Most people’s parents don’t allow their grade school kids to choose a path of habitual insomnia via excess consumption of Nick at Nite. But mine did, and thank God, because I found my soul mate in the fogotton Brady Bunch middle child, Bobby. He and I are kindred spirits. His voice begins to crack just as he and his siblings get a recording contract, just like my siblings and I, whose single “Yeeeeee” — where we do three-part harmonies of the word “Yeeeeee” — never got released.

Fuzzy purple lights wrapped the State Theatre in a cloud of warmth, as 30-foot tie-dye tapestries set the backdrop for the world’s most renowned Grateful Dead tribute band, the Dark Star Orchestra (DSO). Touring nationwide for over a decade, the Chicago-based DSO recreates original, song-for-song concerts from the Dead’s 30-year history. Last Tuesday night, the audience was treated to DSO show #1,611 — a rare original set list.

Think back to seventh grade when you and your friends attended bar-mitzvahs every weekend. You all felt like you should be dancing, but couldn’t be the first one to start it. So instead, you and everyone else just kind of stood there bopping your head awkwardly.

Now imagine that one of those bar-mitzvahs was in Noyes, with a bunch of Cornellians in attendance and a really awesome Israeli band playing. That is what the Hadag Nachash concert felt like last Thursday night.

Imagine it’s 6 a.m. on a Sunday morning. You’re still drunk from last night, you’ve got work and laundry piling up and it’s not even light out. Yet here you are at Barton Hall, chugging coffee and assembling steel trusses, heavy-duty rigging for light fixtures and scaffolds into a stage. You’re making signs that say: ‘Backstage Band Area’ or ‘Bathrooms Here,’ or running errands to Wegmans to buy your guests of honor their organic bottled water of choice. A truck breaks down on its way to Ithaca, so the stage you need to have assembled by 3 p.m. won’t be ready for a few more hours. But the show must go on — will go on, at 6 p.m. Screw how early it is, it’s time to get to work.

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Hadag Nachash (“Snake Fish” in Hebrew) is one of Israel’s most famous hip-hop bands — and beloved the world over, by Hebrew speakers and non-Hebrew speakers alike. Sun News Editor Jasmine Marcus ’10 called up Sha’anan Streett, the band’s lead singer and songwriter, and spoke to him about their tour, politics and why even non-Hebrew speakers can “get down to the groove”.

The Sun: How’s your tour been going so far?

Sha’anan Streett: It’s been going great. Right now we’re in Los Angeles. We were in San Francisco, D.C., Ann Arbor, Michigan, New York City and we’re going to hit Cornell tomorrow!

Sun: And what are your plans for after the tour?

S.S.: We’re gonna go back to Israel and rest a little. Then we’ll start rehearsal and writing for the new album.

Whether you know it as the theme song to The Wonder Years, or as an iconic performance at Woodstock, Joe Cocker’s rendition of “With A Little Help From Friends,” a song originally by the Beatles, gleams as one of the greatest covers of all time.

Footage of Cocker singing at Woodstock shows a man completely possessed — a man channeling a swarm of unknowable rock-and-roll deities through that magical scepter known as the electric guitar. Or, loads of LSD. Nonetheless, what makes Cocker’s rendition of this song superb is the artist’s ability to channel the excellence — and somehow transcend the status — of the original. In a weird way, Cocker understands that song better than any Beatle does. Or so it would seem by his inspired performance.

Like the birth of a child, some experiences are so profound that words only cheapen them. One such experience is Blue, Joni Mitchell’s 1971 classic — an album as essential to the lexicon of rock and roll as Sgt. Pepper and Blonde on Blonde. Along with the Beatles and Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell is a 20th century musical icon, one whose style is uniquely her own, and whose brilliance eludes understanding. The unconventional tunings; the soaring vibrato; the see-sawing lyrics — Mitchell’s music is so visceral, so free, so untamed, that pinning it down diminishes it, like putting a wild animal into captivity.

Last week I reviewed little David Archuleta’s debut, and even though I gave it a positive critique, I was spurned by a plethora of Archie-loving lunatics. This week, it’s David Cook’s turn in the spotlight, and while I don’t anticipate the same back-lash from Cook extremists, treat this review as one of unbiased intention.

During much of his run last season on American Idol, David Cook drew many comparisons to season five’s resident-rocker Chris Daughtry. Not only was Cook’s style harder-edged than the competition — especially in the context of Idol — he even pulled the same advantage-grabbing stunts that Daughtry did. Cook emerged from the franchise’s most talented season primed to be the first contestant who can hold his own with his Idols.

From the balcony of the State Theatre, the turnout for the Avett Brothers seemed unimpressive. Save for a scattering of patrons and a small contingent of students having their own private rave in the upper corner (complete with glow-sticks), the balcony was largely deserted. Fortunately for everyone, the balcony was so depopulated because the entire audience decided to get as close to the stage as possible — the lower level of the theater was the most crowded I have ever seen it, and filled with the most enthusiastic crowd I’ve ever seen (or heard).

Saturday night, the Fanclub Collective put on a rather unprecedented four-act show in North Campus’ own Just About Music dorm. Now, through my three years at Cornell, and despite the fact that I have several JAM-resident friends, I have never actually been to one of their coffee-house shows (I am infinitely excited to cross it off of my list of things to do at Cornell).

The space was neat, inviting and just the right size to make a Fanclub show seem full to the brim, though I felt bad for the people who actually live there. Anyone trying to sleep at 11pm was undoubtedly having a terrible time doing so — the last band was particularly gut-bustingingly loud.