(David Lynch, Moby, Laura Dawn, Daron Murphy)

"I didn't want to say this over the phone, but the universe sometimes makes it difficult for people to get here." My wife, Laura, and I had just arrived backstage at the rec center of the Maharishi University of Management in Fairfield, Iowa. And our host, a very nice man named Bob, was apologizing for the fact that we'd had to endure 13 miserable hours of economy airline travel to find ourselves in this spot.

Laura's a singer and I'm a guitarist. We'd been invited to perform a few songs with our friend Moby (that bald-headed electronic music guy) at a special weekend to raise awareness of the benefits of Transcendental Meditation, hosted by film director David Lynch. If you're a fan of David Lynch, you might know that he is hugely into TM and has been promoting its cause through an eponymous foundation for the past few years.

For those of you who've never thought to explore any of the other 10 dimensions, Transcendental Meditation is basically a relaxation technique involving the mental repetition of a personal mantra. TM was created by the late Maharishi Mahesh Yogi -- the same guy who people like the Beatles, Donovan, Mia Farrow, and Mike Love traveled to India to study under in the 60s. Neither Moby nor Laura nor I had any real familiarity with TM (well, my hippie parents did have me try it briefly as a kid in the late 70s, but that's another story). But Lynch, who's a pal of Moby, thought his music captured the spirit. So he asked us to come, and there we were.

The Maharishi University of Management sits quietly among the tree-lined streets of old-fashioned, all-American Fairfield. We were staying out past the corn, just a couple of miles away, in an area called Vedic City, where houses are built to the specifications of "natural law" (kind of a TM feng-shui). The school is incorporated right into the old town. And except for the huge, gold-topped, flying-saucer-like meditation domes on the campus front lawn, Maharishi U. looks like any humble, Middle American college.

"Backstage" was a small garage in the parking lot behind the rec center whose perimeter had been blocked off with crime scene tape -- kind of like a location from Twin Peaks. Inside, David Lynch sat smoking a cigarette, fabulously suited and coiffed, like a handsome Hollywood version of a 50s MIT professor. He was surrounded by admiring members of the University, prepping him for an imminent Q&A session with the crowd of a thousand or so students and visitors who'd gathered for the weekend.

Hearing Lynch answer questions about his work and spirituality inside the auditorium, it was immediately apparent that his devotion to Transcendental Meditation is passionate and sincere. He explained that every human being possesses a "well of creativity and bliss waiting to be tapped," and TM is the way to get there. None of the audience members bothered to inquire as to how that well of bliss has translated into some of the most unsettling and psychologically violent films in recent popular culture. So I asked Lynch about this later in the weekend. "That's just me," he explained. "You don't have to go to a dark place to tell a story about one." Well there ya go!

After Lynch, world-renowned quantum physicist John Hagelin took the stage for an hour-long lecture on TM's ability to connect its devotees with something called the Unified Field, basically the primordial ooze of the universe. He showed pictures of brain scans from well-adjusted people who've practiced TM (nice brains) and from sociopathic criminals with mental problems who've never meditated (brains full of creepy-looking black spots) and explained how TM is the only way for us to engage the entirety of our mental faculties. Until this point, I'd always thought at least the better part of my mind had been functioning. Now I'm certain that is not the case.

Later that night, we took in a performance by the legendary psychedelic troubadour, Donovan, who sang hits like "Mellow Yellow," "Season of the Witch," and "Hurdy Gurdy Man" while playing a green acoustic guitar emblazoned with the image of a proud Celtic stag. Just before his performance, Laura and I played some songs with Moby, who caused quite a stir by using the "F" word while onstage. The kids loved it, proving that the "F" word never goes out of style, even amongst the enlightened.

The most surreal and fantastic moment of the evening, though, came when David Lynch was told that the kids from Maharishi High were having their prom that night, and had to miss the concert. So Lynch volunteered to go down to the prom and crown the King and Queen himself. Donovan and Moby and Laura and I went with him. And after Lynch performed the crowning, we played a blues jam for the kids, who seemed alternatively delighted and confused.

Despite the out and out weirdness of these events, I must say without any irony that the citizens of Fairfield are seriously on to something. Not only did these people know how to have a good time, but they were some of the nicest, smartest, and most vibrant folks I've met in a very long time. And whether or not it has anything to do with Transcendental Meditation, an outsize portion of them just happened to be conspicuously good looking. Deserving of further investigation? I think so.

