By the Life & Art staff

The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker
**
Console: GameCube
Rated: E for elves, epic-size, umm…Easter eggs

Over the last four days, I’ve been playing The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker for approximately 30 hours. It beats the hell out of studying for physics and eating Asswells, but the game is not good. First off, just like last month’s Metroid Prime, this mini-disc creeps up on you like an addiction to heroin, which is scary but fun in a thumb-or-die sort of way. Feeling like the Lou Reed of Nintendo quickly dissolves, however, upon realizing that unlike the NES’ Legend of Zelda, its Internet-debated sequel, and the Super NES’ A Link to the Past, this time you’re not poking monsters on a hyper-quest of romance. Let the nerds declare my review vulnerable for viruses…
“0010101010100! What about ye ol’ N64 masterpieces, The Ocarina of Time and Majora’s Mask? Those sequels surpassed thy blessed original and appealed to all ages. 01010.” Yes, the nerds have a relevant argument, but that is when the Zelda franchise began to feel more like a Disney film. Unlike 64-bit updates on Donkey Kong or Castlevania, joysticking The Ocarina of Time made you feel like an after-school pedophile. The Wind Waker is even weirder.
Besides a plot that drags like Twisted Sister, there are too many suspect mini-games. Before you can “advance,” you have to advise a gang of kids not to harass their school teacher, play hide-and-go-seek with them, and perform acupuncture on a fish by shooting arrows at him as he jumps out of water. Unlike previous entries, this game lacks confrontations with difficult enemies (and probably registers with the FBI when you rent it). Of course, the graphics are killer and the rotating angles are smooth, but it’s for a 128-bit system. It’s exactly like playing inside Aladdin – lots of trippy smoke and water. Whoa. Dude. Wait a second…
This seems to be a trend among recent video games – they start to dominate your life and try to suck you into some endless biodome where a pixilated Pauly Shore is the secret reward. Maybe if the villagers in this game actually talked, but all they do is mumble elf-speak and way-long text. Remember those elf statues you’d see in cigar stores in the mall, with a stupid tree coin glued to them? People would buy one every month for $50 and go home and sit it on a table, and what…whisper to it? After playing The Wind Waker for 30 hours, I can relate to those people. They’re now my best friends. Take that as you wish fellow player.

– Willis Joyner

Game Boy Advance SP
****
Console: duh
Rated: n/a
Rated (fake): F for free Game Boy

Before Nintendo mailed me this luxx Game Boy Advance SP to review, I considered Game Boy to be the Heather Graham of portable gaming consoles – it should have retired a long time ago, but top execs still enjoy pushing its buttons.
That’s a cheap observation, but (unlike basketball and boxing) when it comes to video games, I prefer the underdog systems – in this case, the Atari Lynx and NEC’s Turbo Express (Game Gear deserved its fate). The Lynx (for nerds: Lynx Classic) was an oblong device with a color screen sold only in sleek black with speakers that hit harder than clock radios. Americans were privy to this technology in 1989, yet few people seem to remember the Lynx – only the Game Boy. In middle school, I’d bring the Lynx and blast California Games (so much better than NES’) while everyone else was playing Kirby Puzzle Magic IV. It was the digital equivalent to showering after gym in reverse.
If Lynx was Flight of the Navigator, Turbo Express was Tron. Released in 1991, the GB-sized Turbo Express was a color portable as well, but unlike the Lynx, it served as a mini-TV and only played games for its parent home console, yes, the TurboGrafx 16 – arguably the “raddest” system ever sold at Toys R Us (reverse the R). But TE didn’t have Tetris, so American kids weren’t feeling it, so their parents never realized they’d be hitting two birds with one stone game-wise. Turbo Express quickly followed its mascot, Bonk, into pre-mature extinction – leaving Game Boy to thrive and evolve.
Nearly ten years after Lynx, Game Boy went color (sort of) with…Game Boy Color. It shared a strange resemblance to finger paint, so I never touched it. Game Boy Advance followed, stretching the original shape horizontally, into a Lynx-like design. For GBA, Nintendo went all out with the advertising, producing chic and subtle commercials aimed at adults, in which various games intermixed with reality in taboo settings like a cathedral. Personally, I never played the GBA, the main turnoff being its clunky size. Obviously Nintendo disliked this as well, because the new Game Boy Advance SP is, when unfolded, close to the size of a T-Mobile Sidekick. The simple design is quite nifty – as if I’m carrying around a high-tech calculator or mini-scale – and the “Platinum” color (also in “Cobalt”) is modernized, according to the online press kit, for the BET “Spring Bling” demographic. In other words, it’s the perfect gadget for a new Busta Rhymes video.
The only game available for this review was Golden Sun, a Final Fantasy-like RPG with an entire world packed into a cartridge half the size of one for the original Game Boy. A few minutes into Golden Sun a thunderstorm erupts and thousands of raindrops splash down onto a grassy mountain terrain. The graphics are concentrated and stunning. The game’s sequel, Golden Sun: The Lost Age was just released and literally picks up where this one ends, advancing characters from one cartridge to the next. Damn. Portable video games are reaching fresh levels of complexity and demanding higher levels of investment. Capitalizing on home console compatibility (sound familiar?), both Game Boy Advances connect to the GameCube via a wire (sold separately). This enables access to minor secrets, codes and things – seemingly for the hardcore gamer.
When the rubbery power-switch is pushed forth, there’s a nostalgic, generational impulse to hop in the back of a van and go on a road trip. But exams are coming up, so that’s not possible. Instead, I now possess a window into a tiny village with shivering little people on my desk next to a stack of textbooks. Hours of gaming aside, Game Boy Advance SP is a quite a stress reliever.

