Join me as I raid my favorite closet with Flashion Backward, a new UI feature that’s the spiritual cousin of our recently debuted Flashion Forward. Here, we rifle through our treasure trove of interviews to fish out a vintage gem–the better to explore the strange vortex in which fashion and musicians meet. Ooh, look what I found! CHARLIE SUPERFLY!

Few artists live up to their more-flash-than-cash monikers (Madonna, Extreme, The Mr. T Experience, etc.), but CHARLIE SUPERFLY exceeds the already ambitious degree of peachy-keenness she fearlessly implies she’s got! In addition to being Superfly, she’s supersexy, superseventies, supertalented…and superhungry. Make that superduperhungry.

With a voice that sounds like toasted caramel and melting dulce de leche that’s been licked from a craggy, warm waffle cone by a tongue that’s been around the block a few times, all set to a funky backbeat with a serving of swing, a double dose of rock and a triple shot of soul, this lady is going places–in style! (CHARLIE’S sartorial swagger can only be described as sexy urban comic book superhero).

But after three weeks without carbs (ok, she’s superstrict and supercommitted as well) she flipped her nuts, as one will.

CHARLIE ended her Atkins flirtation with a giant tub of movie popcorn, moved on to fave neighborhood haunt Blue Ribbon for cheesy raviolis in cream sauce and washed the buttery goodness down with a loaf of bread, a stick of butter, a chocolate cake and chocolate ice cream (despite being lactose intolerant–CHARLIE’s superballsy, too).

Check out how she makes a stomach-pump worthy carbfest sound…sassy, sexy and of course–Superfly.

Turn to the left! Turn to the right! Faaaaashiooon…beep beep! We’re here to Flashion Forward with a new UI feature in which we endeavor to explore the ever-expanding universe of sonic style. Each week, we’ll pluck a recently added interview from our warehouse of current clips and try to read between the artist’s sartorial lines. Today, we’re checking out Justin Townes Earle’s goods.

The disarmingly big-peepered and hollow-cheeked Nashville singer-songwriter already has many colorful lives behind him. Justin began writing in his early teens, spewing out knowing gems like “Ain’t Glad I’m Leaving:”

“Because I lie, cheat and gamble, and I steal from many men / Well, from Georgia to Los Angeles, Texas up to Maine, I’m a wanted man”

A former cheater, gambler, drug addict, booze-bingin’ liar and the scion of a good ol’ Southern family (his dad is Steve Earle) – he’ll have material to draw from for decades. And the bastard’s only 26 years old!

Oh, and he looks like a Calvin Klein model circa 1991 – pale skin, jagged features, lone rider eyes, urban cowboy clothes. Few men can make cowboy hats and swamp-hued button downs look like the height of chic, but Justin was clearly not cut from a mold to which regular mortals can relate.

To wit: his (surprise!) wise beyond his years (and possibly his species) perspective on living in NYC, below.

Time to dust off some old gems with Flashion Backward, a new UI feature that’s the spiritual cousin of our recently debuted Flashion Forward. Here, we rifle through our treasure trove of interviews to fish out a vintage gem–the better to explore the strange vortex in which fashion and musicians meet. What jewel have we here?

Why, the only lady and men this side of the border who can blend the sexy styles of tango, chanson and house into a danceable, multilingual electronic package you want to groove to, not run from (usually to the next subway car). We’re talking about none other than the NYC-based Brazilian Girls, of course (none are from Brazil, they just sound like it).

Brilliantly incorporated disparate styles invade the band’s closets, not just their studio sessions and legendary shows. Watching them prance around in short shorts, go-go boots, aggressively non-tailored billowing blazers, brightly hued bubble skirts and an explosion of dreadlocks that resembles a clutch of palm trees and skinny black suspenders in lieu of shirts is like watching a paint-by-numbers interpretation of their complex, jazz-inflected supermod beats.

But sprinting ahead of the musical and fashion curve, inventing new genres and never having a bad hair day’s gotta drain the old batteries. Their brilliant remedy, courtesy of equally avant-garde artist David Lynch: transcendental meditation–-the perfect way to get those tapped, guzzled and abused creative juices flowing again.

It’s time to rewind with Flashion Backward, a new UI feature that’s the spiritual cousin of our recently debuted Flashion Forward. Here, we rifle through our treasure trove of interviews to fish out a vintage gem–the better to explore the strange vortex in which fashion and musicians meet. Onto this week’s flashback…

Even if you’re laying splayed on a sagging bed under far too many layers of sheets and blankets, half dead from a hangover, stuffed to the almost-barfing brim with greasy home fries and a Spanish frittata (shoulda skipped that side of sausage) and attempting to fearlessly face down a Saturday crammed with laundry…when !!! gets queued up in your laptop’s random shuffle mode, ya can’t help but shake yer rump to the dance-punk loveliness. Suddenly you realize that Excedrin you slammed 20 minutes ago has kicked in, those sausages gave you an all-important protein-packed energy boost and laundry is for suckers–you’re headed to the park.

!!! is familiar with mood and style swings from the crusty rubble of the mid-90s hardcore scene. Lead singer Nic Offer wanted to inject some light-hearted fun, funk, pop and experimentation into his music, and the eight-member ensemble !!! was born. The music definitely evolved, but their essential commitment to radical politics, in-your-face intensity and slacker fashion remained firm. (The band members hail from the mad-genius sculptor “don’t mind this pattern of whimsically scattered mystery crust on my threadbare T-shirt, and yes, I did find these jeans on the bottom of my girlfriend’s closet, but they totally fit so I’m wearing them – all my shit is dirty, dude” school of getting dressed in the morning)

Below, check out Nic as he waxes surreal on his dream to continue to transform the world around him with…wait for it…Jesus-like floating superpowers. (The ability to simply fly or make paintings talk isn’t rock ‘n’ roll enough).

