It’s a damn shame when a band travels great lengths to play a show in Athens and finds itself greeted by a half-enthused, shrimpy Casa crowd. It’s even more of a shame when the band is actually good.
Old Lights, from St. Louis, were more deserving, but they didn’t shove it in Athens’ face or anything. Instead, they powered through the awkwardness that desolate bars inevitably create for an energetic show full of dual harmonies and catchy hooks. Had there been more people, it would have been a wild time, but since there were only, like, eight of us, it was a little anticlimactic.
My friends and I did our best to pick up the slack of the invisible audience, but there’s only so much three stupid, drunk 20-somethings can do. At one point, we harmonized with the bassist when he did a solo song. He didn’t know it was happening, but I really felt like we had some great musical chemistry going on.
The
morning crowd on South Beach was decidedly split between middle aged proud
parents and classmates of To Be Determined, one of the winners from the Athens
High School Battle of the Bands. Their set was mostly made up of covers -- the
standards: Red Hot Chili Peppers
and Sublime -- mixed in with a
few originals. Your typical high school jam band, complete with joking rock
goddery on the part of their lead singer, but it was some good background music
to start the day. Except for that "Call Me Maybe" cover. Not cool,
boys. Not cool.
The former post was retracted because of a miscommunication between the author of the post and the reader. In it, the author led the reader to believe that Max Wheeler was indeed the frontman playing Cop Hugger's Lobsterfest 2012 set.
I was excited to see Cop Hugger take the stage. The band isn't known for playing places outside of bars or houses because of their hardcore sound. It's always interesting to me to see how that sound translates into a different atmosphere.
Max Wheeler, the band's lead singer, was out of town for the set, so Spencer Radcliffe (a friend of the band) took the stage in his place. Radcliffe's most notable accomplishments come from his electronic project Blithe Field. But to the passersby and to those unfamiliar with the music of Cop Hugger, Radcliffe was a fine substitute.
Cop Hugger played with great gusto. The set lasted around 15 minutes, but to those familiar with the band, that is not an uncommon thing. It's an aesthetic of the genre -- straightforward frustration expressed through yells over three power chords lasting only a minute or so in length.
Despite being somewhat out of their element at two in the afternoon in the middle of a residential green, Cop Hugger adapted.
It
can never be too early for Scubadog. The band (though missing their other
guitarist this time 'round) took the ever so slightly raised stage on South
Beach around 1:30 p.m. with the sunshine glimmering behind them. Not many were
there yet to see the beloved Scubadog in an abnormal setting compared to their
frequent bar shows. But the band proved that no matter the audience, they boast
the most delightful of musical integrity (even with a missing bandmate).
Most
things about the band's set were fairly typical in the realm of Scubadog --
comical stage banter, authentic energy and all-around indie rock excellence.
But frontman Jake Householder did change things up more than a bit when he
invited a lone audience member up on stage to sing with him. Her name escapes
me, but her voice does not, as it weaved with Householder's cracked falsetto
perhaps flawlessly. And to think we just thought she was there to enjoy
Lobsterfest.
I
couldn't help but notice the nice family sitting in lawn chairs at the back of
Lobsterfest. A mommy, a daddy and a young girl enjoying the picturesque June
day and the sweet sounds of...Fat History
Month? SIGN-OFF?
Something's not right here.
While
there's a fair deal of screaming about these acts, nothing about them
necessarily screams "family-oriented," at least in the traditional
sense, anyway.
But
they stayed through all the noise, all the lyrical F-bombs and crowd-attributed
F-bombs. They even looked like they were bobbing their heads ever so slightly.
Were they residents of Athens who just attend Lobsterfest every year? I
couldn't figure it out, but I was happy they were there.
We
all caught Fat History Month first. A duo who came over from Boston, the band
seemed to be enjoying themselves more than any other act at the festival. They
embraced the crowd, who in turn responded similarly. The love affair with
Athens continued even after Lobsterfest when the group played a second house
show later in the night.
Next
was SIGN-OFF, another noisy duo that is more familiar to the area. They were
about halfway through their bare-bones, bass and drum set when bassist Morgan
Garrett announced, "My parents are here," and BOOM, it all made
sense.
What
made this even better was that Garrett didn't change his performance one iota
just because his parents were there. He hopped around sort of awkwardly and screamed
so loud his voice cracked. He even let his eyes roll into the back of his head.
Some young performers might feel anxiety with a performance like that. Their
style of music might be seen as taboo by a more traditional set of eyes and
ideas, but that's who Garrett is as a musician and nothing is going to (in fact
nothing can or should) change who he is or how he performs.
Or
maybe he just has rad parents. I would bet the answer is both.
Reading Group, from
Louisville, was one of the bands that Kory Kasler, Matt Bemer and I really
could not wait to see on Snaturday. They describe themselves as "pop-punk,
maybe," and the "maybe" portion of that is quite accurate
because I don't really know how to place them in a genre. Their guitars were
loud, drums spot-on at driving the tempo and Lacey Guthrie's vocals were just
downright gorgeous. They even took a request from Matt to add the song "Holy
Kisser" on to the end of their set. I'm not usually a fan of female
singers, but when it comes to Reading Group, I make quite the exception. In
fact, I bought a t-shirt, pack of buttons and cassette tape (yes a
cassette tape) following their set. Reading Group, you guys (and gal) rule.
Evolve, also know as Colin
Murray, daintily took the stage after Reading Group in a pink dress and a table
full of flashing switches and beat mixing equipment.
Most
of the audience wasn’t sure what to expect. He had yellow-tinted hair piled on
his head and introduced himself as “Nancy." The crowd laughed a little
uncertainly and Evolve began the show.
Personally,
I had just heard he played electronic music and mixed beats. After about two
minutes he began rapping. Not at all what I expected.
His
songs covered everything from total anarchy to intense drug use. I found myself
enjoying all of it. He had an awesome flow to his words that was completely
different from the voice of “Nancy” he had taken on before.
He
complained of minor technical difficulties due to the sun hindering his ability
to see the lights on his mixing boards. However, he managed to put together a
stellar performance for Lobsterfest.
Xray Eyeballs
By: Amanda Norris, Staff Writer
Xray Eyeballs: garage rock suited to
your favorite underground night club, decked out in slick black and white
complete with ultra-hip style and demeanor. Their relentless shoegaze-esque
sound would own The Union and the night, but it wasn't as well-suited to a
midafternoon outdoor festival as we might have liked. That aside, this is a
band to watch and the fact that their guitarist wore the Snat costume the rest
of the day made me proud as hell to have them at Lobsterfest. Come back through
and play The Union Xray. We'd love to see it.
