ACRN Presents: Jonathan Hape, Frankie Teardrop and Small Steps / December 6, 2012 / The Smiling Skull

By: Ross Lockhart, Staff Writer

I feel like I don’t go out that much. This is probably an exaggeration, but with all the shows that happen around Athens, it seems like I see very few of them. I wasn’t about to miss this one, though. For whatever reason, I had hyped this show up to myself a great deal. I felt a strong sense of culmination, like everything was coming together. It was one of those nights where everything just felt right.

My friends and I showed up at the perfect time. Frankie Teardrop was just about to go on. The humble threesome assembled behind their respective instruments and got right to it. Dudes were shredding. There was a notable difference from the last time I had seen them perform. Everyone in the crowd was completely engrossed immediately. It seems that the group has finally closed in on a sound and how they want to play. The audience huddled around the band intently, too interested in the music to thrash around. They played fast songs, heavy songs and closed it out with a distinct, mostly instrumental, ridiculously groovy banger. Just like that, Frankie Teardrop became my new favorite band. Tonight, The Skull. Tomorrow, the world.

Obviously, Frankie T was going to be a hard act to follow, but I was stoked to see visiting artist Jonathan Hape perform as well. He had a unique one-man-band setup with a guitar, custom rigged kick and snare drums and plenty of pedals and fancy-looking gear. Unfortunately, there were some issues with the setting up of said gear. My guess is he felt rushed and certain plugs didn’t make it into the correct holes. He started playing, and the mix was low and uneven. Everyone just looked at each other nervously. The sound guys tried to crank it up, but to no avail. It was a shame because he was really going for it, oblivious to the confused looks on everyone’s faces. I don’t think fingers should be pointed at anyone specifically, though. Shit happens. Despite the technical issues, he played well from what I could hear and everyone stuck around to give him a courteous applause when he finished. I thought that was swell. Ain’t no scene like the Athens scene.

Small Steps were last to go and, as expected, incited some good-natured ultra-violence. As the group furiously ripped through their set, combatants flailed about and tossed each other around mercilessly. Patrons became gladiators in a sinister beer-drenched arena. Even the tiniest of girls weren’t safe from the mayhem. Buckets of sweat splashed everywhere as Grant Engstrom and the gang beat the living shit out of their instruments. Some dudes lifted their friend onto their shoulders and slammed him into the disco ball above. I couldn’t help imagining how cool it would be if his head were sliced off by a ceiling fan.

All too quickly, Small Steps were finished. Handshakes and good jobs were exchanged. People poured out of the bar to smoke and pursue more adventures. It’s always funny to see a place that was in complete chaos just a moment ago return to normal like nothing ever happened. I think it can be safely said that everyone had a blast last night. The best part is, it’s only a matter of time before we do it all over again. 

Wobble on the Bricks / November 16, 2012 / The Union

By: Kyle Rutherford, Staff Writer

On a cold night in Athens, The Union was heated up by bass music and the sweat of many satisfied attendees. The latest edition of Dave Rave’s Wobble on the Bricks hosted a variety of talent from all across the state.

The first DJ to grace the stage was Kingpin of Columbus. Having played the Athens DUB101 spot this past April, it was obvious he would bring a diverse set. True to his name, the capital city DJ performed with a bowling pin at the front of his setup.

Much of his set didn’t rely on bass music, but sort of up-tempo stuff. There were disco-sounding tracks, but also a bit of trap music. The variety was a good match for the beginning of the night. Shout out to James Castrillo for wearing a tie and cardigan while he played. Classy!

Columbus' Magua played a very heavy set. The beginning of his set started out pretty glitchy, but varied through dubstep and a bit of trap. Magua is a very exciting DJ to watch, in that he practically balls up energy behind the decks and throws it back at the crowd. He jumps and throws down to songs, works the mic and is just an overall fun person to dance to. Kudos.

Out of Cleveland, Thunder St. Clair brought yet another heavy set. Having killed it while opening for Crizzly back in April, it was pretty much impossible not to get him back ASAP. He definitely didn’t disappoint, mixing behind clean bass music, grimey dubstep and upbeat trap music. The talented and experienced DJ was downright fantastic in his mixing and song choice. Plus, the lucky dude gets to open for Zeds Dead next Wednesday.

Last out was Ohio University student DJ Paulo. According to Dave Rave, he is a student from China via Brazil. Much of the beginning of his set began with glitch and a little bit of moombahton. But as his set wore on, a few dubstep songs were added in. All of this was very minimal compared to the remaining drum n’ bass & drumstep that was played.