March was a mad, mad month in all of its sweat-soaked, cuckoo competitive, my-dick-is-bigger-than-yours glory–and no, the madness to which we’re referring does not involve that whole college basketball playoff thing. It’s SXSW mania, bitches! The 23-year-old Austin festival has ripened from a wee little anonymous Texas toddler to a full-grown star in the pop-cultural firmament whose sultry glory and ever-extending influence can only be ignored by card-carrying members of the AARP.

But like the best celebrities, SXSW seems impervious to all of the attention, and has managed to maintain the spirit of a cool little indie fest, while simultaneously attracting every expense-account touting suit in the industry, tout le musical monde spanning every conceivable genre (everyone from Metallica to Erykah Badu to Micachu and the Shapes staged a show) and, of course, thousands of rabid fans.

The lovely economic slump we’re ensconced in and the general “Uh-oh WTF is going on now that the Internets are here?” vibe the industry’s been dealing with left the artists and fans as ready to chillax as the party’s hosts.

Below, five clips of artists dispensing tips to achieve tranquility now (no prescriptions or dudes who know dudes who can get you this stuff required).

5. Amazing Baby: Just Cinch It

Unlike, say, Vanilla Ice, The Goo Goo Dolls or Hootie and the Blowfish, folktronica punkers Amazing Baby actually deliver what they’re nominally sellin’. Lush, epic, hybridized and glamorama without needing eyeliner, Amazing Baby dishes out the kind of incandescent tunes that would make any momma proud.

And they’re all about the ladies–in a totally non-creepy way–which is something a gal likes to see. Let’s hire some fancy scientists to analyze the substance in those little bottles they’re drinking, because I can’t remember the last time I saw, heard about, read about or even dared to imagine five hot young men–accomplished artistes who live in Brooklyn, no less–sensitively discussing the importance of comfort for recently pregnant women.

Their sage advice? “Get a belt and cinch it.” It being a mumu, caftan, smock or adult onesie. After all, it’s what Santa wears. Check out their wisdom, prudence and panache below.

4. Thunderheist: Mom Boobs

Dance-rap funsters Thunderheist stormed SXSW with their infectious, sexy, electro-disco-drama and wicked funk stiletto-tapping beats. On their MySpace page the duo claims their influences include Red Bull vodka, French boys, dirty dirty synths and Asian chicks…with bangs! And you can totally hear it in their joyful sonic exploitation of good old fashioned hedonistic fun.

Despite their laissez-faire approach to life and love, they have their limits, dammit! And as self-proclaimed professional thunder-stealers, I’m guessing they’re a force to be reckoned with. I pity the fool who–uninvited–unveils her boobies in front of these two. Check out the two kicking back, soaking up some Austin sun and laying down some ground rules re: mom boobage.

(READ ALL ABOUT CHILLAXING AT SXSW HERE)

Welcome back to Flashion Forward, a new UI feature in which we endeavor to explore the ever-expanding universe of sonic style. Each week, we’ll pluck a recently added interview from our warehouse of current clips and try to read between the artist’s sartorial lines. Today, we’re investigating the sweet, neat, petite Here We Go Magic.

The newish band, conceived and born in the still respectably gritty Greenpoint, Brooklyn, has turned making do into an art form: their self-titled debut was recorded at home, in stream-of-consciousness writing/composing mode with their trusty, if not exactly high-tech, analog synths. The result is a philosophical, dreamy but strangely danceable and totally narcotic album that will likely please fans of living room dance parties stocked with PBR and those who favor patchouli-scented tambourine-tappin’ boho fests in Prospect Park.

The something-for-everyone vibe extends to their disparate takes on le dernier cri – a superskinny, gorgeously mop-topped tall, dark and handsome man who looks like he shops the vintage racks in Paris (check!); impish blue-eyed blond with dimples and a naughty glint in his eye with a soigné cardigan on his back (check!); a man in black (check!); long-tressed hipster chick who was probably born strapped into a pair of skinny jeans and a complicated-looking black top that looks super expensive but you just know she totally got it for a song (double check!).

As the band prepares for official take-off, they look at a road littered with pink slips and terminations. It’s a good thing their music doesn’t suck, because they ain’t making it at Tower Records, bakeries, florists or as personal assistants.

Welcome back to Flashion Backward, a new UI feature that’s the spiritual cousin of our recently debuted Flashion Forward. Here, we rifle through our treasure trove of interviews to fish out a vintage gem–the better to explore the strange vortex in which fashion and musicians meet. Onto this week’s kickass score…

Post-post-punkers and former Montreal art students The Stills have been blithely living the rock ‘n’ roll dream since 2003, walking the thinner and thinner line between cheesing out and keeping it real. They’ve appeared on the (99% cool) soundtrack for the (49% cool) cinematic tour de farce Wicker Park, opened for the likes of Oldey McMoldy (but still 51% cool) Paul McCartney and (89% cool) Kings of Leon and played with the 210% cool Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

Four albums later, they’re churning out at one moment experimental, the next stadium-worthy rootsy rock that seems sweet but has a bitter bite, like a marshmallow peep followed by a double shot of bourbon. The band members look like the Bowery circa 1998, when the grit still eclipsed the glam, but it was starting to smell suspiciously pretty. Their trippy aesthetic reflects their sound and their aspect – some weird amalgamation of a pouting Marcel Duchamp with a generous (and ironically applied, natch) dollop of Bob Ross.

Here, they describe what would happen if they were allowed to design their own album covers, which, for everyone’s sake, their label, Arts & Crafts, should look into STAT: they essentially envision white cats on stairs hopped up on steroids with toilet paper flowing all around them; on the magically animated cover, the felines would frolic joyfully about for our bemusement. LOLcats!!