Chrome Moses and Dune / September 13, 2013 / Casa Nueva

By: Abbie Doyle, Contributor

Last evening, Friday the 13^th (which occurred with no incidents, no spooks, nada), I headed over to Casa Nueva to watch Dune and Chrome Moses perform. With me was my best pal Amy, who is visiting from Cincinnati (my hometown--reppin’ the 513).  It was an eventful evening. 

While heading up Court Street, I realized we were walking behind Albums Reviews Editor Colin Roose. I was like 95% sure it was him, so I called out his name (took a couple tries) and we had a nice brief chat before he and his company headed into CVS. Amy and I continued on our way to Casa, and the guy who was taking money at the door tried to let us in for free, but Amy had no idea what was going on and gave him money anyway, which was amusing. 

Shortly after Dune began to play I realized I had forgotten to include links in the album review I’d sent Colin six hours previously, so I spent the next half hour worrying about it. I shot him another email and was able to return my attention to Dune. The lead singer (who had a beautiful guitar; hell if I know what kind it was but it was a beautiful instrument) was quite drunk. A few songs into the gig, someone in the crowd bought him a shot, which he chased with the PBR he’d been nursing the whole show. The bassist of Dune was so great--we were sitting closest to him so the bass and the drums were the loudest things I could hear, which made me a very happy camper. The sound system was great--the dude in the sound booth was saying you could hear the dishes rattle. The sound was reverberating in the floor, in the walls, in my bones. Live music is one of the best things in the world, and I would definitely see Dune (who is from Athens) play again.

At this point in the night, it was around 11:30, and Amy and I were the sleepiest of sleepy bears. The music was keeping us awake but as soon as Dune went off stage we were practically asleep on the table.  Friday nights are not easy nights, man. You’re tired from the week, you’re tired from the, um, activities of the evening. Fridays aren’t easy. 

We stayed for a few of Chrome Moses’ songs, and they were fantastic. Very different sound from Dune, who was heavy into the bass and drums. Chrome Moses, hailing from Pittsburgh, utilized a slide guitar, creating a country/bluesy rock feel, and it was quite enjoyable. But we were sleepy as hell. All I could think about was food (specifically Big Mama’s and Chicken-N-Waffle), and I really wanted a Pepsi, so we hauled ass out of there and indulged in some munchies. Both bands were excellent, acted professionally and would definitely see me again at a future show.

ACRN Presents: Zack Kouns, Gazer & Sign Off / September 5, 2013 / The Smiling Skull

By: Megan Fair, Contributor

"Where am I?" I muttered to myself as I watched Zack Kouns beat another man with a leather whip, and later as he convulsed violently on the floor. To be clear, I was at the Smiling Skull seeing aforementioned Zack Kouns, as well as Gazer and Sign Off. 

Anywho, Zack Kouns. His set could be best described as noisy, intriguing and haunting--just a strange man with lots of vocal effects and some technology producing plenty of strange noises. They were the kind of terrifying and controlled chaotic sounds you'd hear resonating through a very messed up fun house. There are definitely clowns in said fun house. It reminded me of Sunn O))) in the sense that it was rather ambient and haunting. I certainly wasn't bored. It was quite the spectacle. 

Post-Mr. Kouns, Cincinnati-based Gazer played its first show outside of Cincy. Welcome to Athens, post-punk hombres. The three piece's sound could best be described in a simile: it's as if you tossed old Nirvana demos, The Chariot's Long Live and The Dillinger Escape Plan into a musical blender and blended it into a delicious, biting post-punk milkshake. I certainly drank it up. There's something irresistible about the wild energy that a mixture like that brings to the table. The set kept everyone's attention and contained some pleasantly diverse songs that I'd listen to of my own accord. 

Sign Off brought an excited crowd, and the band played a frantic set. That's a really good way to describe a lot of the music tonight--frantic. The crowd was boisterously hollering and shouting at every opportunity for the experimental two-piece. There was noise and reverb for all to enjoy. The Portsmouth post-punkers are certainly an experience to behold.

Overall, the night was an ear-ringing, boisterous event that left everyone entertained or at least really curious. 