– Hunter Stephenson

Tenchu: The Wrath of Heaven
***1/2
Console: PS2
Rated: M for midnight killings and major
ninja badassery

If you played the first Tenchu for PS1 (Tenchu: Stealth Assassins) then maybe you’ll have a better right-out-of-the-box feel for this than I did. After a few attempts at getting the controls down I got a little sucked in; until I realized – I’m not quite the ninja I should be.
This game’s missions are intricate, so you have to put reality on hold for hours. Under an Eastern moon of death you silently creep along the roofs of enemy lodgings, until arghhhhh, you hop down and decapitate deadly wise men. Similar to Metal Gear Solid, it’s key to stay on the low, and in this case when you end a life unnoticed, a blood red “stealth kill” symbol pops up. During a kill, the graphics are shockingly realistic, prompting our “guy who lives on the couch” to mumble out “this game is pretty brutal.” Yep. Even more interesting is the fact that watching people play Tenchu: The Wrath of Heaven is more appealing than playing a game of pool.
The multi-player mode allows for nice specialized-mission team ups, and also offers the chance to pit players against one another. The game is completely thorough and overwhelmingly vast (I got lost every minute or so on the third mission) but makes for a legitimate challenge, even on the normal difficulty setting. Do not rent The Wrath of Heaven unless you’re a 10-year-old who patrons the “death match” club/shop at Sunset Place.
So, I’d go to Virgin and buy this disc with the new Little Brother CD (Tenchu’s music doesn’t do the trick). Live by that code and you’re set.

– Sven Barth

The Life & Art staff is busy playing newer product.

Ah yes, the Slackers. It seems like only six years ago when we were in middle school, listening to bands on Epitaph records. Tim Armstrong wasn’t in a rap-punk band (anarchy dawg!) and Voodoo Glow Skulls were busy wrestling with “Fat Randy.” But the Slackers, hey mon, they still have the flavor no matter what label their ska sound is distributed on. They performed at Churchill’s last Sunday.

