Correspondent Heather Lalley, proprietor of the Flour Girl blog, reports from the scene:

I’ve covered some crazy events over the years – racing pigs at a county fair, a wedding ceremony of two snakes in a junior-high science class, a Kiss concert. But today’s Rachael Ray made-for-TV Block Party in Wrigleyville might top all of those.

Ray, the-love-her-or-hate-her omnimedia queen of 30-minute meals, came to Chicago to celebrate her daytime show’s move to WGN next month. She gave away 1,500 tickets to her block party – a celebration of healthy cooking and exercise that was a strange mix of traditional street fair, Hollywood smoke and mirrors, and just plain pop-culture oddity.

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Sheesh. I’m getting pretty burnt out down here, I gotta say. [Yeah, tough life.—Ed.] Nevertheless, onwards and upwards!

As a Colorado native, I felt compelled to stop by the Mile High Fidelity showcase, an exhibition of CO bands. I was there for Meese, which was a little too emo/Dawson’s Creek–soundtracky for my taste. Nevertheless, Colorado is the best place on the planet. Deal with it.

I jumped on over to the Pitchfork day party where WAVVES was playing for the 1,000th time this week, and there was a 1,000-person line to get into the Dirty Projectors show. So I said “peace” to that business and ended up over at the Insound Party for The Hold Steady.

More after the hop.

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Is Secretly Canadian the best U.S. indie label right now? Consisting of Dead Oceans and Jagjaguwar, the Bloomington, IN, label’s showcase at Mohawk’s last night certainly suggested so, with a bill including new signees Dinosaur Jr., alongside Akron/Family and Richard Swift.

It helps that the venue itself is such a winner: The outdoor stage has two huge balcony bar areas, so you can watch your fave band from pretty much any angle (including directly over the stage), and there’s a happily sweaty indoor room, too.

Dinosaur Jr.

Piano-pop maestro Richard Swift opened the show. A big, intense-looking fella, Swift sings, variously, with the voice of a teenage doo-wop teen, a ’70s funkateer and Justin Timberlake, and plays the keys with the furry-fingered joie de vivre of Rowlf from The Muppet Show. A winning combination if ever there was one. Look out for his new album, Atlantic Ocean, in April, and check out show closer “Lady Luck” on Swift’s MySpace page if you need further convincing. Do it now!

So what happened next?

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When in doubt, trust Todd P. The New York concert promoter may have a really annoying website and, perhaps, a more annoying following, but, sheesh, homey has put together some radical lineups for his day parties over at Ms. Bea’s.

I stopped by yesterday afternoon and had the pleasure of taking in a set by Toronto’s DD/MM/YYYY. The boys brought the electro heat to the tiny floor-level stage. Read more »

I’m not sure what’s the way to go down here. Either (a) leave for the day with an hour-by-hour plan, or (b) walk outside and just aimlessly scamper about. Yesterday I opted for the latter and things sort of started out pretty slowly.

The barbecue at the Iron Gate was excellent, but San Diego’s Writer didn’t quite measure up to the smoked hot links. They’ve got some strong songs and potential, but the band’s sound was largely middle-of-the-road, innocuous indie.

Once I was on the other side of the highway I stuck around the ‘hood and hopped over to to the Fader Fort. The music mag has quite a setup over there and pretty strong lineups daily. I caught the Hot Melts, from Liverpool, who brought out frantic power chords and attitude. They’re the kind of band that could be huge but would ultimately leave me wondering why.

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Welcome to the fifth and final segment of our interview with Jason Segel and Paul Rudd, stars of the new film I Love You, Man, which opens today.

In today’s installment, Rudd tells TOC Film editor Hank Sartin why Vanity Fair’s recent cover story was slightly incorrect: Segel’s eyes are not so much “basset hound” as “Angela Basset.” Also, there’s a discussion of nudity. Thought you’d want to know.

Listen to Parts 1, 2 and 3 and 4 of this interview, then read our interviews with Jason Segel and Paul Rudd.