Thank you, universe, for allowing us to get to Fairfield. Something tells me the journey has only just begun... --DARON MURPHY

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There must be fifty ways to enjoy Paul Simon. But with BAM'S presentation of the show American Tunes -- in which the Hall of Fame rocker collaborates with the likes of Amos Lee, Olu Dara, Gillian Welsh, Josh Groban, Grizzly Bear, and the Roches -- we know there are at least six. Running through Sunday night, the show is the final chapter of a three-part series Love in Hard Times: The Music of Paul Simon. Revisiting all of the places that Simon's storytelling has taken us through the years, the tribute moved like a straight, scenic road through the American landscape. There was no real mystery what was coming next. Still, everyone was happy to be along for the ride. By the end of the night I felt like Lincoln Duncan. A raspy-voiced Gillian Welsh sang the fictional character's song, with Simon looking on like a proud, but not too pushy, father. It was the line "just wishing I wore a ring so I could hock it/ I'd like to hock it," that made me think. I would hock it and buy another ticket to this show. There are some still available for Sunday. --LIZ McDANIEL

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(Perry Farrell of Jane's Addiction, John Varvatos, and Slash of Velvet Revolver)

Designer John Varvatos proudly took the stage at the restored site of the former CBGB last Thursday night.  Varvatos was celebrating the opening of his new concept store in what formerly  housed the iconic underground music club. "I'm not sure who had more fun -- the audience or the musicians. The power of rock 'n' roll showed its face here tonight," he exclaimed at the end of the evening.

The crowd was an intriguing blend of the old and new -- from the likes of Velvet Revolver guitarist Slash (formerly of Guns N' Roses) and acclaimed rocker Joan Jett to actors Bobby Cannavale and  Zoe Kravitz. Eventually, the huge group converged in front of the stage in what looked like a refined mosh pit.

Many of the 600 guests in attendance made remarks about how the venue hadn't looked this good in years. The original CBGB closed in October 2006 and, after many years of wear and tear, the space was in less-than-stellar condition, as can be seen in the small framed picture of the old stage just inside the store.

An avid fan of CBGB, Varvatos toured the space shortly after its closing and wanted to do his part to restore it. He decided to renovate the former club, preserving many of the original features, including the black ceiling, the awning over the entrance (which now reads "john varvatos 315 bowery" instead of "CBGB") and the walls that are covered in 33 years worth of stickers, fliers and graffiti.

Along with the cultural history that covers every square inch of the store, Varvatos has designed a limited-edition collection of his clothing to be sold only at the boutique at 315 Bowery. In addition to these rare finds, the store, which opened earlier this month, features vintage clothing, records and audio equipment, music memorabilia and books, some of which come from Varvatos's personal collection.

A handful of protesters proudly stood outside on the balmy evening, waving their posters with statements like "down with $800 pants" and "Luxury Out, Music and Community In." Despite the naysayers, many of the icons that performed at the event were quick to praise the designer for his preservation of the space. "We needed someone like John Varvatos to be the glue to pull something like this off," said Clem Burke of Blondie.

Varvatos has done a remarkable job restoring the historical space, but the creative accents he's added make the space even more eccentric. A shrine to the original CBGB, complete with candles, sits just inside the store, and a miniature replica of the Statue of Liberty stands in the window. Lady Liberty's flame has been replaced with a red light bulb, however; perhaps a nod to the alternative freedom of expression that CBGB will always represent. --BRANDON FELDMAN

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(Photo via dradamsfilms.com)

Singer-songwriter Ryan Adam's greatest strength or Achilles' Heel (depending on whom you ask) is that he is too damn prolific -- often releasing a few records within the space of a year. Turns out this is an asset when it comes to blogging, as Adams, 33, single and embracing his sobriety, sometimes posts several times a day. At D.R. Adams Films Inc., Adams chronicles his shopping and museum trips around Manhattan, publishes his poems, and displays a profound fondness for fashion and comics. He also posts short films like History Lesson and Margaret that nod, slightly, towards Woody Allen's neurotic characters, and, finally, he uploads song demos, whose topics include, well, making demos on a Saturday. The only danger of Adams slowing down is his own attitude -- he says he "hates" blogging and has hinted that he may even shut his site down. Jeff Johnson caught up with him.

From reading your blog, it looks like your life is pretty fun right now. You're making music, art, poetry reading books and going shopping. It's a position a lot of people would like to be in.