Aside from his alleged masturbation in a porno theatre and his reported possession of child pornography, Paul Reubens was one of the coolest men in many of our lives back in the late ’80s and early ’90s. We’d wake up early each Saturday morning in hopes of catching our favorite cartoon shows and the infamous “Pee Wee’s Playhouse.” Who would have ever thought that Pee Wee’s theme song was actually created by the lead singer of Devo, Mark Mothersbaugh (yep, those guys that made “Whip It”)?
Well…would you? Thought not. And, who would have thought that while Devo was touring, Mothersbaugh used his downtime to create wildly comical and deeply personal postcard art to send to his loved ones as a sort of “road diary,” that he eventually began to show worldwide in solo art shows during the ’80s and ’90s? Not you again? Wow, your just not doing good today, are ya? Well if you hadn’t figured it out yet (which you probably didn’t, seeing your track record with the last two problems I gave you), Mark Mothersbaugh’s latest art show, Homefront Invasion, is being exhibited right here in Miami at OBJEX Artspace.
As the twisted genius behind the ultramodern electronica band Devo and founder of Mutato Muzika (his L.A. based music company), his experiences have given him various creative outlets. As an adult on the road with a group determined to oppose all things mundane and safe in music, he has steadily created a mass of postcards, producing new ones daily, sometimes in upwards of twenty cards in a 24-hour period.
The cards shown at OBJEX are actually recreations of the originals, which Mothersbaugh hardly ever parts with. Each print at the gallery was handpicked for this very show and some even created for the event. All of them – EPSON digital prints which have then been replicated using a variety of mediums including pens, pencils, Photoshop, and other such tools to create unusual effects – sometimes lose the overall eccentricity of the pieces.
Outside, the opening reception for the exhibit last Saturday played like a scene straight out of Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. OBJEX sat at the intersection of several ominous women’s handbag factories as mopeds scooted by noisily at top speeds down a desolate street. The only indication that this was reality was the absentness of Uzi wielding gangs and trash-talking hookers. Inside the gallery, the opening ran smoothly with ambiance set by Devo music droning through the air amidst a surprisingly large number of people. The space filled quickly as people moved back and forth between the beer/wine table and the rest of the exhibit.
Staying within the subtle theme of the exhibit and the pervading coverage of the war in Iraq, several of the pieces displayed a coweld shooter with head covered and face veiled only showing menacing eyes and a bindi as in “Dirty Bomb Cheers.” Others – like “Early Bird Special” depicting a baby’s arms dangling around the title of the piece as a quasi-gremlin face at the bottom (reminiscent of Don Rickles) scowled in between the words “Genetic” and “Purposelessness” – left the viewer wondering just what the hell they were looking at.
Most of the pieces are obviously just the pandering of a man who wants to give people something shockingly new to look at, not necessarily with a purpose in mind. Mark Mothersbaugh presents a type of art possibly only fully appreciated by the artist himself, but make your own decision to see a show by the man who gave you Pee Wee’s intro.
Homefront Invasion is on view through May 2 at OBJEX Artspace, 500 NW 24th St., Suite F (upstairs), Miami. Call 305-576-6551 for more info.

Chris Howard can be reached at BBHMM3234@aol.com.

The names of our music reviewers have been changed for the sake of honesty (and to avoid drunken confrontations at Titanic). Cheers. – Life & Art Editor

Pencilgrass
s/t
***
In concert, the seven piece called Pencilgrass let out an energy that almost rivals the punk/party powerhouse of groups like !!!, but on this early first release they keep it a rather laid back affair. The disc opens with the sly “Girl On Curb,” full of tight horn arrangements, analog synth, a real optimistic groove, and some solid lyrics. Lyrically, front man Eddy Pren brings a rather fresh look on life and his chilled out singing style is ideal for this type of music.
There isn’t a weak standout element in Pencilgrass, and there isn’t one player that stands out over the rest. Pencilgrass is notable because they sound like a unit of one, not seven – impressive for such a young band. The nonsensical “Steppin On Snails” has a liquid bass line that will keep many feet moving and the way Victor Bottomsfeld locks up his playing with the incomparable Ricard Rockefeller’s drums is one of the finest aspects of P’Grass. After the dub style “Laser Lady,” the disc closes out with a much rawer and digital sounding track, “Beautiful Thing,” with Pren throwing out various observations on the ass of a fine woman before the sing-along chorus, “You’ve got too much booty for your pants. It’s overflowing out of your pants (like water).”
This is surprisingly the best example of Pencilgrass’ live energy, even though there isn’t much real live playing on the track, mainly because it keeps the raunchy flow going that one can expect to hear and see when they attend a P’Grass show. You can imagine the Juan Pantos jumping about like he’s in a hardcore group and the ever-smiling Cochise Stronghold tickling his guitar strings. Pencilgrass step far ahead of your usual college fare to provide an original sound that is overflowing with character. Their new disc is on the way, so lookout.
For more info, visit www.pencilgrass.com.

