Live In New York Ninety-Four (Deko Entertainment). Review by Joe Frietze.

Family drama in a tiny NYC apartment explores the meaning of modern day Judaism.

May Terry awakens from a synth-pop slumber to enjoy the off-the-beaten path music of Sasha Siem at Le Poisson Rouge in NYC.

Ty Segall, fuzzmeister of psychedelic lo-fi garage rock, shows no signs of slowing down his Mach 3 musical momentum, as May Terry witnessed during his concert at Webster Hall, NYC.

San Francisco’s The Stone Foxes jingle-rocked NYC’s Grammercy Theatre, helping May Terry shake the Christmas doldrums away with some great alternative-blues rock.

May Terry relives a bit of teen pop nostalgia with The Ugly Club in NYC, where the ladies swoon over girl-candy frontman Ryan Egan.

Live at the Roseland Ballroom, NYC (Eagle Records). Review by Christopher Long.

Gemma Ray slams one clever cultural retro-reference into another, all the while wielding her harmonies alongside the tones from her Gretsch – deliciously awry. At least that’s how May Terry hears it.

Praying Mantis (Noble Rot). Review by Carl F Gauze.

Lead singer of Staind , Aaron Lewis, played an intimate acoustic show in Times Square, New York City with the support of Lo-Pro. Mark Fredrickson was there.

It’s been more than two years since a posting and I know for a fact there are at least three persons in the State of Florida who simply assumed I was trampled under in that Conneticuit (sp?) heavy metal death club (I know I’m an asshole, but I have to say the whole thing was very Darwinian - rockers who continue to sport the Eighties-doo, beware) or just possibly crushed under 100 million tons of the first World Trade Center … and yes, there will be a second.

I can’t use a knife and fork properly. I can’t seem to make myself believe that everyone isn’t watching me eat. I can’t can’t CAN’T stand it when people crack jokes about me (I know we spend half the night making fun of Mr. Can-aa-da, but this is me we’re talking about now).

One of the editors seemed to disagree. Thinking that I had deserted ship, he dreamed up the most horrid, painful disgusting punishment ever inflicted upon a living human being. He put Morrissey on my page.

Spending so much time in such a relaxed, non-confrontational atmosphere has somewhat dulled my killer instincts. And now, of all places to relocate to, I pick New York City. That’s right, the Mecca of all Western Civilization, as an old friend once referred to it (that old friend now sells drugs in Washington Square Park, among other horribly communist and leftist occupations). There is speed in the water in NYC. This is not a lie.