Do you really think that? I don't know that my life is any different or any better than anyone else's. I think most people have a daily routine or a job that they enjoy more than people imagine. I've had a bunch of different jobs. I once worked at the end of an assembly line for frozen bread. It was really heinous, but there was something about it that I dug. There was repetition and we could do what we wanted half the time, just as long as we paid attention to the assembly line.

I'm saying this from the perspective of someone who reads your blog at my desk at work.

I work 9 hours a day! [emphatically] I have to do a lot of work, not only on my songs, which sometimes take a long time, but then I have to travel to show them off. You know, musicians don't ride around on jumbo jets with our names painted on the side, or have helicopters like in the videos. We ride planes like everybody else. And we do it for nine months to a year and a half and it messes you up.

There was a line in the short film you posted, History Lesson: "Making it work, isn't that what being grown up is all about?" I found that funny, but a lot of what's on your blog is about trying to be at peace with yourself after a turbulent last couple of years. Does the blog help you?

Uh, no. It's just quicker. If the blog itself is a blank page, its capabilities for uploading a movie or music or poetry or photographs of art -- if it's a place for all of that to be joined together as one piece, then I guess the blog itself is an art form.

A multimedia journal?

No! Blogging, first of all, is kind of bizarre and I hate it. I was so put off by the idea of creating a blog, the only thing I could do was make one. So I conceptualized it. I look at it as one piece of art.

Do you feel you're in a period of hypercreativity?

I don't feel like it's hypercreative. I haven't changed in terms of my artistic habits, ever. I have a life that doesn't involve art, but that part of my life usually is about watching movies, reading, or going to see art.

Does being sober help?

Yeah. [laughs] It's nice not to be, like, poisoned.

Did you put as much energy into getting drugs as you do into the projects you're doing nowadays?

I didn't really put any focus into getting drugs at all. It was easy. I decided that it just didn't have any relevance in my life any longer, mainly because some of my more in-depth ideas people would just [respond], "Oh, he's high." But those ideas were all legitimate. I worked sober 10 fucking years! I didn't stumble into grace. I took my beatings and lashings. People have discounted more of my records than said any of them are good. Even though I know the truth. I know that the work speaks for itself.

Do you edit all of your own films?

Yes. I started making movies because I'm sober, and on tour there's a lot of time. Our buses roll at night, so we don't hang and party. To occupy my time, I decided that I'd learn iMovie really well. And I'm still learning it.

Would you like to make a feature film one day?

That would be great. I'm weary to say that I'm ever going to be able to do that. I've read quite a bit about Woody Allen -- not just his books, and his plays, and I go to see his plays whenever I can -- but about how things went for him and it seems to me that when he was able to make a movie a year, start at the same time every year, and be the director and producer of those projects, that's when his genius outed itself in its complete form. I think that's because he was taking the ultimate risk. And there was no one to say what was film and what wasn't. And I wouldn't do it unless I had that same opportunity -- and there are tons of people who want to have that same kind of control over their films and are more advanced in their processes than I am.

Are History Lesson and Margaret homages to Woody Allen?

Not really. More an excuse to hang out with my friends. Those were all made in an hour, with a Sony digital Elph with 3.1 pixels, which is horrible. The camera I'm shooting [with] is smaller than my back pocket. Style-wise, there are definitely going to be Woody Allen influences, because in my opinion he is a master. But I don't know if they're homages to him. In both, I was trying to tell a story about a woman and her relationships [with] herself and sister and the world.

Margaret came from the perspective from a woman I was introduced to, Cate Holstein, the fashion designer, who I met through Philip Andelman, a wonderful photographer. He's incredible. He makes videos for Jay-Z, and he's my muse for filmmaking. I think I actually just make them to see what he will say. But they're not masterpieces. It's not Masterpiece Theater. It would be a lot different if I had to say, "Oh Keanu, we have to take a fifteen minute break so I can charge my Elph." I unfortunately don't have that problem.

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It's tough to be cynical about Bryan Adams's outlook these days. In his familiar rasp, on his newest record 11, the craggy-faced, London-based Canuck tells us: "The heart is like an open hand, holding out and healing. "Then swelling strings. And someone somewhere in mom jeans is feeling frisky. Sorry. For those of us who were introduced to his work via Martha Quinn and MTV nearly a quarter century ago, and a bit bummed when early rockers like "Cuts Like a Knife" gave way to mush like "Heaven" and his 1991-smash "Everything I Do," 11 and its sentiments assure us that the man remains frozen in soundtrack-love-song-mode. And no one nearby seems to be waving around even a warm hair dryer.