– Skip Wilson

Future Feels Good
The Day I Was Born
**
Future Feels Good are pretty decent on record, with an equally pretty unsurprising mix of jam and space rock dominating their sound. The obvious center of the group is Travis Atria, whose guitar playing and vocals are the most prominent part of the mix. He lays down some solid riffs over the course of six songs and his solos aren’t too polished and refined, keeping the music non-stale. His vocals are standard fare for a college rock group, and the rhythm section of Eric Atria on bass and Masatoshi Enomoto on drums don’t really hold down the fort tight enough for this type of music to hit you where it needs to.
The most confusing aspect of the disc is the lack of keyboard playing that is audible on the tracks, even though Future Feels Good is a four piece with Stacie Thrushman handling keys. Not until the third track, “Me Bastard,” do you really hear her, and even then it sounds more like subtle overdubs. In a lot of places, like the opener “The Day I Was Born,” there is overdubbed guitar when there ought to be some Rhodes or organ taking up the space. If this quartet didn’t sound like a trio, a lot of these songs would sound much larger and the band would pull off the spacey college rock sound to greater effect.
Yet, FFG delivers considerable punch. Rather than releasing a disk full of mediocre singing and limp grooves (for the sake of having one), the band has spent time making a record with promise. Hopefully they’ll keep at it, but right now, they’re certainly not the band at UM.
For more info, visit www.futurefeelsgood.com.

– Zach Monoke

Empirical Mile
s/t
***1/2

It’s hard to know whether you’d feel a band on WVUM or even ZETA, when they go to your college and you’ve seen them at Titanic – albeit after six Boiler Room Nut Brown Ales – where am I? Anyway, Empirical Mile’s self-titled EP starts off with a little laughable whisper from their front man, Michael John Hancock, who goes, “Ugh, ok I got it now,” but then the band leaps into a catchy jam filled with guitars (Mathew Dingledine) and percussion (Noah Penn). The song is called, “Dead Babies,” and it rocks like your dad’s good classic rock, but for Budweisered college students.
Empirical Mile also stand out at UM because they avoid sap and irony – there are songs here that border on ballads, but with lyrics like, “drunks with paper bags,” they rock and also put a twinkle in her eye (which is no doubt good for them). And unlike a lot of college bands who imitate drivel like Three Doors Down or Dave Matthews, the Mile have class – able to torch weed jams like “Blood to Boil,” that float around (without ’60s stank), yet possess the intellect and urgency of NYC’s trendy rock punk. Hopefully the latter becomes more realized in later releases, but it’s a solid combination for another college weekend of beach-then-kegs.
For more info, visit www.empiricalmile.com.

– Tyrone King

The Linx
s/t
***
Millions of people think that they can rap. For most, laying out a few rhymes in a row while spilling beer on friends is their platinum evidence. I’m a victim myself, hating on many successful rappers because their style is “wack,” their rhymes suck or (worst of all) their skills had nathan to do with becoming a rich rapper.
Independent hip hop is a very treacherous minefield to walk through, there’s always a chance that something in there is going to blow up (clever). UM’s The Linx (about whom I have no information other than their liner notes and this three-song EP) have produced something far more interesting than the usual “I’m tight and you’re not” fare, without preaching or directly stating that they’re the saviors of hip hop.
The tracks on this disc are surprisingly solid: nice flows, “original” production and a strong sense that this was not put together to hustle some cash. While the single, “Nightlife,” adds a nice keyboarded-out (a little too synthy) instrumental (the drums sound straight off of Gang Starr’s “The Code of the Streets”), the true highlight here is “Me-N-You.” Smooth guitar and extra smooth female vocals on a surprisingly legit hook (the bars are “I see a little bit of me in you/ so how ’bout some of me in you?”) intertwine into a solid French-braid of beats, bars and bass.
The production is solid, for a UM group especially, which makes some of the so-so bars (example: “chilling hard like rock concrete”) slide by almost unnoticed. While not a groundbreaking take on rap, there’s a solid foundation exhibited by the Linx that could actually build into something galactic. If you’re in this group, e-mail HurricaneAccent@hotmail.com.

– Clarence Worley

The Life & Art staff can be reached at HurricaneAccent@hotmail.com.

Hiding behind a shield of armor, New York based photographer and filmmaker Katrina del Mar has a lot to unveil. She flaunts toughness like a skin of comfort, an urban necessity and an outfit of survival, and her subjects, including vixens who breed pit bulls and transgender males, seem to share the same stylist.

For these individuals, tattoos, pit bulls, cigarettes, rock n’ roll, and sex n’ alcohol are the contemporary armor that shield their lives from a storm of conformity. Her newest exhibit of photographs is currently on display at the Light Box. Entitled Ruff Trade – the American Toughie, it explores the iconography of a mythical lifestyle and flirts with the sensitivity underneath all the snarls, leather and bondage.

