Liar, liar, pants on fire, hanging by a telephone wire.

So, I was going to finish my post about White Rabbits, but I am a liar.

So on that note, here are some great songs about liars:

“Liar” by Queen is an exquisite song and an obvious pick. The track is from their early days as a band, but still stands up to their later and more renowned work.

The multiple parts of “liar” mesh seamlessly and are arranged similar to an orchestral piece, although it fails to be even near as ambitious as their later hit, “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

My favorite part is when the tempo and mood shifts to a jungle-like beat. Freddy Mercury comes in with his shimmering vocals: “Mama, I’m gonna be your slave.” The band responds with a falsetto “all night long.”

Heavy guitar riffs are prominent in the song; as well as drum solos, a feature not often heard from Queen.

Electronica, doo-wop, rock, avant garde, jazz: Try to find a label for TV On The Radio and you will probably fall flat on your face stumbling over the genres.

It all started with their first major release, “Young Liars.”

The EP kicked off their career as one of rock’s most innovative bands. Tracks like “Staring at the Sun” and the Pixies cover, “Mr. Grieves” showcased their potential for what would turn out to be the tip of the iceberg.

The title track, “Young Liars,” is impressive in itself. A noble song; I imagine the lead singer, Tunde Adebimpe, riding a white stallion to a castle guarded by tarantulas while tripping on shrooms and singing the song.

The man is quite entertaining live — waving his hands in shooing motions and grabbing the back of his head. The other 2/5 of the band faces away from the audience, deeply involved in their amps and effects; entertaining also in its own awkward light.

The textures, the whistling, the wooing and the wind chimes — I cannot get enough of them.

A last song to mention is “Lies” as sung by Glen Hansardon on the movie “Once.” The lyrics border, tumble and drown in cliche, but Hansardon’s delivery could not be more spot on. So much emotion is conveyed in the way he repeats the simple word, “lies, lies, lies.”

This can be said about all the songs on the film though, so go watch it if you have yet to do so; whether for Irish pride, indie cred, or love of acoustic guitars.

Maybe I will talk about the end of the show with White Rabbits in my next post. Of course, I am a pathological liar.

I am tired of getting links to Jefferson Airplane when I am obviously trying find the new and hip band, White Rabbits: My retelling of a night of egos.

I saw White Rabbits last night. They played in front of whatever that Greek Colosseum area is called.

It is a perfect place to witness good music: a swampish pond in the background, grass covered stone steps to sit on and a Taco Bell near by. The show was sponsored by the Reitz Union Board and I believe some fraternity/sorority/Greek organization or two.

In order to get revved up, I watched White Rabbit’s “Late Show With David Letterman” performance on YouTube. It was their television debut.

I secretly hope that they will get even bigger and then I can complain about how they were better back when I saw them in 2008.

Also on the bill last night was Band Marino and Oh Fortuna (not in that order). I will write about them too, since it seems appropriate and convenient.

I will start with Oh Fortuna since they opened. They are a local band that I have had the pleasure of playing with and seeing numerous times. They have a charismatic and goofy lead singer who occasionally picks up an acoustic guitar, which can usually hardly be heard over the synthesizers and drum-tracks. I sometimes call them “The Flaming Lips Carbon Copy From Gainesville.” The nickname is a little spiteful, but mostly I am just harmlessly poking fun at the similarities between Oh Fortuna and The Flaming Lips.

Both of the band’s music consists of multi-layered, psychedelic and slack-jawed, happy songs. J.T. Bringardner’s voice is eerily like Wayne Coyne’s.

Oh Fortuna has a gimmick where they wear costumes based on different themes (past examples include ’80s pedophiles, glam rock stars and Harry Potter characters). The costumes are a definite throwback to the Flaming Lips concert I saw last spring.

There is so much to compare between the two — even down to Bringardner and Coyne’s similar hair style. It is like that poodle hat Weird Al Yankovic sported on that one album … “Poodle Hat.”

I still love to watch Oh Fortuna, though, and despite the similarities to Flaming Lips, they definitely have a spirit of their own.