As we learn from Adams's lyrics on 11, the women he encounters have got a way. And a smile. And this turns him inside out. He can feel it in his bones. And he knows it in his heart. In addition, Adams's women move in mysterious ways, and it's a mystery how they know every part of him. If pressed, they can teach him to fly on broken wings, if he and other guys aren't drawn to them first like moths to a flame, or the women themselves don't fall to earth like angels with broken wings.

On "Walk on By," the most organic-sounding song on the record, which is hustled along with a simple little acoustic guitar loop, one of these women leaves a sleepy little town for the big city lights. By actually encouraging her to do so, Adams shows a maturity usually not displayed by the three or four thousand other male singer-songwriters -- like Rob Thomas of Matchbox 20 -- who have generally tackled this same subject with the bitterness of a lover scorned. But by the time Adams looks outside of his bedroom and the near-claustrophobic cocoon offered by personal relationships, it's, well, a bonus track, and that's too bad. "The Way of the World," is the lone dispatch from Adams (who has done a lot for global charities over the years) that reveals a knowledge beyond crushes and heartache. On a side note, it would also be wrong to not give props to "Oxygen," which is propelled by some truly meaty drums.

In the end, 11's relative toothlessness is probably only disappointing to people who won't be listening to it anyway. But it is a slight bummer, knowing that Adams, who's shown creative hunger in other disciplines, doesn't display the same ambition in crafting his music. Over the last decade, he began shooting dramatic portraits, mostly, of extremely beautiful women (many of whom don't have wings, at least visibly), while also shepherding fallen angels to safety. Over the Christmas holiday, Amy Winehouse was invited by Adams to get her act together at his Caribbean villa ("Flower Grown Wild," one of 11's more rockin' songs, was even rumored to be about Winehouse, which, if it's true, is an odd portrayal -- one where she rides Greyhound buses and lives in the Hollywood Hills).

It's not like Adams hasn't been called a sap before. Though I doubt from the view in his mansion (one where another fallen angel, Lindsay Lohan, slipped after a shower and needed stitches in her shin) paid for largely, one imagines, by all those chart-topping chivalrous cinema ballads, those criticisms sting. Yet, even by 2002, Adams's motion-picture magic touch had diminished somewhat, with him writing songs for a film about an animated mustang.

At the end of the day, if he's a sentimental populist, fine. No one's suggesting a record with a lutenist a la Sting, or even getting symphonic like Elvis Costello, or Paul McCartney or even, good lord, Billy Joel, but some of us do remember a time when Adams, swinging his Rickenbacker in an empty swimming pool actually espoused the joys of breaking up. --JEFF JOHNSON

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Two talented singer-songwriters named Kate hail from England. They're both in their early twenties, their last names sound vaguely alike, and they've both put out records this year. Here's a cheat sheet to keep them straight. --Jeff Johnson

(Photos: Kate Walsh (left) via katewalsh.co.uk, Kate Nash via katenash.artistes.universalmusic.fr)

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In 1999, Alfred Brendel -- a supreme master of the classical piano -- published a collection of poetry called One Finger Too Many.  In this book of brief verses, Brendel shows off his quiet wit, and sneaky sense of humor.  One of the poems, "The Coughers of Cologne" -- published on his website -- pokes gentle fun at audience members who cough "distinctly during expressive silences."

Thankfully, the coughers were few and far between when the 77-year-old piano maestro played his final concert at Carnegie Hall on February 20.  Brendel is retiring from the concert stage at the end of 2008, after 60 years in the business.  According to his publicist, he wanted to stop performing while "still at the peak of his powers."  And so, for the coughers and clappers of New York, this was a treasured last chance to see the great pianist in recital.

In his white tie and tails, the professorial Brendel started his final programme with such casual fluency, the audience had barely settled.  He zeroed in on pieces by Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven and his beloved Schubert, playing the composer's last, great sonata in B flat major, D960. He rendered the piece with such simple tenderness, without any grandstanding or unnecessary pathos, that Carnegie Hall's grand space was converted into an intimate salon. The audience was listening, with nary a cough.