“These people are my friends. They might have had set- backs in their youth. And they chose to adapt without conforming, so they develop into extremes,” says del Mar over the phone.

Del Mar’s artwork focuses sharply on disadvantaged individuals who need help but choose not to waft around in handout lines waiting for it. Instead, they stylishly incorporate forms of daily starvation into their lives, essentially making spikes out of lemons. Often associated with biker gangs, Goth and death metal, it’s a confrontational way-of-being that society often looks down upon, all the while stealing the traits and styles it finds more attractive and safe.

A self proclaimed “realist photographer,” del Mar prefers to do shoots with people who are real, “somebody you see all the time. They are real people doing their own thing.” Stereotypes are stitched deep into the heart of rebellion, so del Mar likes to mix avant-garde shock with emotion. Her work thrives on contradiction – like a woman who rescues abandoned pit bulls and nurses them back to health or a colorful diva who lives and breathes motocross.

“I call it ‘amplified realism,’ and the toughness theme goes along with that. The show is about bridging the gap between the oppressed image and the theme behind it. It’s like a child grown with sensitivity, like flowers. It’s about whether the image frees them and it becomes about what’s behind the armor- the hidden sensitivity,” del Mar explains.

“Nic + Connie” features two female bikers who emit sensuality and seductiveness, yet embrace the aggressive attributes of Mad Max. The red and black photograph is almost colorless and blurred – dazed yet surreal – and makes for a stunning image of freedom and individuality. It whispers, “Come here baby,” and screams “Back the *#&@ off,” simultaneously.

The female body is a prominent image in del Mar’s photography, and she loves displaying it in all sorts of contexts. In “Kate,” a subject’s breasts are revealed underneath a denim vest. Signature ruggedness is retained with a pit bull, a lit cigarette, and a backdrop of tenement apartments.

The exhibit makes use of salvaged trash – old doors and windows that are worn with cracks and chipped white paint – by using it for frames. Walking into the exhibit, there are wonderful, hovering windowpanes to set the thrift-gone-dangerous mood.

“Among the frames is a construction brigade with the words ‘Film Trash,’ and a salvaged projector that was torn out of an old hotel. Everything fits the theme of “tough” – it makes use of whatever you can find as an outsider with no help from government,” del Mar says passionately. “People who come up not feeling safe, emotionally or physically, in violent times take what ever they can find and grab so they can survive.”

Ranting in a slow, almost demented tone, she confesses, “I don’t like the idea of being devoured and easy. I’m like the toughness of the texture of the steak – serrated with a knife. When ready to go, I go. Just do it yourself. Make it happen. Don’t wait for anyone. When I get bored I do something. Instead of getting stoned, I make a film.”

For fans of gritty DIY art, del Mar is as “guerilla fab” as it gets.

Rough Trade will be running until May 5th at the Light Box, located on 3000 Biscayne Blvd. Admission is free. For further show info, call 305.576.4350.

For more info, visit www.katrinadelmar.com.

Jeanette Hallak can be reached at jhallak@umsis.miami.edu.

Tonight
Last chance to check out the graduate students art exhibit, Show Title Here: 6 artists, closing reception at the Rainbow Building, 1540 Levante Ave., 6-8 p.m.

Get mighty high with country music legend Willie Nelson (we know he’s damn old, but who cares?!) at Mizner Park Amphitheatre, 590 Plaza Real, Boca Raton. $32.50-$37.50. 561-962-4109.

Time to get down with good tunes at Churchill’s, 5501 NE 2nd Ave., Miami, with MDC, Middle Finger Mob and Irish Car Bomb. Cover varies. 305-757-1807.

Saturday, April 19
Lounge-electro act Thievery Corporation keep cool at BillboardLive, 1500 Ocean Dr., Miami Beach, with dancehall singer Notch, starting 10 p.m. $20-$25. 305-358-5885.

Punk duo The Immortal Lee County Killers II (“Let’s Get Killed”) blaze through the stage at Slak Lounge, 2826 N. Miami Ave., Miami, for the RealCoolTime party at 11 p.m. $5. 305-438-0810.

Bob Weir and Ratdog perform at the Pompano Beach Amphitheatre, 1806 NE Sixth St., Pompano Beach. 954-946-2402.

Sunday, April 20
Everyone must get stoned at Miami’s 420 fest at the American Legion, 6445 NE 7th Ave., Miami, with more than 80 bands combining rock, hip hop, ska and electro on eight stages, including The Skatalites, Tha Liks and Hashbrown. Starts at noon. $15. 305-573-6588.