Pujol
By: Amanda Norris, Staff Writer
Though
I am always hesitant of making committed statements about which bands will blow
up and which bands, though possibly deserving of fame and fortune, will
disappear into obscure indie rock history, I'm going to make an exception. I
can't help but feel like a few months from now we'll be telling people,
"Yeah, we booked Pujol for
Lobsterfest..." Why? Because exactly one week from gracing our humble
stage on South Beach, they will be playing Bonnaroo -- not exactly a small
feat. They played to a small crowd of dedicated ACRNites, but they didn't mind.
Cracking jokes and making conversational banter with the intimate bunch, this
down-to-earth trio put on an entertaining closing set. Their tunes were great,
but so was their attitude. They even stuck around afterward to talk to the
crowd and stage crew, genuinely interested in learning about what makes Athens
special. You probably won't get that interaction in Tennessee next weekend.
Come at us Bonnaroo.
By and large, our humble Lobsterfest is primarily a
"rock" show. Sometimes punkier, sometimes metal-er, but a vast
majority of acts use loud, distorted guitars and pounding drums to make their
musical points.
And, in small doses, I can dig that. Shouting, headbanging,
screeching feedback, even moshing can be alright when the riffs activate
whatever primal mechanism makes people do such things. It ain't noise pollution
and it ain't gonna die, or so I'm told.
But while I appreciate the three-power-chord sensibility, my
personal tastes gravitate toward songs that are composed rather than written --
songs with a particular and intentional vision, where every note, every sound
counts. While the bands at this year's Lobsterfest all entertained in their own
raucous ways, only one performer that I saw hid behind no amplification or
distortion at all, laying her composing skills bare for those in attendance.
Mindy Braasch opened the Casa portion of Day 2 and once again
proved herself to be a different kind of Athens singer-songwriter. Where most
solo performers try to show the region's Appalachian heritage through their
tunes, her songs are more similar to the soulful, introspective pop of Norah Jones or Adele.
Oh, and she's 17 and already has an album out. Wow. I know my
own musical aspirations in high school were mainly indulged by air guitaring to
AC/DC, not making records and working with
Nashville songwriters.
While the other acts on the Casa bill had crowded masses of
smashed patrons jostling each other around, the only slightly tipsy attendees
slowly filled the empty space in front of the stage, allowing the performance
to receive the attention normally reserved for somewhere like Donkey.
With her guest guitar player, she mixed covers with a number of
her own very personal songs, running the gamut from dealing with creative
criticism to the never-ending fountain of song inspiration that is love.
Naturally, these were the songs tailor-made for her style and
showed off her sublimely expressive voice (alto but with a range that
effortlessly stretched into the higher range when needed). An original song
titled "Right Here, Right Now" showed off this versatility the best,
going from a deep-toned verse to near-falsetto heights in the bridge.
And the subtle way she changed the melody in the last chorus?
That's what takes a song from "good" to "magic."
She switched nearly every song between guitar, piano and
ukelele, but never used this ability as a tool for self-indulgence, always
picking the right instruments for the songs that needed them. The more
inward-looking songs were performed on piano, while the country-flavored
"Take Me Away" was done as a guitar duet.
For the considerable number of people in Casa, you would have
thought that more would have drunkenly accepted her invitation to sing along
with a ukelele rendition of "I'm Yours." But this only made it
easier to hear her own voice, which hit all the pleasant vocalizations of Jason Mraz while smoothing
out the jarring staccato feel of the original.
She also covered "Love the Way You Lie," far surpassing
the original by focusing on the pure hook value of the chorus rather than the
rap verses. But she still nailed all the rap parts, with God knows how many
words there are in that song. The absence of a shrill, doctored Rihanna voice was a particular plus.
Having seen her play at much less-populated venues like Jackie O's, I was impressed by her poise and
confidence playing at Casa, which can be intimidating at 10 p.m. on a Friday
night. She made sure to give each song an introduction and explained her
reasons behind writing them, instead of doing the
mumbling-into-the-microphone-seconds-after-the-guitar-feedback-from-the-last-song-faded-away
thing. Pretty professional for such a young performer.
So here's to the most nuance-filled 2012 Lobsterfest
performance. I mean, I love me some Kyle Sowashes,
but I also like hearing myself think when listening to music, and the nuances
of Mindy Braasch's set certainly warranted that. From her prescient cover
choices to passionate originals, she stole that night's show and seemed ready
to make it beyond the diverse, but confining Athens venues. And out of respect
for the abundant inspiration in her set, I wish her the best in doing so.
And
I think we had the right to do so. It was the last week of classes, after all.
Finals week is coming up fast and most of us just want one last hurrah before
we disperse for the summer and get jobs, internships, or whatever people do
during the summer. Friends will go months without seeing each other, so all
they want to do now is go out with a bang.
Lobsterfest
2012 provided the perfect opportunity for my friends and I to go out and have
some fun. Friday night, or day two of the festival, took place at Casa Nueva.
We headed over to the local Mexican eatery (which is where I've seen some of my
favorite shows in Athens) and got ready for some music.
The
first band we saw was Indigo Wild. If you haven't heard of them, you're
missing out. This band has something and I'm not sure if that something will
turn into major success, but there is a spark. And Indigo Wild is riding that
spark. The band is made up of four musicians who are far more talented than
even they realize. Lead guitarist Michael Norris stands almost uncomfortably
straight, but when you watch his hands move up and down the neck of his guitar
you get lost in the movement. His complex licks define the songs and he quietly
plays them while tucked away on the side of the stage -- the band's hidden
treasure.
Drummer
Jason Winner grew up listening to hard rock and heavy metal, which is clear to
see as he smashes down on his drum kit. While Indigo Wild is more likely to
draw comparisons to a band like Local Natives rather
than Mastodon, his fills and
timing are so precise that it's clear he is a student of the metal genre. What
is it that makes metal musicians such perfectionists at their craft? Whatever
it is, Winner has it and it's impressive to see him sitting behind his friends
and giving them a downright killer beat throughout the entire show.
