In 2008, independent rock returned to the underground, where it belongs. Given the grand catastrophe that is today's record industry, most major-label executives don't have the time or energy to convince music fans they might like something a little out of the ordinary. They're too busy recycling variations on what were once sure things while desperately searching for career exit strategies that don't involve tall buildings, open windows and running leaps. As a result, fringier artists have had
As the buildings turned Mass Street into a piercing cold wind tunnel, a crowd of Lawrencians took refuge inside the Jackpot Music Hall. Once inside, in the dim red bar light and the sweltering heat, that same crowd found themselves wishing they'd left their coats in the car. Alela Diane came on first, backed by a four-piece band: hairy dude on bass, cute girl singing harmonies, red-headed Greg Oden look-alike on drums, and Alela's dad wailing on mandolin and lead guitar.
Alela Diane possesse