His music soaked up all remaining energy by show attendees, even with his somewhat different style of mix ins/outs. The only problem was a friend of his acting as a sort of MC. It was cool in that it kind of gave you the feel of an underground Los Angeles or London DNB club, but the man occasionally went a bit over the top.

Killer Mike / November 12, 2012 / The Union

By: Ross Lockhart, Staff Writer

Tickets were 12 bucks, and despite my honest recommendations, no one could be persuaded to go with me. Fuck it, I thought. I never ride solo. It’ll be a character-building exercise. I bought my ticket ahead of time, which I thought would ensure an opportunity to buy drinks at the bar. Doors were at eight, so I rolled up to The Union at a quarter past nine thinking that the action would be starting relatively soon. All my preemptive measures proved to be for nothing. The guys at the door asked for my ID, and I gravely told them I was underage. No 21+ wristband. All wasn’t lost, I hoped. Maybe the dude working the bar wouldn’t notice.

I walked up to the counter, two dollars in my hand and a fat “how’s it going, man?” look on my face. The bartender reciprocated my warm greeting and asked me what I would like. 

"One PBR please."

"Can I see your wristband?" he asked kindly. My heart sank. 

"Oh, uh… I didn’t get one." He was nice about it, and politely told me that he couldn’t sell me drinks if I didn’t bear the mark of a 21-year-old. I was embarrassed. This was basically my worst nightmare turned reality. I thanked him anyway and retreated to the back of the bar, where I sat and thought angry thoughts about the government for a few minutes. When my internal hissy fit was over, I decided that if I wasn’t going to get drunk, I may as well take advantage of my forced sobriety and drain every little detail out of my surroundings.

I’m groomed to believe that liking hip-hop involves a certain amount of nerdiness, but looking around, I felt like the biggest goober in the room. I desperately scanned for someone lamer than me so I could displace my self-consciousness onto them. The bartender came over and asked if I wanted a soda. Fuck no I don’t want a soda. I don’t drink soda, thanks. I’m not fucking 12. How degrading. I had hit an emotional rock bottom. Some other nerdy dudes walked in. Thank God. Like any normal human being, I judged the shit out of them to make myself feel better.

After an eternity of sitting alone at the bar, eavesdropping on everyone’s conversations like an asshole, the Dysfunktional Family took the stage to get the crowd pumped up. I was impressed. They had commanding stage presence and energy. The ladies were digging it. Looking up at those dudes, surrounded by a mob of goofy-looking white people steadily bouncing their middle fingers up and down, I came to a realization. The hip-hop scene in Athens, small as it may seem, reaches out far beyond the walls of a small-town bar. The Dysfunktional Family is made up of people who, like in a real family, support and love each other unconditionally. It’s all about community and brotherhood. They truly could give a shit about what people on the outside think about them and their scene. It’s the people inside it that matter. At that moment I stopped feeling like such an alien and more like a privileged guest. Everything was going to be okay. I was a part of something special, even if just for a night.  

Of course, once the music stopped and The Dysfunkt Fam wrapped its set, the familiar pangs of isolation returned. This time, though, it was kind of funny. I laughed it off. A beaming Hil Hackworth stepped off stage. I gave him a tearfully limp handshake and a “that was sick, man.” He thanked me and continued to the bar, leaving me alone with myself. I walked in little circles pretending to have a purpose for about 10 minutes.

There was one more guy to perform before Killer Mike. He was wearing an Atlanta Falcons beanie. I forget his real name, so I’ll just call him Mr. Meanie Beanie. He was alright, but I’ll say that his flow was weak compared to Hil and Schwartz. Those dudes set the bar pretty damn high. By then the crowd had grown to a decent size and everyone could barely keep their anticipatory boners down. Mr. Meanie Beanie knew the score. He wrapped it up before everyone got too bored. Without further intermission, Killer Mike burst on stage.

He was a big motherfucker. Even bigger than I had expected. He immediately set it off with his explosive verse from R.A.P. Music opener, “Big Beast.” Fuck yes! Everyone went nuts. He was rapping so fast and so hard I couldn’t believe it. His eyes were red. I felt his anger. His passion. I stood frozen to the spot, too terrified to move. This was only the first song. Holy shit! The song came to an abrupt end. A toothy grin emerged from beneath his jungle of a beard. Suddenly he wasn’t so scary after all. He gave a heartfelt monologue honoring the people of Ohio.

“I’m in the Midwest now, where people work their asses off. For six years I worked MY ass off to get here. There’s no place I’d rather be.”