As
a whole, the band rips through a respectable (but sadly short) setlist that
gets the crowd (or at least my group of friends) moving. Songs like "When
You Say," "On the Hill" and a tune that I can never remember the
name of but features the crazy, screaming on repeat lyric of "I can't feel
my legs," are all it takes to completely take hold of us. We dance. We
jump. We clap. We probably clap in places where we're not supposed to, but we
don't care. Indigo Wild has undoubtedly become one of my favorite bands to come
through Athens and I will see them every single time they appear here from now
on.
After
the show, I spoke with Winner, complimenting him on the performance. He, the
aforementioned perfectionist, lamented the fact that his timing was off the
entire show. He said the band wasn't as tight as usual. And while I'll admit
that the band's performance at Casa in May was the better than Friday's, I
still can't find anything to criticize the group on. Apparently, this is Indigo
Wild's first performance since a show three weeks ago, and they have not been
able to get together to practice between those two shows (two band members live
in Columbus, the other two in Cincinnati). And while Winner and the band
members would naturally find flaws in their performance, I cannot. The group is
very comfortable with one another at this point - so comfortable in fact that
going three weeks between shows isn't a problem, even if they may think it is.
We
headed outside. I wanted to head to O'Bettys for some chili cheese fries. I
hadn't eaten anything for hours, and the Indigo Wild show took a lot out of me.
My friend Ben insisted that we hold off on the fries until after The Kyle Sowashes performed. I was
dying. Literally. I needed food in my belly, but Ben wouldn't let me cross the
street. I feared he may have hurt me if I tried. So I did my best to trust him
and headed back inside for a show on an empty stomach.
Somehow
I've lived in Athens for two years and had, up until Friday, avoided The Kyle
Sowashes. This wasn't an intentional avoidance. I have nothing against the
band. In fact, I know nothing about them. So how could I? As they set up, I literally
had no idea what they were going to sound like.
From
the first screaming chord, I'm reminded of The Hold Steady. This is the perfect
bar band. The guitars rage, the vocals are nothing special, but they don't have
to be. The songs are punchy, short and goddamn catchy. I'm instantly angry at
myself for wasting two years without this band, but I got as much out of it as
I can. There was moshing to be done. And I joined in - at least for a little
bit. That was until I accidentally get punched in the back of the head and
needed to bow out. But for a while, I went all out. Limbs were flying in front
of the stage and I was adding to the mayhem, something that I generally
wouldn't do under normal circumstances. But The Kyle Sowashes, and Friday
night, were not normal circumstances. This is Lobsterfest 2012 baby. And for a
few hours there I got lost in the music, moved and danced like a typical me
would be too embarrassed to do, and just had a really, REALLY good time.
The second night of Lobsterfest was a wonderful mess.
Everyone was in high spirits as we arrived at Casa Cantina to greet Mindy
Braasch leaving the stage. It’s a bummer we missed her, but I’m sure the Athens
High School songstress created just the right kind of commencement to the
night.
Indigo Wild took the stage next and it was clear everyone
was pretty excited for that. ACRN is a fan. If you haven’t seen our Hand Picked video
series yet, you should. The band has been known to sound akin to Fleet Foxes—an accurate and valuable
comparison. The last time I saw this band was a few years ago when they opened
up for Pomegranates in
Cincinnati. From what I can remember, the band has definitely developed more
confidence on the stage.
ACRN alumni love The Kyle Sowashes -- something about
their geeky rock star demeanor just woos them. They're adorably smitten in the
presence of the band as they shout along to the goofy lyrics. Meanwhile, the
band feeds off that energy, getting their bellies all sweaty in the midst of
heaviliy rocking out. It's the kind of moment that makes you love ACRN.
Oh, the good old days. She Bears took the stage
last, confronting a still relatively dense crowd. The band, now Columbus based,
used to be one of Athens' most prominent. They played nearly every weekend when
I was a wee one, manifesting an everlasting impact on the music scene. The
crowd was swallowed whole by nostalgia and while I wished to relish in it, I
had to wake up early the next day. I bid a fine farewell to Day Two of
Lobsterfest.
The super secret show opening up Lobsterfest 2012 made me
feel like a proud momma. It boasted just how supportive the ACRN
community is. Lobsters--old, new and middle aged--shuffled into the venue that is undoubtedly too small to be hosting shows. But we made it work, shoving
full bands in the corner, leaving them little room to move around. The space,
though certainly limiting and probably frustrating for the bands, just sort of
brings us a little closer together. We were practically forced into embraces
and we were alright with it.
It was weird starting a show when most families are sitting
down to dinner, but punk music was our dinner last night.
Athens’ Mom’s Weekend was first to experience the detrimental yet special (I’d like to think) setup
at the Fern Gully. The kick drum kept sliding down the hill that was the wooden
floor in the slanting stage area, but with the help of some friends, they got that
problem figured out (despite the scratches on the floor that look like the well
in The Ring). The duo played some messy punk music with a purpose. Paul Lampley
yelled politically-charged messages into the mic (if they weren’t politically-charged they were about his bandmate’s cat). The two, much louder than
themselves, drew a solid crowd and started off the weekend on the right foot.
Some new faces took the Fern Gully…erm…stage next. Dave Buker and the Historians, a delightful Columbus
five-piece, played indie tunes that took many different shapes,
anything from folky to poppy to ballad-y. Dave Buker himself was a fine
gentlemen glimmering with heart-felt emotion through his lyrics and demeanor.
He and his bandmates, mostly multi-instrumentalists, switched instrument duties
more than once throughout their set, proving the band’s dynamic chemistry.
They’re most certainly welcome back to Athens any time they please.
The familiar and beloved Emily and the Complexes took the stage last
to play what was perhaps their best set yet. The four-piece, albeit missing its
original bassist and playing with a fill-in (with a Hello Kitty bass strap),
manned the limited space like the versatile and talented musicians they are.
Frontman Tyler Verhagen, in all his man-pony tail glory, poured his heart onto
his sleeve without all that sap one would expect, but more with an earnest
fervor. They, once again, captured the crowd and made us wish they’d never stop
playing.
But alas, it was time to move on
to The Union for the first official night of Lobsterfest 2012.
What do you mean Baker Center is closed? They actually expect us to walk up that hill all weekend?
Memorial Day weekend turns Athens into somewhat of a ghost town. The University essentially shuts down, most of the student body goes home, and a tumbleweed can be seen making its lonesome journey down an abandoned Court Street—granted the tumbleweed is in the form of an empty natty box… but I digress.
There is one event Memorial Day weekend that the left behind (I thought the rapture was last weekend?) can look forward to: “The Smorgasbord.”