I ventured out of my hotel, into the heat and straight to the Fat Possum Records day showcase. The label has put together an impressive roster of young talent and it could be argued that the bands I caught are more vital than, say, FP’s more established artists like Heartless Bastards or Andrew Bird [Um, no.—Ed.].

First up was WAVVES. The buzz ‘n’ fuzz man behind the project, Nathan Daniel William, maintains a Daniel Johnston-like opaqueness on record, but live (with a drummer) his songs really fill out and clean up. It’s  a different band.

Austin’s own the Strange Boys followed and, boy, did they live up to the name—in a good way. The lead singer, Ryan Sambol, has a whiny yawl, like a child who’s candy has been taken away. He might be crying, but I was smiling.

Thomas Function was impressive, as usual, but the sound at Emo’s wasn’t up to the task. Their strongest song, “Belly of the Beast,” lacked its normal punchy crispness.

Next, I ventured over to Club de Ville for a packed Thermals set. The Portland band has a good new record coming out, but, as expected, the fiercest songs live were from 2006’s The Body, The Blood, The Machine.

After the illuminating (previously discussed) set from Iceland’s Sprengjuhöllin, it was time to go to a “big show.” Friends reported that the M.Ward/Deparment of Eagles/St.Vincent/Camera Obscura show was fire-department-violation packed and a friend had to pull some strings with his own label to get into the Heartless Bastards/Decemberists affair. As I contemplated my next move walking down 6th St., a friend from New York pulled me into line and I found myself at Dan Auerbach’s show.

The Black Keys frontman presents a typical problem: While his “side-project” material isn’t bad, he needs to get Jack White on the phone and agree to go back to work in their respective, color-minded main gigs.

I finished out the night with a sonically (and visually) beautiful performance by Brooklyn’s School of Seven Bells. While the Deheza twins and Benjamin Curtis were super-duper annoying at the the beginning of the show—they kept a verbal tennis match going with the sound man for a good 15 minutes—the persistence paid off and blissful vocals shepherded me off to a good night’s sleep.—Colin St. John

Yeah, I don’t know how to pronounce it either. And I have an advantage: The Icelandic band’s lead singer spent about three minutes explaining to the crowd how to say the multisyllabic word.

Nevertheless, this is a band to be discovered. I was fortunate enough to have a tip from a couple of dudes at eMusic (who were hip to Sprengjuhöllin from the get-go) to head over to Opal Divine’s.

The quartet—which just recorded an album of past Icelandic songs in English—was too much fun for words. The lead singer, who aside from deconstructing Icelandic words had some of the better (and goofiest) stage banter I’ve heard in some time, proclaimed to the sparse but energetic crowd that “no matter how many people are at our shows, we try our hardest.”

Sprengjuhöllin

And they did by unleashing upbeat, poppy tunes that brimmed with such force that the band members just had to smash into each other, and onto the ground. They said they want to be rich and famous in America and I don’t see any reason that that shouldn’t be the case (besides the collapse of the record industry).—Colin St. John

Welcome to the fourth segment of our interview with Jason Segel and Paul Rudd, stars of the new film I Love You, Man, which opens this Friday.

In today’s installment, TOC Film editor Hank Sartin asks Segel to comment on the glowing comments about Rudd in Vanity Fair’s recent cover story and discovers he doesn’t exactly read up on his co-stars.

For more, listen to Parts 1, 2 and 3 of this interview, then read our interviews with Jason Segel and Paul Rudd and look for more interview clips all week on the TOC blog.

So! Night No. 1 in Texas finds…well, Austin’s population increased by 20,000 people for starters, most of whom are flocked around taco joints on this balmy evening.… Then there’s the nightly, noisy bat chorus competing with a supremely filthy guitar dirge emanating from legendary Austin venue Emo’s.

Our first musical stop however, is the Paradise bar for South Africa’s BLK JKS. And you know, I really want to like this band. They look so good, all black instruments, duds and dreads, and they move like they’re together, a real band. But sonically…

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