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Chris DeSalvo
Chris De Salvo hovers just below six feet tall. He's fairly certain Frank Zappa was overrated, Guided By Voices never got their due, and Alaska should be considered neither a state, nor a Province. Since attending the University of Iowa, and managing to convince the school to grant him a B.A. in English (with a Minor in Journalism), Chris has perpetually underachieved in much the same way as a slew of relatively intelligent twenty-somethings with too little ambition to match their omnipresent wittiness, or natural pluck have.
There is a considerable amount of information De Salvo has attained throughout his impressive pursuit of mediocrity, and much of it has assisted him in his journey to successfully cross-examine the phenomenon of popular culture. He wonders why art-rock is so respected, and why nobody dances at concerts anymore. It's difficult to justifiably assert why either issue matters in the grand scheme of things, but De Salvo doesn't care--These are topics he deems worthy of run-on-sentence-laden dissertations (of the journalistic variety), or full blown (beer-fueled) conversation.
If you have any questions regarding DeSalvo's credibility as a writer, dial him up at Consequence of Sound, or check out the following websites:
TheScoreCardReview.com
chicagosportsslant.blogspot.com
Articles by Chris DeSalvo
Break Yo' TV: Dead Man's Bones - "In The Room Where You Sleep"
There's something about great actors who long to be rock stars that sits about as three-day-old bread.
Grand Duchy fizzles out at Wicker Fest (7/24)
This is a quaint, ambitious new band that never reaches for the sonic heights The Pixies found, but still forces us to consider dancing amongst like-minded indie rockers. Sadly, this is only the case in subtle doses, and much of their haphazardly choreographed set left most in attendance either a.) wanting more, or b.) glad the band didn't bother trying.
Album Review: The Dead Weather - Horehound
An enigmatic, original album that sounds as weird as its cast members would look sitting court side at a Bull's game.
Listen: A Lull
You can’t fake sincerity when so many want to join your pledge. Chicago’s own A Lull deploy a serious serving of devout songs that beg for further examination. They’re simply so textured with luminous consecration to sonic beauty it’s a wonder one wouldn’t require numerous listens right out of the gate.
Album Review: Elvis Costello - Secret, Profane & Sugarcane
Let's just say, "...it would be in his best interest to not wander this far off the beaten path again."
Album Review: Eels - Hombre Lobo
Eels' frontman Mark Oliver Everett is self-aware. His intimate sentiments are heart-on-your-sleeve homage to how little he values self-worth, opting to render his listeners devastated by constantly reminding them it’s what he lacks that brings them in. He has one significant problem: Each album of his contains a gamete of solid songs, but the whole thing altogether sounds like a 45-minute identity crisis between an aging hipster and the youthful emo-minded angst monger within. His latest effort, Hombre Lobo, is no different.
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