In real life Sean "Birdman" Gould is a Southern boy who came to Miami Beach to make rock and roll and pick up chicks. In this exuberant clip, the Clambake singer-guitarist portrays a Southern boy who comes to Miami Beach to make rock and roll and pick up chicks. In the fictional version the women are Latin, the setting is Wet Willie's, and the results are -- let's just say Birdman and his bandmates come up short, tequila-tossed-in-their-faces short. Fortunately for our heroes, this is a video scripted, storyboarded, and produced by Gould. They head to Hialeah Park, where they cash in on some ponies and, newly bankrolled, find the drink-flinging females more receptive, with everyone ending up dancing the Mamacita on the sand. The vid captured Clambake's fun-first attitude and the colorfulness of the location, leading to airplay on MTV Latino. Filmed in one day by cinematographer Mark Moorman and edited in one day by computerographer David Chaskes, the entire project was completed on a minuscule budget of $1000. The results look like a million bucks.

Could be Alex Diaz lives in a parallel universe. His surreal songs certainly come from one. An alternate possibility is that he writes from the other side of the looking glass, which might explain why he sometimes bills himself as Xela Zaid. As he sings and strums (sometimes playing solo using bass as his instrument, other times plucking acoustic guitar, occasionally backed by a drummer or a full rhythm section), one variously hears echoes of Lloyd Cole, Paul Westerberg, Kurt Cobain, even Led Zeppelin in his guitarcentric tunes, which are full of unexpected rhymes and melodies lashed together with rich chording. Take "Honeycomb," which appears on his band Ho Chi Minh's 1997 album Motorama. It begins with a bright and bouncy guitar arpeggio: "Indeed, indelibly keyed, ode to my sweet honeycomb/Oh is that light in your head?" The paean then dissolves into a stormy, minor-key refrain: "Roam, the night as night shines/Hard upon as the river will storm/Creeds and deeds will make ends meet." Huh? Well, like so many semilucid dreams, songs too can have their own nonlinear logic. Diaz matches his mystical lyricism with prolificacy: his repertoire ranges from driving, head-bobbing rock to melancholic, cockeyed love songs, like "Poison Ivy," one of his latest creations (unreleased at press time): "I'll always remember the month of June/When all the kids are out of school/You know that summertime is near/It plays like a song you hope to hear/Then as my heart beats into your arms, I know who you are/You're poison ivy, how I want you still." Diaz creates absorbing, drug-trip songs best described as otherworldly.

With little local fanfare, the soft-spoken Seven has made an international name for himself and his record label, releasing joyously skewed takes on premillennium DJ culture. Artists as disparate as Germany's drum-and-bass deconstructionists Funkstörung and Miami's down-tempo mixologist Push Button Objects have graced the label with twelve-inch vinyl; a single from Brooklyn's East Flatbush Project, which married Japanese-tinged chopstick percussion to a slippery hip-hop beat, caused such a sensation it inspired an entire album of remixes (Tried by Twelve on Ninjatune Records) from British artists such as Autechre and Squarepusher, Japan's Bisk, and hometown turntablist DJ Craze. Where Chocolate Industries goes from here is anybody's guess, and that's precisely what makes this label so tasty.

¡Viva las comunistas!

Best Singer-Songwriter To Leave Town In The Past Twelve Months

Magda Hiller

For the past decade her uplifting artistry could be found all about: at an Irish pub in the Gables, a coffeehouse in North Miami, a bookstore in Kendall, an upscale restaurant in the heart of Fort Lauderdale, a legendary bar in downtown Miami, a park in North Miami-Dade. At venues of all stripes, Magda Hiller and her guitar brought smiles, chuckles, shivers of delight, chills of pathos, and seamlessly raucous folk music diverse in form and consistent in quality. Still tied to South Florida while recording continues on her CD, Hiller now makes her home in the north part of the state. "I love the natural beauty up here," the vegetarian animal-lover says. "And I'm five hours out of state, you know. I'm able to play a lot of places too far from Miami. I find the audiences in places like Chattanooga, Atlanta, Orlando, Gainesville, and Tampa more receptive." She's also traveled lately to Indiana, Albuquerque, Las Vegas, and Los Angeles. The past two trips were arranged as showcases by Warner Bros., for whom she records song-instruction videos. It seems our local heroine is broadening her success, the sort of achievement we applaud. Except we miss her so much.
Could be gourds. Or nuts. Maybe brown-tinted lima beans? Cannabis seeds. Yeah, cannabis seeds. Must be, considering this musically clever band is called the Kind, the same phrase connoisseurs use to describe high-grade pot. (For fans of wordplay, the band's e-mail address is [email protected].) The intriguing photo was composed and lensed by local marine-science photographer Kelly Bryan, who prefers to work subsurface, even when shooting musical stuff. ("Underwater macro lenses actually give better results than regular macros," he explains.) Before a personnel change to the upbeat and often virtuosic rock group, Bryan clicked through a roll of black-and-white portraiture with all parties holding their breath. After the departure of one member, and because this new Kodak moment was dedicated to illustrating the Kind's infectious and fun debut CD, Bryan loaded up for another go. Being a shade underground, and generally indicating support for the lifting of marijuana prohibition in this nation, the fellas floated this idea: More than 100 weed seeds submerged in a Key Biscayne swimming pool, mixing together in a closeup that creates a somehow symmetrical chaos perfectly suited to a versatile group that can light up things with urgent funkiness (the brilliant "Changed My Life"), red-eyed barroom innuendo ("Sloppy Love"), or unpretentious intelligence (the Jaco Pastorius-inspired "Breather"). Bryan says he wasn't trying to make a thematic statement with the picture, which is augmented by calligraphy that forms the band's name into what looks like two Chinese-language characters. "I was just putting it out there."