Method Air, Busy Busy, Night Stalker, & Slut Castle / August 31, 2013 / The Union

By: Ross Lockhart, Staff Writer

Once upon a time, I worked at summer camp, and while working at this summer camp, I wore a decrepit pair of moccasins that were probably never intended to be worn outside. I liked them despite their impracticality and wore them on the walk to the waterfront every day. Inevitably, a huge hole appeared in the right and shortly after, the left. The day the first hole materialized, another counselor named Bret, undeniably the biggest tool I have ever met in my life, suddenly surprised me with a moment of profound sincerity. As I raised my defeated shoe in mourning, he rested his hand on my shoulder and looked at me.

"All good things must come to an end, man," he said.

While I never wish to see Bret again, his corny pseudo-philosophical instance of empathy has stayed with me to this day. I still have the moccasins somewhere. They're wearable, but remain embalmed in a kind of stasis, preserved in a bubble of fond memories. To take them out again would be a violation of their retirement, a breach of the unwritten code of old shoes. Extracting any more use from them would only result in their needless destruction. It's best to leave them in a nice dry spot, out of view, simply for the thrill of discovering them years later. I remember these shoes. I had a lot of fun in these shoes.

All good things must come to an end.

Walking into The Union, I felt like Keanu Reeves after waking up from the Matrix. Dripping umbilical fluid across the black and white floor, all my friends were there and I felt really good about that night. Drinking some beers with the boys. Everything was great. Busy Busy, a noisy, mostly instrumental band made up of a bunch of my good buddies, started off the music with a short but ear-splitting performance. Forgoing their usual sprawling sound for a tighter, more concise set, they sounded great and I couldn't stop smiling. They'll hopefully be playing the odd show now and then, so be sure to catch them if you get the chance.

After that, I went across the street and ate my first chicken waffle. While it was certainly unlike anything I've ever eaten before, I can't say I enjoyed it the whole way through. The bizarre honey mustard/maple syrup sauce they drench those things in kept me coming back for more, but when it was all over, I immediately regretted touching my lips to that evil nectar. It felt like I just eaten a brick of fiberglass insulation. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was going to vomit and the beer didn't help much, either. In spite of this, both Slut Castle and Night Stalker were great. They are both relatively new local bands you'll probably see a lot of this year. There was an older lady wearing a pink cowboy hat who was really loving it. She would dance nonstop around the bar, get another drink and be back on the floor, ass shaking and waving her hands in the air.

When Method Air finally went on, everyone was ecstatic. I felt so proud seeing Sam and Danny up there. We all became good friends over the summer and they have remained one of my favorite bands, period. They opened with a new song, “Noise Violation,” which was inspired by the fun-hating, party-ruining, cop-calling lady who lives up the street from us. I looked around and the crowd was an ocean of smiles. Instant magic. Ripping into a Guided by Voices cover, Sam played his guitar and sang with the care and finesse of a father quieting a crying baby. When Shower Beers' Jon Gordon joined the band on stage for a rendition of the Smashing Pumpkins' “Starla,” IT happened.

IT is when everyone is perfectly in tune with the music, when the separation between audience and performer completely disappears. IT is when every component of the experience becomes important, which is a fragile thing, but there comes a realization that everything is perfect--a visceral connection with the music and the people around you. Each person in the room becomes essential to the moment and everything falls into place. My face started to hurt and I realized I had been smiling like a fucking goofball from the second they took the stage.

They finished the song and the crowd immediately screamed, "ENCORE!" Sam looked like such a rock star as he strummed the opening to “Election Day.” “Every morning I forget the night before / Emptiness is swept up off the kitchen floor,” he sang. Everyone joined in. “What's the deal with everyone? / Why do they look that way?” To see my friends up there, playing music that means so much to them surrounded by people with unwavering love and support for their art, suddenly brought from me such a tide of emotion that I felt like crying. This is IT, I thought. This is fucking IT. Sam wailed on his guitar until his face was red, Grant's hat flew off, and when the song ended everyone screamed and cheered and hugged. It was the most beautiful thing I've seen in a very long time. I left the bar last night in a strange euphoria, intoxicated by the energy of the show and my friends around me, feeling like anything is possible with a clear head and a chicken waffle bubbling in my tortured stomach.  