Smorgasbord Day 1:
“The Smorgasbord” kicked off at 7:30 Friday Night at Union Arts, a.k.a the Basement of Haffa’s Records, with a performance art piece.
Here I will choose to lift a phrase from Staff Writer Scott Smith: “I’ve never been equipped to interpret interpretive dance.” Nor have I, Scott, nor have I. And so I chose to sit that one out in what was left of the day’s sunshine while I waited for word that singer/songwriter/poet Dawn Parker would be taking the stage.
Now I’ve seen Parker read at Donkey Coffee’s Designated Space pretty regularly, and the girl is honestly one of the best writers I’ve ever encountered. People who are getting ready to leave will literally sit back down when Zach Fulton (emcee of DS and organizer of the Smorgasbord) calls her to the stage just to hear her work. That being said, I had no idea she could sing. She can. Beautifully. Between her poetic lyricism and heart-breakingly smooth vocals, her set was definitely one to remember—as was her interpretation of the Decemberists’ “The Crane Wife” with which she closed.
Following Dawn was a poetry-reading by Dan Moore. Moore, another frequenter of Donkey’s DS, gave a truly phenomenal performance. I’ve seen him read his work countless times but never with this much feeling, this much truth.
I took a break from the Smorgasbord and returned for Hannah Cook’s acoustic set. She played some great originals, particularly one about a recent camping trip, but her cover of Ben Kweller’s “Lizzy” stood out above all the rest. That girl needs to put that on youtube. Immediately. It would shame all of the other covers into submission within the first 30 seconds. Cook was joined midway through her set by two other musicians, a guitarist and pianist. They complimented her well and, despite breaks to tune, put on a lovey show. I hope to see more of them in the future.
Closing out the night was another poetry-reading, this time by Jesse Pyle. If you’ve never been to Union Art’s, imagine a basement under a record store with black walls and floor, minimal lighting, a chain-link fence, a few random balloons, and an assortment of college-aged hipster kids, well over half of whom are toting liquor in their purses/murses. Now, imagine a man in a suit who looks like he just stepped out of Harvard grad school circa 1964 reading in fluent Anglo-saxon and Italian.
I love this town.
Day 2:
The Smorgasbord reconvened Saturday at 7ish in the basement of GG’s Bubble Tea.
Opening up the night was poet Justin Carel. Carel is another poetic talent who frequents DS and, again, though I have seen him read before and always been impressed, there was just something about this particular performance that showed he was pulling out all the stops. Carel has an uncanny ability of mixing beat poetics, humor, social conscious themes, and devastating nostalgia into creations that leave a listener sometimes laughing, sometimes heartbroken, sometimes a little of both, but always enthralled. On top of that, he does improvisations with help from audience suggestions. How Carel can turn the suggestions of “socks” and “turtles” into an introspective piece on humanity is something beyond me. But thank god he can.
After Carel, was a set by 99₵ Dreamz. It was honestly his best show to date. His beats were perfectly in line with his vocals, there were no technical difficulties, and he brought bags of computer paper strips. The computer paper thing might seem strange to you. Clearly, you have no idea how fun it is to mosh in a pile of that stuff. Try it. Go ahead. I’ll wait. Okay, now you understand.
Jokes and stage antics aside, 99₵ Dreamz has some seriously bitingly clever lyrics. He passed judgment on the college hook-up culture with “I still had the nerve to call you the very next day/ despite knowing that you slept with him instead of just fucking me” on the track “Somewhere Near State Street.” He sent a heartwarming shout-out to his girlfriend, Danielle Wallette. He did a duet with his best friend Jeni Shaw—a girl with crazy pipes who needs to play out more. And he even wrote a new song about the rapture, probably his most impressive one yet which deals strongly with dystopic themes: “I was there when the world was supposed to end/ May 21, 2011/ All the college kids were outside drinking their beers/ Nothing changed here.”
I left the Smorgasbord soon after the 99₵ Dreamz set, but I did stay long enough to see a particularly endearing short film about the family that owns Souvlakis’, narrated by their 8 year old daughter.
I can think of no better way to spend Memorial Day in Athens than in dark basements with good friends, good music, and good poetry. These are our college years. This is our smorgasbord.
A sleepy brain and a game of “Would You Rather” later, and we were on our way to the Smiling Skull. We were apprehensive of the price at first, but morally we couldn’t allow ourselves to use that excuse, given the show was a benefit for St. Jude Children's Research Hospital. We had to think of the children.
The Athens-famous, omnipotent, flawless Nurser took the stage (of sorts) first. Things went better than the last time I saw them, but their music is so weird that it’s hard to tell when things aren’t going well. I mean that in the best way possible. There are definitely some inventive sounds coming from them, particularly from Shane Riley’s guitar. He finds the most obscure notes to play, but stirs them together so that they transition solidly.
They had some new material to lay on the growing crowd, one song in which bassist Sam Mink had to step out because he hadn’t learned his part yet. To that, Riley said something along the lines of, “Our bassist can’t play to this song because it’s such a rager.”
Blithe Field was next and to my and everyone else’s dismay, he was having technical difficulties. He tried to push through as best he could, but the beats weren’t quite the way they were meant to be. Still, he had a supportive crowd that wished him well, but his set was forced to end too soon.
Stomp the Condor, very much unlike Blithe Field, was a weirdo, rambunctious bunch. Or, really just the lead singer/keyboardist/guitarist was. They played rowdy tunes that the crowd greeted with rowdy energy. It was punk rock and other stuff at its finest. A couple of them took off their shirts, too, and of course that’s always a good time, even more so when the shirtless are wearing jorts.
The crowd was at its largest with Brothertiger, which usually is the case every time he plays.I only stuck around for a couple of songs, but left a trippy, happy, dancing group of people. That’s alls yous gotta do, anyway.
Apparently we raised $300! May good causes be benefited and may good music be cherished for all of eternity.
The rain in Spain might fall gently on the plains, but the rain in Athens pounds the bricks with more force than the hooves of Athens P.D. at Palmer Fest. Be that as it may, Athenians will get down rain or shine and, when they do, staff writer Hannah Cook and I will be among them.
After partaking in some pre-gaming...er..."snacks," we headed to the Smiling Skull to catch Emily and the Complexes. The atmosphere at the Skull was lively and we danced and twirled amidst friends and townies to the sounds of Tyler Verhagen's outlaw-acoustic-folk-blues-indie creations. He bantered with the crowd and made Harry Potter references and gave his all on every tune. Those who made their way down Union Street despite the weather were not to be disappointed. But it is not for Hannah Cook and me to stay in one place. When Verhagen (a.k.a. Emily and the Complexes) strummed his final note, we were compelled to move on.