He couldn’t have chosen his words any better. The crowd went berserk and he unleashed a volley of songs like a fucking machine gun. Each was more intense than the last. I was dumbstruck. It felt like I was being physically attacked and I was loving every minute of it. He gracefully wiggled across the stage like a circus elephant. Someone passed him a blunt and it disappeared after one mighty puff. When he stoically invited us to join the political party of “I don’t give a fuck” to segue into his government-bashing hit “Reagan,” I found myself joining a sinister chorus of “Fuck Ronald Reagan!” To hear that song on the album is one thing, but to experience it first-hand and feel the hatred and damnation in his words was nothing short of visceral. Had I died and gone to heaven? I may or may not have came in my pants.

Unfortunately, contrary to what everyone in attendance (including myself) may have thought, Killer Mike is only a man. After a scathing a cappella rendition of “Go!” there was a crack in his voice. A collective gasp echoed through the room. The big guy had gone and overdone it. Wounded, but far from dead, he kept on going, even harder than before. This brought the crowd into even more of a frenzy. I winced as his vocal cords strained and splintered. Sweat ejaculated from his big chocolatey brow. Never before had I been witness to such conviction. At last, he just couldn’t go any longer. He wiped his soggy face with a towel and swung it over his shoulders like a heavyweight boxer. This was a knockout victory, not a defeat. His shirt was soaked through save for a lonely spot on his belly. I felt as though I should bow or something . He was Jesus, but better.  

It was all over. I floated to the stage. He knelt down and took my trembling hand in his. I was a child. “Thank you,” I whispered. Through his sunglasses his eyes sparkled and said, “Thank YOU, Ross Lockhart.” I blushed. He disappeared. I stumbled out of The Union in a daze. The people who had been my brothers and sisters for the brevity of the show stood around, smoking. I took a drag of the night air. It was pure and clean. I walked home in the dark, listening to the streets of Athens sing their old songs as the stars smiled down at me.  

She Bears, Indigo Wild & Deadwood Floats / November 2, 2012 / Casa Cantina

By: Nadia Kurtz, Staff Writer

When I heard Indigo Wild would be performing at Casa Cantina, my Friday night plans were set. Also performing would be Deadwood Floats and She Bears. A nice night of folk/indie rock was just what I needed.

After I had committed to going to the show, Indigo Wild cancelled due to an illness. Needless to say, I was devastated. I went to the show anyway, and even though some adjustments had to be made, the night was an overall success.

When Deadwood Floats took the stage, the crowd at Casa was pretty dull. Everyone there was just sitting and chatting, seemingly oblivious to the fact that a band was about to perform. When the five-piece band struck their first note, however, heads turned and all attention was on them.

With two guitars, a drum set, ukelele and accordion, Deadwood Floats had the charming sound of a happy little indie/folk band. By the third song, people were dancing up front and others were swaying in a tight group in the center.

Probably the best songs from the band were the ones that were heavily ukelele-based. They were just pleasant and the singers all had clear voices with the slightest bit of twang.

On the fifth song, the percussionist threw in a little surprise by introducing his glockenspiel. Even though the singers were fantastic, what really stood about about this band was its occasional sections of pure instrumentals.

By the end of the band's set, more people were filing into the bar ordering drinks and the level of rowdy was increased by a tad bit.

Following Deadwood Floats was Indigo Wild’s replacement, a Columbus band called Cliffs.

The duo, which consisted of a guitar player and a drummer, was pure punk rock, and honestly, I was disappointed. The attention of the audience began to die down as well, although I’m not sure if this was due to the music or the fact that people were getting drunker and more impatient.

Cliffs’ tunes tended to be overly lengthy and their lyrics were of the typical punky sort, challenging religion. One song was even “about existentialism and shit.”

The set dragged on, and I began to feel more and more like going home. Luckily their set wasn’t too long, and the anticipated She Bears were about to perform.

Unfortunately, right before the final set the crowd began to disperse and people were leaving the bar.

Although She Bears went on pretty late, the four-piece band still kept the attention of what was left of the crowd.

The band announced that this was the kick-off to its tour to promote their recently produced three-track EP.

She Bears performed a set of catchy, upbeat tunes that weren’t really dance-worthy, but it was still a pleasant end to the evening.

Many of the band's songs were very indie-sounding with some hints of pop. The percussion really stood out throughout their set, and the band never really slowed things down.

The only issue with She Bears’ set was the sound, as the instrumentals frequently drowned out the singer’s vocals. Besides that, the band finished on the right note, leaving the audience to stumble home with a satisfied feeling.

ACRN Presents: Emily & The Complexes, Stella & Friends In Distraction / November 1, 2012 / The Smiling Skull

By: Amanda Norris, Staff Writer

The Smiling Skull--ever the subject of our youthful yearnings. The place where a young, ill-adjusted pseudo-hipster kid can go for a fair cover charge, a sympathetic bartender and usually a pretty entertaining show. About half the time the crowd at the Skull can be more entertaining than the act. Last night's crowd was pretty tame, however, and Emily and the Complexes, the highlight of the night, were anything but.