Wednesday, April 23
Rock crooner Bright Eyes performs at the Manuel Airtime Theatre, 900 SW First Ave., Miami. $17. 7:00 p.m. 305-321-4332.

“Aggressive funk,” “black rock” and a Sly & the Family Stone for our era – these are only self-descriptions aiming to grasp the seeming simplicity and the contemplative lyrics of up-and-coming local band Hashbrown.
On a cool night on Las Olas Blvd. in Fort Lauderdale, the group, who has opened for James Brown, Method Man and Fishbone, spoke to Life & Art about their live show, the banality of Korn and their favorite German lagers. Hashbrown’s latest release, Miles to Go (AxisBold Records), immediately signals to the listener its many elements and seeming contradictions: it’s simultaneously relaxed but intense, rambling but succinct, wild but moving, frivolous but pensive. While the music integrates elements of soul, funk, reggae, punk and rock in their sounds, the classic eclectic jam/funk descriptions fail to comprehend how this band creates and what it represents to its members and its growing legion of fans.
Guitarist/vocalist Duncan Cameron is pleasantly candid in conveying his inspirations and his preference for Fender guitars. His demeanor is quiet but passionate as he discusses his goal to make quality three-minute songs – a notion foreign to many traditional jam bands – and one day to create a record that allows him to be “satisfied with every cut from beginning to end [. . .], and it [then] has a feeling, for instance like [Radiohead’s] Kid A,” he says.
Miles to Go clearly conveys the band’s sonic intentions, as lead vocalist/bassist Jay Spencer points out. “It starts with a big boom, then smoothes it out toward the end in an introspective way,” he explains. “We’d like to encompass all the aspects of human emotion in every way that we can.” Cameron then adds, “We’re all really conscious about not being one-dimensional. For instance, look at Korn – how mad can you possibly be?”
“Yeah, how many times can your daddy touch you?” Spencer remarks to a chorus of laughs. “They should’ve worked all that out the first time! Get some counseling or something.”
The self-published band is hot off this month’s opening slot for Fishbone’s show at BillboardLive. The band’s carefree drummer, Rick Kanner, is especially adamant about Fishbone and points out their “definite influence” on him as he downs a Red Bull. The band shares approval of Spencer’s statement about Fishbone’s sound: “It doesn’t so much influence us as does their intensity and musicianship – we’ll definitely take that from them.”
Spencer then seconds the motion with a tribute to all music in its “raw and spontaneous art form, whether bluegrass, death metal or jazz.” A late arrival, the enigmatic fourth member, DJ Boogie (turntables/vocals), calls a tribute to “fine German lagers” and snickers at Kenner for buying “all those cheap Red Bulls.”
The band considers its live shows to be essential by consciously combining serious, moving songs and fun-loving entertainment. Hashbrown hopes that their dedicated followers are “getting the weight of the music, but also keeping their feet moving.” This tall order is filled by the band’s serious musicianship, and their penchant for keeping things quirky – including sharing the stage with a fire twirler at the Miles to Go release party at the Culture Room (Cameron notes: “That was pretty close to my head!”). Hashbrown feels a significant connection at college concerts; to the members, the crowds at these shows constitute an audience with an open mind, willing to try something new.
Plans for the remainder of this year are to enlarge and advance the band’s success to date. “We’d really like to expand our fan base to the West and definitely to overseas. Spencer explains. “We’ve done real well in the East and the Northeast, but I hear a lot of people in California saying how much we’d be loved out there.” He continues, laughing, “We’re also looking to make some money – we’re all whores in some way,” and Cameron agrees: “Money represents the freedom to travel, to do what you’d like.”
“You need to reach that highest possible level at whatever it is that you do, Kanner adds. “For us, it’s to always get better as musicians.” Hashbrown clearly is developing its strategy to realize these goals. While many bands boast passion, only some perform remarkably and others direct their development, looking to consistently combine sincere expression and timeless fun. Hashbrown fits the bill in all three manners – and, with their creative ingenuity and strong live shows, expect them to be in demand and climbing up more and more concert slots in the near future.
You can catch Hashbrown at the Miami 420 Fest on April 20 at the American Legion, 6445 NE 7th Ave., Miami. Call 305-573-6588 or hit up www.hashbrown.net for more info.

Alan Douglas can be reached at adouglas101@hotmail.com.