Hip-hop apologetics is mad 1990-ish to me.

47-year-old Henry Rollins is often referred to as punk rock's Renaissance man. He's well-traveled, well-read and gloriously outspoken, his opinions asserted with the same authority with which he sings.

In its 10th year, Bash's IPO will travel to 13 cities, starting in Atlanta and Chapel Hill this month, moving on through the Midwest and then to Liverpool, England; followed by West Coast stops in Los Angeles, San Franciso, Seattle and Vancouver; and wrapping with Boston, New York and Toronto.

The past and the future of hip hop and American politics

Raleigh writers, Dean & Britta, Anna Kramer & The Lost Cause, The Club is Open, more

Honey Owens own drugs, letting go, and escaping the noise trap

One of the best introductory EPs released in the Triangle this decade, the eponymous Wood Ear gathers six tracks from Durham songwriter Nate Tarr recorded nearly two years ago.

The Symphony's latest program will pay tribute to Cole and gospel/Broadway performer Paul Robeson.

When he plays now, Skeeter Brandon still keeps that same exuberance he had when he'd get to sing in the old Baptist church near Roxboro.

They all arrived in a cavalcade of three separate stretch limos, steppin' out onto a red carpet Hollywood-style, waiting to be photographed and interviewed.

Heretic Pride is uniquely capable of articulating what Darnielle does so well for the uninitiated: His voice has never flashed so much range, and his band has never offered such vivid and varied interpretations.

On Espanta Muerto, the band has created a fully-formed, rich-sounding, original testament to its touchstones, at last overcoming the homage burden.

This certainly doesn't sound like a debut from post-graduates still learning their instruments: Built ground-up from simple rhythms and developed with tasteful guitar leads and Dan Bryk's omnipresent piano and organ flair, Down by Avalon is an elegant, precise pop production.

The song opens simply, with two male voices rising and falling in close harmony, singing a cappella in Spanish: "Raleigh, North Carolina, I carry you in my heart."

Listening consecutively to the first two albums from Brooklyn rapper El-P is a marathon: 27 tracks, two hours, 100 notable rhythmic shifts, enough words to line a meaty libretto.

It's Wednesday afternoon. My body has been recoiling from South by Southwest since sometime Friday morning.