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National Features >
Broward-Palm Beach New Times
How a mother of two ended up in a plot to smuggle high-tech gear to the enemy.
By Deirdra Funcheon
Westword
In life and death, tattoo artist Kauri Tiyme made her mark.
By Alan Prendergast
Village Voice
Amy Neustein never could resist going public with her family dramas.
By Elizabeth Dwoskin
Houston Press
A visit with the hurricane victims that a country forgot.
By John Nova Lomax
Wolf Eyes
Published on June 05, 2008 at 3:22am
In what seems like the blink of a bloodshot eye, Michigan's Wolf Eyes have morphed from a trio of tone-wrangling freaks into noise rock's Grateful Dead, issuing an incessant stream of toxic sonic waste via online distos and Sub Pop and touring the world like it could all end tomorrow. (And that's not even taking into account all the solo and side projects: Hatred, Graveyards, Demons, Dead Machines, and on and on into pulverized-note, hard-to-track-down infinity.) With the aid of homemade electronic rigs, the trio of Nate Young, John Olson, and Mike Connelly alternate between landscape-flattening conflagrations and interminable stretches of creaky, nerve-plucking doom-dread. They're the rotting corpse in the haunted house; they're the squirming, glistening insects under the lifted stone; they're the urine-curdling scream most of us manage to keep under wraps in a world that's slowly running down; they're coming to your burg to peel the paint off your walls and make your ear doctor a rich, rich dude. With Alexandra St. Germain. 21+.
Sat., June 7, 10 p.m., 2008