Ghostwriter, Hairspray Blues & Bram Riddlebarger / April 29, 2013 / The Union

By: Travis Boswell, Contributor

Maybe I really haven't been paying attention, but has The Union always had those multicolored spotlights? Throughout Monday night's show, I kept getting distracted by these "hype lights" (the name I will call them from now on) shooting all kinds of crazy circle patterns, regardless of the amount of hype on stage! But there were plenty of good uses for it that night.

First up was Bram Riddlebarger and His Lonesome Band. I'm extremely unfamiliar with country music, but even I can tell that this is good country music. The singer had some real emotion in his voice, the bassist was on point and the pedal steel guitar player shredded. Seriously, I want to learn the pedal steel guitar. It sounds cool and you can sit down while you play it!

Up next was Hairspray Blues, all the way from Portland. I remember this from the conversation the drummer had with a drunk patron, the latter of which was trying to figure out where Portland is. There's two of them in America. It's very confusing.

Anyway, this was not a blues group. Well, maybe a blues group from Hell. With a little bit of rockabilly from Hell. In a good way! They're like punk, rockabilly, sprinkle in a couple sludge metal breakdowns, and lots of screaming. The crowd really got into it, and the set was extremely loud and fast for just a two-piece band. My ears were ringing after the set because I think they both requested for the mikes to be louder instead of more balanced. In this case, focusing on the sheer attack made much more sense than "precision" or "sticking to a setlist." As you can probably guess, the hype lights went crazy throughout the whole performance.

The last act I saw was Ghostwriter, also from Portland. It's one man with an electric guitar, banjo, harmonica, bass-pedal-hooked-up-to-a-tambourine percussion and one of the meanest growls I've ever heard. I suppose I could classify it as "roots rock" or "folk," but with a vocal delivery that I did not expect. He could've sung about puppies taking a bath and made it sound completely menacing with his low, brooding growl. As someone who grew up listening to the greatest deathcore and screamo bands of our time, I was totally into it.

So, Monday was one of the most musically diverse shows I've seen at The Union. Bram Riddlebarger is someone to look for if you have even the slightest taste for country, and hopefully Ghostwriter and Hairspray Blues make their way back to Athens eventually. Now I'm going to see how much pedal steel guitars are because they sound so good.

Grupo Fantasma and Bomba Estereo / April 16, 2013 / Stuart's Opera House

By: Nick Rose, Contributor

“I haven’t been this excited for a show at Stuart’s in a long time” says the stage manager to a wanting crowd all warmed up by DJ Self Help.

Soon, songs explode: a three-piece horn section belts out frantically--congas, bass and Kino Esparza shouting at the top of his lungs on stage right. Finally, timbales, dos guitarres and a full-on drum kit make this modest opera house feel like a scene out of Havana Nights.

Kineticism—this is the theme of Grupo Fantasma and Bomba Estereo’s double bill yesterday evening at Stuart’s Opera House.

Fantasma opened up the night in style. This latin funk orchestra has an organic sound where the rawness of James Brown intersects with traditional cumbia rhythms and Santana-like melodies making for a frenetic pace to their music that burns down the house.

In fact, when Grupo Fantasma played their Latin-funkified interpretation of the Talking Heads classic “Burning Down the House,” they had the audience in the pocket. Even if the cats in the pit didn’t grab how to dance to the beat at first.

Southeast Ohio isn’t a world music Mecca. There is this roots vibe that’s hard to shake at the beginning because Latin music is different from bluegrass. The rhythms, instrumentation and melody are worlds apart and it was hard to find something to relate to. Especially when melody and harmony disappeared for over an hour during the Fantasmo set alone.

Plus there is a lot of clutter in this band’s music. It’s hard to manage 10 musicians playing 10 instruments at one volume—loud. Grupo Fantasmo brought the party, but, like a bad date, it missed a connection building intimacy with the audience. Even so, they still killed it and there’s something to be said for an opening act that gets called back for an encore. That is the stuff of legends.

As Fantasmo was a party in the streets, Bomba Estereo took it to the discotheque. Its beat driven electronica sound emitted a very intimate club feel, but it’s the band’s frontwoman Liliana Saumet that sells it. She’s got spunk that transcends any language barrier and when she screams the audience screams back willingly.

Mood lighting, dynamics and a fog machine helped a little, too.