Brendel will continue his tour in the U.S. and Europe this year.  He will give his final concert in Vienna on December 18, performing Mozart's Piano Concerto No.9 in E flat K271, nicknamed the "jeunehomme," written by Mozart at the age of 21.  Maybe Brendel chose the piece because he considers it Mozart's first great masterpiece, one of the wonders of the world.  But maybe he's also hinting at something else, that in the end it's music that trumps mortality. --DAMIAN FOWLER

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Pop music loves a trend. Whether it's the rebirth of garage rock, dance music, or neckties, groupthink seems to be a permanent part of the business, for better or worse. One of the least likely -- and most pleasant -- is the recent crossover between critically lauded singer-songwriters and symphony orchestras. Antony and the Johnsons, Sufjan Stevens, and others have treated fans to impressively bombastic performances of some of the most intimate works in recent independent music. This Thursday and Friday, the harp-strumming pitch-change artist Joanna Newsom will finish her worldwide orchestral tour with the help of the Brooklyn Philharmonic at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, where they'll perform her most recent album, Ys, along with selections from the earlier The Milk-Eyed Mender and a handful of new songs.

Ys, consisting of only five epically poetic tracks -- the shortest at 7 minutes, the longest at 17 -- is particularly suited to such a lush aural environment, and Newsom, whose vigorous vocal chords can twist even the most unassuming of syllables into an emotional plea, should flourish. "Then the system of strings tugs at the tip of my wings (cut from cardboard and old magazines); Makes me warble and rise, like a sparrow," she sings on "Sawdust and Diamonds." There's too much lyrical context to parse out here, but, typical of Newsom's musical dexterity, she could very well be describing the experience of seeing her sing it. --NICHOLAS MOSQUERA

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On her highly acclaimed 2006 album The Greatest, Chan Marshall turned away from the lonely, meandering vibe of her previous records in favor of the structure of Memphis soul. Backed by Al Green's old band, the result was a breezy, self-assured Cat Power. Jukebox (Matador), her just released collection of covers, continues in that vein, treating listeners to an in-the-pocket R&B singer with a voice made of barroom smoke. Comprised of such daunting anthems as "New York, New York" and Joni Mitchell's "Blue," Marshall stakes her rightful claim as one of pop music's most vexing voices. Two original compositions (the new "Song for Bobby" and an update of "Metal Heart") round out the selections, but the covers are what stand out--especially James Brown's "Someone," which gets a plaintive country treatment, and a delicate interpretation of Janis Joplin's "Woman Left Lonely." Nearly every one of the songs on this jukebox is stellar, and you come away hoping she'll commandeer and liberate more old record machines before long. --DAVID KNOWLES

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Baltimore has been a cultural hotbed lately but, for once, I'm not talking about The Wire. Bands like Spank Rock, Dan Deacon, and Beach House recorded some of 2007's definitive tracks, and, in a few weeks the last of this Charm City triumvirate will release their sophomore album, Devotion, on Carpark Records. It follows their 2006 self-titled debut which took off online, landing the duo a tour with Grizzly Bear and a number 16 spot on Pitchfork's career-jumpstarting best-of-the-year list (not to mention a spot in the website's annual Chicago fest this past summer).

On their debut, Beach House, comprised of Alex Scully on guitar and keyboard and Victoria Legrand on organ and vocals, managed to fill the ear almost surreptitiously, as the ambling, reverb heavy dream pop (you'll catch Slowdive and Mazzy Star in "Apple Orchard" or "Master of None") brought to mind activities saved for inclement weather, rather than lighthearted associations with the band's name. But on Devotion, boosted by the crisp production that always seems to follow a successful launch, the layered tracks expand of their own volition, elevating their lost love lyrics to almost anthemic levels on first-single "Gila."

Legrand could probably do without all the comparisons to Nico, but they're not likely to abate soon; both imbue songs of heartbreak with a peculiar blend of resignation and good will. Like another one of the band's idols, Brian Wilson, Beach House has mastered the buoyant song about feeling down. --NICHOLAS MOSQUERA   

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Deutsche Grammophon, the recording company founded in 1898 that was among the earliest adaptors of the CD format in 1983, has now entered the digital age. DG has just launched their online Web Shop, where you can now click and download any of 2,400 initial offerings from the classical-music giant. Of special interest are 600 previously out-of-print recordings. Better yet: The quality of anything you download, from Reich to Rachmaninov, comes to you at a bit-rate of 320 kb/second.

(For the non-technorati, that's more than twice the quality of the going market bit-rate of 128 kb/second.)

Miss your liner notes? Not to worry: You'll get PDF of them with every download. Prices vary somewhat according to the length of the work, though $11.99 is fairly standard for a CD-length download, $1.29 for an average-length track. The site also includes an updated link to DG artists on tour across the world. Our current recommendation: Anna Netrebko at the Metropolitan Opera in Gounod's Roméo et Juliette. --COREY SEYMOUR

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