As we made our way back to Athens' favorite crossroads (Court/Union), we ran into a few characters—including Zak, the emcee of Donkey Coffee's beloved Designated Space—and convinced them to join us at Casa Cantina for Duke Junior and the Smokey Boots. After coughing up two dollars for the cover, and receiving two frowny faces on each of our hands courtesy of the doorman's Sharpie, we positioned ourselves in front of the stage as the band set up all of its equipment. While I was rocking keen hiking sandals (monsoon season is no time for heels, ladies—certainly not in the city upon many hills), Hannah Cook's boots were itching to start smoking—and smoke they did. Duke Junior brought its A-game, playing roots so lively no toe in Casa was immune to tapping. We stayed and boogied for most of the set, but 12:45 rolled around and it was, again, time for us to be moving on.
With the Skull and Casa already covered, the only logical ending venue to our night of show-hopping was, of course, The Union, for whatever was left of Blackoutfest. We made it just in time to catch the end of an experimental band whose name I do not recall... So what I mean to say is, we made it just in time to loiter outside while we waited for word that Buffalo Killers were setting up. When word came, we were up that staircase in a hot second and positioned right at the front of the stage, ready to get our blues rock on. The Buffalo Killers started off a bit slow but once they got their momentum going, there was no stopping them. What began as a mediocre set ended with multiple bangs and an enthusiastic crowd that showed its appreciation by jostling until the law would let it jostle no more, and the bar had to give the traditional "You don't have to go home, but you do have to get the fuck out of here"—always a boost to a band's ego. Luckily, the Buffalo Killers deserve such an ego boost. I hope they enjoyed their Goodfellas and return again soon.
They say that rainy days are meant for staying in. They say that nothing good happens after 10 p.m. They say a lot of things. Hannah Cook and I refuse to take stock in such nonsense. Next time, I suggest you join us. The Athens music scene is alive, and we are all alive within it.
Things didn’t go quite according to plan last night, but unexpectedness and spontaneous behavior is what makes the fun world spin ‘round. And that’s just where we were last night—the fun world, also known as the Smiling Skull.
On the bill for the evening were Brothertiger, Monolithic Cloud Parade, Historians and Iron Jim and the Broken Hand Band. Who, I believe, ended up actually playing were: Brothertiger, Historians and Iron Jim with a different bassist than usual, with no trace of Monolithic Cloud Parade. A bummer, yes. But the night still went on and good spirits were still rustling like the ghosts at a Christmas feast at Hogwarts (Microsoft Word knows what Hogwarts is!).
Iron Jim played first, but I missed most of it since the hustle and bustle after my first arriving was still going on after they ended. I don’t remember hating the sound that was going on, though. I guess that means they were okay in my book.
Historians were next, and I didn’t absolutely love them. It could have been due to the crumby sound system, but the vocals seemed a little off. They played a varied set, though, with no song sounding quite like the other, and sometimes the intricate and bouncy instrumentation picked up the slack, but for the most part, I wasn’t too enchanted.
Brothertiger, as per usual, got most of the people on their feet and cutting loose. He’s got quite a following too. In between songs, one could hear many chants of “Brothertiger!” and even some singing along a bit. It’s safe to say he’s an Athens favorite and he’s one of my favorites too. Anything a sister can boogie to is something a sister loves—and loves even more if it’s unique and self-created.
So this year's ACRN Date Auction was successful, to say the very least.
I made it just in time last night to catch the end of She Bears' set and immediately regretted not having arrived sooner. Because had I come to The Union before 12:30, I might have seen more of the band's delightfully catchy rock performance, which they executed sans shirts. Delicious.
After a couple bottles of liquid courage in the form of PBR (judge on), I was ready to be auctioned off with some Wizard's Guild goodies. During this intermission, the rest of a troupe of ACRN members and other prizes were sold to the highest bidders of the night. Thanks so much to all who participated!
Whale Zombie took the stage after the auction closed and brought their standard level of distorted, surf-y, noisy rock in an appropriately deafening volume. After playing for a while, the trio ended on an extremely heavy noise jam note, allowing outsiders (who I assumed to be friends) to assist in adding to the noise on the various instruments.
Overall, a good time was had by all, and the funds for Lobsterfest were supplemented in a generous and exciting way.
--Courtney Baldasare, Editorial Director
Another Perspective:
Let's just say it's a little bit discouraging being bought for $17 from a girl you don't even know. I would imagine she just wanted a cheaper tattoo, seeing as I came with a Decorative Injections coupon, but still. Come on. I even offered a free slice of Goodfella's of whatever flavor you wanted. There's only cheese and pepperoni, but essentially the possibilities are endless.
Regardless, ACRN's Date Auction was a total blast. There was a really decent turn-out, wonderful music and rambunctious times.
Brothertiger played first, and so we danced, of course, because that's what you do when a delicious slice of electronic pop music is handed to you. And it was his birthday, so happy birthday, Brothertiger.
After that was some bidding. That went well, though it seemed like the only people truly interested in buying people were people in ACRN. At one point, I bought Matt Wesley and a certificate to Fluff for $12. Best $12 I ever spent, but Matt, I expect a band practice from you now. Lord knows is been way too long.
She Bears was next and it's an understatement to say they were well-received. Two girls bought them for $150 and a romantic pizza-party in Columbus. Oh and also for them to take their shirts off. Nice.
The crowd had dwindled a bit by the time Whale Zombie came on, but those left were a raucous bunch. I was forced into a playful mosh pit that had me sliding and falling all over the floor. Dangerous, but fun. Sometimes you just have to live life on the edge.
It was so cold last night that I let grumpiness consume me on the walk to the Skull. With my hood up, my shadow looked like a human-lion or a person with a fro, but blocking the frigid air from slapping me in the face was all I cared about.
When we passed over that Union hill and the Skull came into view, contentment immediately replaced my grumpiness and I was ready to forget about my fragile, fractured ankle and rock out with my cray-cray out.
First up was 99 cent Dreamz, who is a a man named Paul. By himself, he played some pretty raw tunes consisting of his guitar solos and electronic drumbeats. He apologized for the shitty sound a few times, because the sound wasn't THAT great. But he worked with what he had, which was apparently music equipment he bought from friends. The best part of his set was when he invited his friend onstage with him to perform a rap-garage rock hybrid of sorts. The guy rapping, whose name I didn't catch, was awesome and really s'pportin' his buddy Paul. I was grinning pretty big the whole time.