While attending Palmetto High School, singer-guitarist Jeff Rollason played in a band called Strangelove, which recorded in some long-forgotten local studio. His next band, the underappreciated Mr. Tasty and the Breadhealers, recorded at Who Brought the Dog? studio. Then they broke up. Two years ago he formed Curious Hair and tried a new approach, recording in his home studio. Seeking musicians to join the Hair, Rollason released a remarkable homemade tape called The Curious Hair Is Not a Band, a sort of audio help-wanted ad. For it he created his own label, Evol Egg Nart (spell it backward while rereading the first sentence of this item). Eventually he decided to try a less formal approach, working with different backing musicians such as Jeff the Space Cowboy. "I always wanted to have my own record label," he says.

At the end of 1997, Rollason released two cassettes of Jeff the Space Cowboy songs under the Evol Egg Nart imprimatur. "I wanted to work with other musicians," he says, "and I thought about samplers, compilations. But we'd never get around to recording. You'd have to have ten tracks done before you could release anything." To avoid this he came up with the idea of releasing a monthly cassingle. "If an artist was chosen to be, say, Miss May, we had a deadline," he explains. "I mean, it would have to be finished by May, right?" He recorded the singles on his eight-track analog gear in the bedroom of his Perrine-area home.

Each month of the past year, these little gems, about 100 copies of each, were given away at local concerts, in envelopes with lyric sheets, notes, gew-gaws. Featured artists: local veteran Matthew Sabatella (Broken Spectacles); the legendary Rat Bastard (To Live and Shave in L.A., the Laundry Room Squelchers); Maria Marocka (the Elysian); Amanda Green (probably violating her Y&T Music contract); Joce Leyva (of Al's Not Well fame); Alex Diaz (of Ho Chi Minh); newcomer from L.A. Barbara Ann; former local, now Portland-based Raul Mendez; and Robbie Gennet (Rudy, Seven Mary Three). All these cassingles are now in the hands of music lovers. Which is something Sony can't say about its releases. (Taking matters a step further, Rollason and Sabatella recently compiled all twelve singles on CD and are offering the music free via compressed-sound download at

It's fascinating to watch a high-quality band mature, especially when it's fronted by a talent like Demetrius Brown. As Manchild's singer-lyricist-guitarist, Brown has proved himself a prolific artist, penning more than 100 songs and performing countless gigs since 1992. Because he is best known for his phenomenal guitar incantations, his singing gets overlooked. But D. Brown works his vocal cords almost as dexterously as his axe. He can be a forceful baritone, adding meat to any of Manchild's many rockers, or he can sprinkle on the soul in one of the trio's silky smooth ballads. And during one of Manchild's rare acoustic sets, Brown's honey pipes become the attraction.

Tucked away inside the Marlin Hotel, Tom Lord-Algae is tweaking knobs at South Beach Studios for some of the biggest names in music. He put the leveling touches on CDs by the Rolling Stones (Bridges to Babylon and No Security); Marilyn Manson (Mechanical Animals); Hole (Celebrity Skin); as well as forthcoming releases from Live and Kenny Wayne Shepherd. His large workload keeps him busy while also providing South Florida with a steady stream of rock celebs. (Most of his client bands are at his side as he EQs their recordings.) Lord-Algae could do his thing virtually anywhere in the world, but he chooses South Beach, he says, because of the "fine artistic atmosphere."

The perennial winner of this category could easily have been eliminated from consideration this year if a major label had signed her to a deal and spread her fame beyond the boundaries of South Florida, as should have happened. Instead she iced the award by releasing in February another masterful CD of original rock, move. Like Mirror before it, the new disc showcases Ward's taffy vocals (they stretch but never break), evocative inflections, and razor-cut phrasings. Her latest effort was financed by yet another project, the highly collectible Bathroom Tape, recorded in an apartment studio in Plantation. These recordings stand with anything released nationally, but it's her live performances (with full band, solo, with guitarist Jack Shawde, or in the round) that keep bringing us back to worship at the Ward altar. As for the national stardom that has thus far eluded her, so what? Thanks to digital sound compression and the World Wide Web, people all over the globe can obtain Ward's work electronically, making major labels irrelevant and verging on obsolete. The reason no corporation has been tempted to exploit her sound might be this: It's too nicked and edgy and tough to meet pop standards, and too damn pretty for rock and roll.

Best Of Miami®

Best Of Miami®