The band includes two girls who I think are there for looks, charm and further voicing to Bringardner’s falsetto crooning and the synthesizer squeals. Two guys peck at the synthesizer and drum machines during concerts. They are quite a sight, hunching over their instruments in the back, bobbing their heads, tweaking knobs and generally looking awkward. There is also two guitarists in the band.

They ended their set last night with “Five Years”, a David Bowie cover and one of my favorite songs ever to exist. They were an appropriate and cheery warmup for the next two bands. The night just kept getting better.

The professionalism was stepped up as soon as Band Marino took the stage. A random tidbit: Band Marino was voted as the number one MySpace band a year or two ago.

Time has been good to them and they are even better than remembered. I believe they replaced a member in the band, and I am not necessarily saying that this is the catalyst, but something clicked during last night’s performance.

They are a quirky band playing a hodge-podge (I like that word and tend to overuse it) of folk, indie, classic rock and … folk.

Singer, Nathan Bond, has a strangly high-pitched voice that comes out of his stout, hobbit-like body. It is funny to watch him contrasted by now bassist and longtime friend, Abraham Couch who is gangly and tall.

Their stage presence is relaxed, giddy and professional. Bond has that confidant swagger, which he partially gets away with because of the band’s impeciable and catchy music.

From a technical stand point, their recordings are some of the best I have ever heard. Their live performances are just as good.

It was a fun set filled with signature banjos, mandolins, piercing guitars, harmonies and light-hearted lyrics (strange that I feel compelled to label it light hearted when at least two songs were about death).

One song has them go through a strange life and death reenactment. The highlight of this theater performance is a strange homoerotic battle with guitars. It is difficult to explain. I saw it the last time they had a show in Gainesville, but they have since lengthened the act and elaborated with Zoro masks.

A group of girls in the crowd yelled in unison “make me cry” before the end of the set. The band poked fun of the odd request, but did end up finishing the set with “Every Time I make A Girl Cry I Know I’ve Done My Job.”

It was time for White Rabbits to play.

And now I find it too late to continue this post. I will finish tomorrow morning so check back eager readers.

“Ayo, I’m tired of using technology”

So I am upgrading my site. By upgrading, I mean putting pictures, media and general snazz on my blog. I am in the process of back-dating and making pictures for old posts — as well as adding music and videos.

Very important stuff, like a video of Dave Chappell singing “Piss On You” to complement my post about R. Kelly or the song “Pints of Guinness Make You Strong” to go along with my Against Me post.

One Hundred Point Five The Buzz (Killer) — The Format Is Wrong Bob

A few days ago, a friend and I were sitting in the kitchen complaining about a radio station that had switched to corporate rock. Back in its hey-day (its hey-day being a mere few months ago), it was the only decent radio station in the whole area — now it spews the same crap every other rock station dubs music.

Today I read about the demise of 100.5 the Buzz in ¨The Alligator.¨ It seems I am not alone in my disappointment.

But I already knew this from reading forums posted by outraged fans on Gainesvillebands.com. Still, it felt nice to be validated by a printed newspaper.

I cannot believe the station has changed its format. When it first dawned on me, I was in denial. I assumed that I kept catching the station at some awkward time. My car has had little use this year, and driving being the only time I listen to FM radio, it seemed plausible.

I always respected the station’s spirit — even on a bad day. It was refreshing to hear local and independent music blaring through my Grand Marquis speakers. I was exposed to many bands in that car.

I would gloat about the Buzz to friends in other cities.

I do not understand the financial decision behind this move. Most music venues in Gainesville support the exact music that the Buzz played — so, there is a market.

If these venues can survive, the Buzz can survive. Where it will not survive is competing against the numerous stations in the area that already play main-stream rock.

I recall a commercial for the Buzz where famous band members all announced themselves and their bands (a spoof on endorsements heard on other stations): something like “hey this is Chester from Linkin Park” and “this is so-and-so from Slip Knot” and then the announcer would break in with “and we don’t play any of that dog sh*t.”

Listeners still remember that commercial and some took it to heart. The first post about the change on Gainesvillebands.com, titled “what happened to not playing any of that”, said it quite simply with, “dog shit? eh?”