After that was Blithe Field--a local favorite of mine. There may not be a lot of action going on onstage, but it's as if his fingers are band members in and of themselves, each responsible for an instrument within a button.
I can't help but find myself mesmerized by the bouncing movement. It's such a mystery as to what noise will come from each tap and manipulation of the machine. Once the ear's anticipation is met, it's deeply satisfied with the sounds of children laughing and soothing synth and samples of acoustics and even Joanna Newsom! Boy was a excited to hear that neat little tweak of "Peach, Plum, Pear."
Don't forget about the dog! There was a big ol' black mastif just walking around the bar and he was a cute-cute. I tried to make friends with him, but so was everyone else, and he didn't choose me.
Up next was Guinea Worms, and they were rambunctious young men: Rambunctious and weird and a total blast. They played some hardcore-ish garage rock that was as coarse as a horse(?). We found ourselves jumping around the Skull's solid ground, punching our fists through the air and kicking our heels and shaking our heads. That remained pretty consistent through their whole set.
We missed the last band because we grew tired and hungry and decided it was time to leave.
And so, the sound that lay me to sleep that night was that of my ears' ringing, which was so piercing that I, aloud, asked my ears to please be quiet. And they didn't listen, and still aren't listening. Damn ears. I can only imagine how incapable you're going to be when I'm old.
We love Scubadog—for obvious reasons. They’re wonderful musicians, charming, handsome, funny. If only Scubadog as a collective could be our boyfriend. Until that can be arranged, though, I’ll settle for a free show.
Casa Cantina greeted us with warmness and Jessica Hernandez and the Deltas. We missed most of their set, and regrettably so. But I spent more of my Goodfella’s tips (ALWAYS tip at Goodfella’s, you guys) on their album anyway. The last two songs were wonderful and worth being jealous over, at least from a girl’s perspective. Hernandez has a voice cultivated by the heavens above. It was a perfect blend of pitches and harshness, accompanied by some jazzy, rambunctious piano playing. The band backing her brought it all together. Certainly if they haven’t already reached some sort of fame, they’re on their way to it.
Scubadog took the stage next, and I was shaking in my boots with excitement. And once again, they came bearing treats—but this time vegetarian friendly.
The talk of their releasing two new songs at the show was finally put to life. Inside homemade fortune cookies were fortunes holding the most majestic and secretive information known to man—the code to download the songs. They were selling those for two or three bucks, but decided to throw a few into the crowd for fun and kindness’s sake. Once again, my unlucky hands didn’t get one, but never catching anything free is something I’m used to.
Their set consisted of songs old and new, all of which were perfectly executed. Their guitarist’s hands moved all over the fret board, and it was almost mesmerizing. The riffs he was playing were innovative and complicated. He was a mad man.
Zapaño was next, and I had never seen them before. The moment they started, though, I was really intrigued. The singer Sean was super sensual, moving his hips all ova da place. His legs twisted and bounced and split.
The music was something comparable to Mars Volta with a lot of peculiar but marvelous instrumentation and wild singing. I left early, but the next time they play, I’m for sure there.
The crowd was a sea of dance, and never had we moved so much and so hard. Yet another successful Scubadog undertaking.
There are nearly too many events that were squeezed into Thursday night: So many that I can hardly wrap my mind around them clearly or cohesively. I’ll do my best, though, to collect from my weary memory what I can.
At about 10:30 we entered Casa, only to greet a nearly finished Monolithic Cloud Parade. To that I said “crap.” They were really great for that last song-and-a-half I heard. They seemed like a motley crew, but their sound was perfectly unified. It’s such a shame that I didn’t see them long enough to come up with very many ways to describe them. But if you were there, you know.
Dear Lord, Scubadog was absolutely a blast. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed them more because of the incredibly ridiculous inclusion of the audience, the performance itself, the humor and the absurdity of it all. The band said so many silly things. I laughed so hard so much.
In celebration of Rocktober, Scubadog had treats for the crowd. Every once in a while during their set, they would break into that song that marching bands play before every victorious event in a football game. When it came for the crowd to join in, we yelled, “Hey! Free Meat!” and up over heads and arms flew mini beef jerky pieces. The lucky ones who caught one celebrated as if they had caught the fly ball at a baseball game. Unfortunately, he didn’t throw any to the side of the stage where I had taken my place.
The whole situation was enjoyed so thoroughly by the band and everyone else. When they ran out of meat, the lead singer was super apologetic, as if he ran out of grants to heaven. “Hey, I’m really sorry about the meat situation guys.” It was such a humorously sincere apology.
Their set was outrageous. They played their instruments so robustly, with fingers bouncing all over the fret board for mad solos of sorts. My hands turned blue just from watching them. They even rocked out so hard that the lead singer’s shoes came off. With that, he said something along the lines of, “you know you’re rocking out when your shoe comes off.” They also played some new songs that were intricate and exciting to listen to. I hope their album comes along quickly.
There was so much more banter from everyone. It’s just too hard to put it all together into one page of recollection. But all in all, it was a hilarious thing to watch. I was perpetually smiling or dancing, or both. Usually both.
We intended to leave before She Bears came on, only because it was getting to be our bedtime. But, it so happened plans worked out otherwise and I was able to see a good amount of She Bears’ set.
Not that they were ever terrible at all before, but they sounded a lot better this night. I think it was because I could clearly hear Steven’s singing, which can sometimes be an issue. Their songs, even the old ones, sounded different in some ways, as if they had added more intricacy. The people watching were really into it, dancing together, spinning around, and nodding heads.
Everyone in all of Casa was satisfied.
Before leaving, I was standing outside waiting around to leave. A person who I suppose we would classify as a “townie” came up to me and started showing me his tattoos that HE apparently did himself. That was mind-boggling to me. He even had a tattoo on the palm of his right hand, and he’s left-handed. He was a hardass to say the least. He told me he had about $1,000 worth of music equipment in Casa and that if any body touched it, he’d kill them. Then he told me: “Anyone who messes with you, I’ll kill em’.”
I said, “Well, gee. Thanks.”
As he was walking away to leave, he said, “That’s just how I am.”