Now I'll admit I'm a bit biased in that I've known this bunch of boys for awhile now, so of course I'm going to enjoy their set. But I think you can trust me when I say this band has grown a lot. I've watched the band grow from lone front man Tyler Verhagen into a trio at their first house show and now a solid four piece--a cohesive unit onstage and off. My roommates and I have screamed "I DON'T WANNA BE PRODUCTIVE"--an intro lyric of theirs--on more than one hopeless weeknight spent studying. And of course we do know all of the words and will sing and dance along. Because the best fangirls are friendgirls, and there's nothing wrong with loving a band you know well. Say what you will about college town shows, Emily and the Complexes is always a good time and, when amongst friends, so is the Smiling Skull.

ACRN Presents: Evolve, Chemical Committee & Emcee Kilgore / October 25, 2012 / Fern Gully

By: Kyle Rutherford, Staff Writer

Fern Gully was gettin’ gangsta Thursday night when an eclectic hip-hop lineup stormed its doors. The small room was packed with listeners who were eager to hear what the three men were able to bring to the music world.

The first artist was Emcee Kilgore from Parkersburg, West Virginia. Kilgore was very humorous and energetic in his first performance, occasionally getting into the faces of attendees and spitting his lyrics. His vocal style is very loud and aggressive, yet his humor and vocal prowess are what make his music into the quality form that it is. Also, his instrumental tracks sounded more like something one would hear in classical music.

Next was Chemical Committee from Cincinnati. Much of his set was spent standing with his eyes shut, expressing his poetry over heavy bass instrumentals. Lyrically, he was very deep and his presence was an odd, but original way of expressing his inner self.

Last to play was Cincinnati’s Evolve. The Realicide Youth Records signee brought his original, powerful music to  Fern Gully, along with a sort of, how the kids say, "swag" that included delivering his poetry through closed eyes. The music was moving and drawing, with vocal elements on the punk side, layered over electronic-based hip-hop beats. The small room was a perfect element for Evolve, who even had a projector pointed at him. Audience members could only stand and bob their heads as Evolve went between manipulating multiple samplers and synthesizers to laying down vocals that spoke of near anarchy and a lack of understanding of the world.

Andy Grammer / October 23, 2012 / Templeton-Blackburn Memorial Auditorium

By: Matthew Bemer, Copy Editor

I showed up late to this show. Late and alone. Apparently my friends are anti-pop music nerds that are too good to accept a free ticket. I'll admit it, I showed up with a negative attitude as well. An attitude of an unpopular kid at the high school lunch table alone and staring at the cool kids singing their poppy, nonsensical lyrics while I poured over whether or not "Letter of Resignation" is about a woman killing herself or a bad drug trip that takes her to a place she doesn't want to go. Or maybe it really is about her resignation. 

So I was bitter about not being there with anyone, about sitting alone to the side of MemAud while middle-aged women sang every word of Andy Grammer's every song. Every word. Every song. They even danced along. 

And while that spectacle was happening, Grammer was singing out to the first 30 rows of MemAud who were actually singing back to him every single word of every single one of his songs. 

Back it up. Grammer's popularity didn't spike until he wrote and recorded his debut single, "Keep Your Head Up." It's a song he wrote after a long day "slinging CDs" in the tough streets of L.A. Grammer was so devoted to playing and performing in the streets to gain popularity that to this day he still calls those people that stopped and listened his coworkers and his CD slinging days his full-time job. "Keep Your Head Up" was a song he wrote to himself about not giving up after those long days where no one listened and no one stopped. 

And then he released his self-titled debut full-length which has seen three singles, two of which charted and one that is destined to be in a couple weeks max. 

Sometime between me tweeting about feeling out of place (shameless) and Grammer's (actually pretty awesome) cover of Rihanna's "We Found Love," it hit me. This guy is doing what he's wanted to do all his life. He's been promoted from working the streets to working this college crowd and he's loving it. Trust me, he told us at least 10 times that he's loving it (and that Ohio is his absolute favorite place to play). 

I put on a new lens and adjusted to the uncomfortable feeling that I am standing in the corner alone. I put aside my longing to make some commentary about verses like, "I've got five bucks waiting on a matinee / I love to see films in the middle of the day / Same movie seen a different way / I don't think that makes me crazy." Instead, I sat back and enjoyed his set. And you know what? He's got a pretty good back story, he keeps the crowd engaged and he can beatbox pretty well.

Words of advice from the man himself: "Keep Your Head Up." (You should seriously check out that link. He made the first interactive music video ever, or at least as far as we know.)