The biggest thing this group has going for it is a deceptive improvised feel. Bomba works like a DJ divided into fours: Simon Mejia and Julian Salazar provide the themes and low end, Kike Egurrola is a human drum machine and Saumet is equal parts hype and vocals. Like a DJ, the band sounds like it's just going with the feel of the moment, but it’s very apparent that every vamp down to the set list is carefully laid out in a way to produce a dramatic and memorable experience.

Bomba flows when they play tracks off their latest release, Elegancia Tropicale. The cumbia-influenced “Caribbean Power” proved a high point as the group wandered into the synth-laid groove built up by Salazar and unleashed with Saumet screaming, “Elegancia Tropicale!” By now, most of the audience found a groove and the Stuart’s pit spilled over with motion.

This wasn’t the case for everyone, unfortunately. A language barrier, lack of distinct melodies and definitive endings seemed to make some of the concert-goers really uncomfortable.

Grupo Fantasma and Bomba Estereo aren’t bands that people see for melodies and distinctive lyrics, though. They’re party bands that make their audiences sweat and that’s pretty cool.  

Timeflies and Bailee Moore / April 10, 2013 / Memorial Auditorium

By: Alexis Evans, Contributor

Photo Credit: Michael Pronzato (The Post)

Fashionably late or just desperately trying to avoid suffering through Bailee Moore's “White Girl Raps Fast” opening act, me and my crew of ladies stumbled up the steps of Mem Aud over an hour late. Spare refreshments wedged between my lady lumps, it’s only a matter of a ticket check, opening of clutch, and a quick tear and I’m in.

The mix of sweat and cheap Victoria’s Secret perfume wafted through the doors, as we saw a sea of girls dressed in bandos, mini skirts and wedges chanting along to the EDM intro “Timeflies! Timeflies! Timeflies!”

But really we all know nobody really cares about Timeflies. You see these ladies heated up their curling irons for one thing and one thing only: Cal Shapiro, a Jewish hunk of man, who’s possibly too attractive (if there even is such a thing) with his white smile, gelled locks and adult Justin Bieber lips. It’s only an added bonus he can sing.

The enormity of the stage almost swallowed up the duo up as they took the stage, but luckily the constant assault of flashing neon lights was enough of distraction. Warning: Don’t bring your epileptic friend. Concert could induce seizures.

Only a true Timeflies fan could appreciate the set list. A perfect mix of mixtape faves, Timeflies’ Tuesday YouTube covers and of course their hit singles “Swoon” and “I Choose You." Sly Cal had a lil' something up his sleeve, though. Armed with a white sheet of paper, he busted out one of his famous freestyles, but better. This baby was an OU edition. The audience roared every time Shapiro referenced something specific to our homey Appalachian nook, such as: OU Crushes, Tony’s Hot Nut, Strouds and Fugitive Fest.

After pretending to end the show, Timeflies retook the stage conveniently finding their most popular songs still left to play, and alas, the true end to the show. There was nothing left for me to do but capture one last duckfaced Snapchat and head to the bars, all the while thinking of all the dirty things I’d do if to Cal if I just so happened to casually bump into him on Court Street.

ACRN Birthday Bash / April 4, 2013 / The Union

By: Xavier Veccia, Staff Writer

Thanks a lot, Mom.

What do you mean why am I being snippy with you? You know damn well why. You never throw me any good birthday parties! I mean, pin the tail on the donkey? That's some baby stuff. You know what ACRN had at their party? Freaking indie bands! Where's my indie bands, huh, Mom?

One of them, The Saturday Giant, even did a cover of “Gangsta's Paradise” and “Where is My Mind?” And all I get is grandma singing me “Happy Birthday” on the phone. Off pitch, too, might I add.

And it was at The Union. There were a bunch of people there, just fooling around and having a good time. That's much better than our moldy basement and my cousin with the sticky hands.

Oh, and ACRN even had a dance party. Overwaves a.ka. Kyle Rutherford a.k.a. “The Mixologist” a.k.a. The Mr. 11Fest runner-runner-runner-up played a killer set while a bunch of drunk people danced the night away. And no, Mom, the chicken dance doesn't count as dancing the night away.

You know what, I'm just going to live with ACRN from now on. They know how to party. Unlike you, Mom.