Following one Cobra and a seven dollar fee, Carolyn and I found ourselves inside the Casa Cantina. A little too late. I’d say we missed the majority of the first band, who was Ortolan, a band of four girls who were really great from what I saw. They played some folksy indie-rock for us, making my mouth incapable of forming a frown. The singer’s voice was a lovely one comparable to -- maybe -- Laura Stevenson a little bit, especially with darling harmonies flowered from the other girls. Of course, it made me want to be in a band. In fact, that thought took control of my mind for most of the night. Sweet envy.
Next was Josiah Wolf, the drummer of WHY? who are from Cincinnati (Halright home.) He was accompanied by a woman who an awesome outfit and a graceful voice. And Josiah-- My goodness! He has arms and legs trained like a circus lion. He was playing guitar and drumming simultaneously. Yeah. Imagine the confusion your right brain and left brain would go through during that. It’s like rubbing your stomach and patting your head at the same time, but much much harder, I would imagine. And not once did he appear to have a single flaw, at least not to my untaught eye.
Those two formed the sound of a band of at least four people. His voice, a little nerdy and talky, which I didn’t think was a word but my computer didn’t underline it, so we’ll go with it, was delightful with the lyrics he was singing. Some odd words that don’t make much sense but that fill your brain nonetheless. I loved every minute of it.
One slice of Goodfella's and a midnight dinner in a dark corner off of Court Street later, and we were back in Casa to see Southeast Engine. It had been a whole summer since we had seen them last, so my feet were hot with the readiness to listen and boogie. And so I did, to the best of my ability.
After having us applaud for the opening bands and the movie Space Jam, the band went into a pretty long set of new and old ones. Not once did my feet stop twisting or my knees stop bouncing. Or those of anyone else, for that matter.
Southeast Engine is wonderful to everyone, but I’m convinced no one loves them more than a certain man in a fisherman hat. To anyone who wasn’t moving, he insisted otherwise. He waved his hands in the air with a “come on” so that we would clap louder. He trudged through the crowd all over the place to personally ensure that people were reacting to the music in the way it deserved. He loves Southeast Engine. And fishing, probably.
Lobsterfest is right! I look like a damn lobster right now with this sunburn, and it doesn't even make sense that I do; seeing as, we were only outside for the first couple hours of the morning!
As I walked to set-up at 10 in the morning, I shot a venomous glare at a kid who was toting an umbrella as he walked, thinking his preparation for rain a curse. Turns out, my causality logic may be a bit off, but the kid was wise to have had an umbrella.
Stages were set and humans were arriving on South Beach when storm clouds started forming. Promo Director Aaron Vilk announced before the first act's playing, "We're gonna rage out here for as long as possible."
We didn't get to "rage" outside for very long at all...
Melk was the first act of the day, and the only one that got to play outdoors. Their set was preceded by a long, low growl of thunder before Mother Nature got a slapping of drowning-outage in her gloomy face from the drum and bass duo that comprised Brian Jackson and Ghost of Asa Phelps' vocalist/guitarist Ryan Ford (or "Boomer" and "Sick Old Bastard" as they preferred to be called onstage). Rough instrumentation and unintelligible lyrics were the name of the game with Melk, though, I think I may have picked up some "fuck"s here and there. The band's sound was just as ominous as the looming storm clouds that would force Lobsterfest into the South Pole below Nelson after its performance.
The migration to the South Pole was a quick one as everything got packed in and the original stages were covered with protective tarp. Inside the air-conditioned rec room in the parking garage, everyone found a place to sit and to socialize as we waited for everything to get reorganized.
Bag of Hair, formerly known as Sandcrawler, captivated the room as the drummer and guitarist went madmen on their instruments and what appeared to be an interpretive dancer in an Iron Man mask wearing an American flag as a cape pranced and flailed about. I wont lie and say that he didn't make me nervous, but those dancing at the front of the crowd didn't seem to be so weary, especially when the band announced that they were playing a song from "Pete & Pete."
Then came Legends of Wrestling
What the hell, Brotthheerrrr? Legends of Wrestling, a Grindcore sideshow of all things brutal, took place in a makeshift wrestling ring with two-man tag-team of Ty Owen and Pat Snyder pacing within its confines. They wore football pads with nails driven through them and red and black face paint. Terrifying.
With songs that were shorter than the roughly 30-second intros given to them played from a Mac and screamed over by the men within the ring, Legends of Wrestling held my and everyone else's attention.
Characters such as a honky-tonk bigot, an evangelical hater with a "God Hates Grind" sign (Aaron Vilk in drag) and Bret Hart met their ends at the hands of the Legends and their harnessed Warrior powers via guitar-beating, light-tube shattering and trashcan doom respectively. I actually found it hilarious and, even...brilliant. Too far? No. Brilliant. I even left with a bruise on my arm from being barreled into by Owen after the set. I'm just glad no one lost an eye from those football pad nails.
At that point, as I sat at the merch table, performances started blurring together for me, perhaps because it was nearing dinner time and I had yet to have breakfast or that my sunburn was starting to eat at my brain. The tunes just weren't motivating me to get up from being the obsessively organizing shirt-nazi behind the merch table to get a better view.
In Silent Moves, Whale Zombie, and Manor Animals are bands I often hear praised here in Athens and in this blog, but that I had neither actually "scene" nor heard (haha, get it?) until Lobsterfest. All three, especially the latter two, drew a very distinct crowd, one that appeared to have actually seen them play as many times as I had heard they were playing. They danced, sang along and had a fabulous time to the music.
I must admit at this point that my attention is something that is easily lost, and -- though the music was good, I can't remember much of it. Again, sunburn blur. I do, however, remember one song from, I believe, Manor Animals that had the lyrics, "Oh, oh, oh my God!" happening. That was cute.
I was able to stick around just long enough to see my favorite local band, The Ghost of Asa Phelps.
I don't know why I even like those guys. There's so much dude happening all the time with them. Seriously. It's an almost overwhelming amount of brothership. Well, maybe I like them because I like dudes. Maybe I have an attraction to dudeship. Nah, I think it's the fact that the bassist definitely started playing Alkaline Trio's "Trouble Breathing" as they soundchecked. That's what gets me with those guys: It's familiarity and closeness to my tastes that most other Athens bands don't offer that helps make me feel more secure in this place. Now I'm writing like I'm selfish, but whatever. I enjoy the band. What can I say?