Goodbye whinny indie music, Gainesville punk bands that broke up in 1996 and crappy techno Sundays — its time to turn a new leaf and prepare for a Nickelback meets Buckcherry onslaught.

“You’re a crazy bitch But you f*ck so good, I’m on top of it.”

Should be in bed, instead creating a mixtape CD, listening to a sophomore slump and reminiscing about childhood antics with a boombox.

I am making a “mix tape” CD for a friend.

I think I will label it “because mix tapes are so outdated” — lay the words on with thick sharpie and backdate it to when I wrote my friend a letter a few weeks ago. I will send the items together through snail mail.

I feel so indie.

Indie — I throw that term around loosely and with more ease than even “my nigga” or “Google-Wiki it.”

“Why won’t you introduce me to some of your loose-lipped friends?”

It’s loose, this indie term. It whistles in the breeze like the bellowing lips of … well, just insert some well-known, older female celebrity and organize the dirty joke as you see fit.

I attach indie to all kinds of things: music, paintings, clothes, lifestyles, furniture, jargon, generic brands of peanut butter, word documents, surgical procedures, etc.

As long as it has some feeling of nostalgia; expensive and polished tastes badly disguised to look cheap, with a hint of snobbery.

I could go on, but will spare you the over-recycled topic of “defining indie.”

I forget exactly what songs I put on her “mix tape” CD. I recall the remix of “You Know I’m No Good” by Amy Winehouse featuring Ghostface Killah making it on the final cut.

The good thing about CDs is that they limit me in an age of musical gluttony, a time where electronic space is cheaper than dirt and downloading billions of free mp3s and storing them on a trillion GB hard drive is a reality.

I was forced to choose 14 songs that not only reflected my complex mood, but foresaw my friend’s musical tastes. These are truly the songs that I thought were worth sharing.

No wonder this can be addicting. With hundreds of Websites out there dedicated to mixtapes, (think Muxtape, Datpiff or any Website advertising shared playlists) I do not think I am alone.

I remember taping my favorite songs on the radio when I was in elementary school. Yes, I was on the tail-end of that movement. If the announcer did not name the song beforehand, I would miss the intro. A typical tape would be full of cut-off pieces of songs, hashed together from multiple stations and intermingled with scripted and recorded “radio programs” that my brothers helped me make (our boom boxes obviously had mics for us to make fools of ourselves with).

I remember spoofs on “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire” and smacking my brother to get the right sound effect on the microphone. We would record real radio commercials in our plays — only if we ran out of fake commercial ideas of our own, though.

Anyways, I am listening to The Raconteurs new album right now, which I may or may not have illegally downloaded.

The first song, “Salute your Solution” sounds like an Allman Brothers inspired take on “White Orchid.” I am afraid Jack White is gaining more and more control of this side project.

Brendan Benson continues to act more like a hypeman in a rap group rather than a co-frontman in a super rock group. It is a shame. I hardly hear his voice at all in these songs.

The songs are still catchy as ever, though. Plenty of blues inspired tracks. Each member is superb at their instruments. I recommend downloading live performances of the Raconteurs.

The live recordings floating out there really showcase their musical abilities. You will not be dissapointed by the many jams, lengthened introductions and strange nuances on studio versions.

“Bang, Bang! My Baby Shot Me Down!”

The smooth indie influence that was so prevalent in their last album is toned down; it has been replaced with tinged, dirty rock n’ roll a la the 70s.

this latest track, “Many Shades of Black,” just threw a curve ball at me. I do not like it. I am certain some Motown group has done a similar version of this song and 500 times better.

“Pull This Blanket Off” reminds me of a multitude of songs off “Get Behind Me Satan.” Sorry to make so many references to other White Stripes projects, but I hardly hear the other members’ influences. They are all drowned out by Jack White’s wailing and smashing guitar riffs.

Pretty much all the “experiments” in this album were already done in the 70s.

“Rich Kids Blues” is like a Led Zeppelin song clashing with the Who.

I will finish at this point in my listening. I am under the high horse assumption that the next three songs will not redeem this album. I need to get to bed anyways.

In the end, “Consoler of the Lonely” is listenable (and I will surely listen to it), but it is definitely a sophomore slump.