations:
1) “Definite Article + Adjective + Plural Noun”
Taking Rule #1 to the next logical step so as to appear literate/less-stoned, add an adjective (that part of speech which describes a noun). Simple colors usually do the trick, as do any of the following words: Dirty, Flaming, or Heavy.
2) “Definite Article + Plural Noun-That-Doesn’t-End-In-An-S”
See: The Who, The National, The Knife (for intermediate and advanced Rockers only).
Rule #2. “Flip & Point Method”

See: Pixies, Pretty Girls Make Graves, The Fall, Modest Mouse, Steely Dan

How To: Another relatively easy method for picking your band name is to simply open a book, flip to a random page, and blindly point to a spot on the page; then combine the combination of words already there into a tantalizing band name. Beat writers work especially well for this, as do religious works of fiction, such as The Bible.

Proof: We will now randomly flip through opening pages of our favorite pieces of literature to come up with 5 brilliant band names….
1) “Other Levels of Madness”, from page 4 of On The Road
2) “Uniformed Dwarf”, from page 6 of Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas
3) “The Korova Milkbar”, from page 1 of A Clockwork Orange
4) “Blood Heat”, from page 5 of A Brave New World
5) “The Accident Will”, from page 2 of Slaughterhouse Five

Yes, it’s just that simple.

Rule #3. “The Obscure-Pop-Culture-Reference”

See: At the Drive-In, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, The Futureheads, Fujiya & Miyagi, Radiohead

How To: Perhaps your band has a major influence, or at least an aspiration of an influence. Use this influence and steal obscure references at will. Similar to the Flip & Point Method, but here we assume that you have at least some passing interest in the piece of culture to which you’re referring. It makes little difference, really, if the reference is to something high-brow (Radiohead is a reference to the Talking Heads song; BMRC a reference to the Marlon Brando biker gang in The Wild One) or to something low-brow (At the Drive-In take their name from the classic Poison song, Talk Dirty To Me; and yes – the Miyagi in Fujiya & Miyagi does in fact refer to the late great Pat Morita character). So think of your favorite band, song, or movie and pick out a really random portion of it that no one will catch until they’re researching your backstory on Wikipedia for an overwrought blog posting.

So there you have it – if you can’t come up with a killer band name now then you should just hang up the axe and go back to listening to your Puddle of Mudd CD. So good luck, and keep rawking.