The last time I had seen TGOAP, the band performed a Misfits cover, and I'll admit that I was crossing my fingers for another one this round, but I wasn't disappointed when they covered "Fortunate Son" by Creedence Clearwater Revival for the singer's father. It certainly lead to sing-alongs and grins... Not that sing-alongs aren't the absolute norm for those guys. Again, DUDES, a pack of them, are always found in the front row ready to lend their voices for gang vocals. They played two new songs, one of which was a slow one, described by the band's singer/guitarist as being "about a girl, but -- in a way -- aren't they all?" True.
I left at 8:30 p.m. just before She Bears played to look for an icy lake of aloe into which I could throw my sensitive-skinned self. Before I left, I took note from Ty that I should at least come back to see Coltrane Motion play. I probably should have and would have taken that suggestion had I not fallen ill by the time I reached my dorm room.
Oh, well. I got my 10 hours in at Lobsterfest and can't wait to do it again next year!
Fortunately, Miss Hannah Cook was there to tell you how the rest of the day went!
--Cassie Whitt, Blogs Editor
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I didn’t even know this so-called South Pole existed. When the sky was cracked down the middle with a strike of lightening and everyone collectively decided to move the show inside, I was so confused as to why they were going into a parking garage. “You…you guys. That’s…not…a place,” I thought. It was a place, though, with a stage and a refrigerator and chairs and inside-ness. But it was an odd atmosphere for live music. I felt like I was in the lobby of a hospital or in a dining hall at a summer camp. Needless to say, it just didn’t seem like the right place for Lobsterfest. But Lobsterfest controlled the South Pole. South Pole did not control it. And despite the technical and weather mishaps, bands, duos, lobsters and weirdos alike rose to the occasion. As Cassie covered the beginning of the day, I shall cover the end. Although, there are a few things from the beginning that I’d like to discuss. Only because…shit got weird. And sort of scary. Ty Owen, I hardly know you, but you never ever fail to freak me out entirely, and I’m sure that’s sort of the point. Cassie will do the description justice, but I just had to add my personal thoughts and feelings about the matter. First, I hope the three dudes who got hit brutally by light bulbs, guitars, chairs, “cocaine,” etc. are okay. It looked painful and real. I hope that I didn’t look like too much of a pansy in comparison to the badassness when I threw my hands to my cheeks and widened my eyes in worry.Second, those boys are quite the screamers and quite the intimidators. They were just pacing around the home-made wrestling ring, making a mess, spitting water, dripping sweat and face paint, beating the crap out of people. Dear GOD. Third, way to be inventive. I wasn’t sure what to expect as I had heard mutters of eagerness about this Legends of Wrestling. I honestly thought it was going to be a band playing whilst people wrestle. But this was much more creative. Music wise, not really my style. I’m much more in to calm Indie delightfulness. If I had to put a contrary to that, it would probably be Legends of Wrestling. It’s okay though, because the show in and of itself was entertainment enough for me. I missed a few bands during my naptime. I know, I know. I shouldn’t have missed Lobsterfest for a nap. But if you only knew my weariness. It just had to be done.I also skipped out on a couple bands who I had seen before, like She Bears and The Ghost of Asa Phelps, so I wasn’t terribly upset, though I am sorry. What I was terribly upset about, however, was that I didn’t get to see what musical essence the young man in the dress (Evolve) had to offer. I knew, just from lookin’ at ‘im, that it was probably going to be really interesting and probably really worth not napping. When I walked in as he was clearing off his technological who-nots, I asked about him. Apparently it was a DJing and rapping sort of thing. Which makes it all so much more bizarre. I guess I’ll never know. I caught the end of Coltrane Motion, who were really cool. They were two men sounding like many more. One was on a keyboard and computer, the other on electric guitar, and they worked together to form danceable beats and clever sounds. There’s nothing I love more than some good electriconically-steered music. The movement of their bodies only added to it all. They twisted their legs around, slammed their feet backward, jumped, hunched over, nearly always looking like they would fall down. They were limitless. I wondered who the people in bright yellow, marching band-looking uniforms were and apparently I was really out of the loop for not knowing. Forgive my ignorance. They were Flotation Walls, and they were magnificent. They had dynamics and joyous harmonies that were radiating like a sun’s rays through their bright yellow bodies. The girl’s voice was so beautiful. It had a sort of opera tone about it, very full and impeccable. But then she could also make it rougher and loud. It's the sort of voice I wish I had, but I won’t digress to that. At the last song, the lead singer, in all his cheery sincerity, came off the stage and into the crowd, as we all sung our last verse of “oohs” and “aahhs” together, like an unpolished choir.
Check out a video our Managing Editor Kevin Rutherford took of Flotation Walls' performance:
Russenorsk was the last band I saw. I honestly don’t feel like I can be the one to write about them. They’re an Athens legend I unfortunately missed as a youngin’. But I looked around often, at all the people in the crowd who clearly realized what they had missed since September. And they were rejoicing in the reunion, both with tears and smiles. Perhaps the song that triggered wild emotions most was “Long Winter’s Coming.” Even in me it did, and I wasn’t around to see any of this unfold. The cello was alluring behind Tim’s unique chords and crafty loop pedaling. Man, I love a good orchestral string instrument in modern music. All their instrumentation pieced together so perfectly. It just didn’t seem like they hadn’t played in months. Their warning of potential rustiness was not necessary No apologies were needed, and no forgiveness was shed. Everyone was just enjoying the moment for what it was worth and soaking in the nostalgia. This whole thing needs a much grander description and appreciation than what I’ve given. But if you were there, you know.I missed Sidekicks! Crap! Apparently it was a good show too. I just figured since I wasn’t that into to pop-punk stuff that it just wasn’t for me. Stupid stereotyping! Alas, my first Lobsterfest is over, and those set to leave have had their last. We young ones have big shoes to fill and a turny, adventurous route of footsteps to follow. We can only hope we’ll make it out alive and well, the way our old friends have. I was going to get all sentimental about the leaving seniors and juniors, but this may not be the right place or right time. I can’t get like that anyway; I have finals to study for. --Hannah Cook, Live Reviews Editor
Photos and Flotation Walls video Courtesy of Managing Editor Kevin Rutherford
ACRN.com's Scene and Heard: Local Music Recap strives to comprehensively cover the happenings of Athens music scene. Each week our editors, writers, and photographers hit live shows, basement parties with sweet bands, bar mitzvahs with badass DJs, etc. around town and report back with the action on the scene. Note: If you want someone from ACRN.com to check out your event, e-mail editorial@acrn.com.
