I’ve written this column in plenty of odd, unexpected contexts—on a godforsaken cruise ship off the coast of Belize; stranded…

And she’s paying rent.

I’m eating with the band.

These days, he seems more intent on delivering impressive performances than, say, arguing with an audience member who confuses him with a certain ’80s rock star.

He’s been in the music biz since his high-school bonfire.

Australian power trio didn’t die in the year 2000.

For once, a writer of bleak songs is fairly normal in person.

Catchy guitar riffs and sneaky synths are at Chop Suey on Sunday.

Notes from recent shows around town.

Please, no Texas BBQ recipes named after our current commander in chief.