YEA and HBH approached the bar and ordered drinks. Red Headed Sluts were fingered for the position of Intoxicant by newly-discovered glutein-intolerant HBH, whereas YEA was unencumbered by dietary restrictions and so fingered himself. And drank Jagermeister and PBR. Intoxicants, in YEA's vast experience and thus learned opinion, are without fail beneficial to experiencing live music (not to mention every other situation life presents), but most surely were to benefit the enjoyment of this show. Abstract music especially seems to favor an unburdened mind, and abstract music we were promised (delivery of aforementioned is, obviously, to be examined below. Keep on Keepin' on, Fair Reader!).
Like mainlining heroin to see if you will like cough syrup, the first band, and YEA's favorite of the night, tested the limits the audience placed on abstraction levels in music. Perhaps Blood Banks did not go over as well as the succeeding acts, as my opening metaphor should imply, but to extend the metaphor, perhaps the audience was expecting Tylenol-3 (with codine!), not black tar. Blood Banks was billed as a four piece, but perhaps could be considered a five piece for the night, as Mr. Mattress Fox provided auxilliary percussion. The advertised lineup of two saxophonists, two drummers did provide the core of the music. And Oh! what sweet mayhem was produced by this outfit. YEA was instantly reminded of John Zorn, especially his work with Naked City and with Mike Patton on Pranzo Oltranzista. The gritty cacophony was blissfully disorienting, sounding like a drunken night spent wandering the Bowery trying desperately to find a warm bed but finding only wrong turns, homeless vagrants, junk fiends and unexpectedly talented but pushy buskers amid a sea of taxi horns blaring, subway trains rumbling underfoot and diesel engines lumbering amid the crowded streets. The plodding drums, reminescent of Doom Metal or (pre-electronica) Industrial were a perfect ostinato to the contrapuntal saxophones. The rising sax lines and call-and-response phrasing had shades of more psychedelic moments in Bitches' Brew or A Love Supreme; huge walls of sound assaulted even the strongest aural cavities, and the atmospheric extramusical effects provided by one of the saxes and his variety of amplification techniques had the power to transport the listener to the aforementioned urban soundscape - perhaps even without chemical mind alteration, but to be sure, the alcohol helped. Unfortunately, after one extended jam, the band had finished, leaving YEA wanting more, if no one else did. It also left YEA with a lingering question, one which may mever be answered, "Is this Rock and Roll at all?"Up next was a band YEA has never cared for, despite his best efforts. To best express how YEA feels about it, a tangent:
HOT & SOUR SOUP
I was a picky eater as a child and even into my teens. When puberty finally began to affect my taste buds, I began to branch out and try foods I had previously never cared for. So, when on an overnight school trip to Charlottesville I found myself in a Chinese restaurant against my wishes, I scanned the menu, and one item popped out at me: the titular soup. I love hot foods, ditto for sour. This should be a perfect fit! My excitement in anticipation was only exceeded by my horror upon the first taste. You know how in movies, when someone eats something disgusting, and spits it out in a foamy spray? That was me. Fast forward a few years, and many gastronomic curiosities later, and I again find myself in a Chinese restaurant. Now wanting to try something different than my usual Chinese fare, I again opt for Hot and Sour soup, figuring perhaps the preparation would be significantly different, or that my taste buds were much wiser and better able to handle the subtle blend of flavors. No, although I am happy to report that instead of spewing hot soup and saliva on my companions, I merely disgustingly dribbled the mouthful back into the bowl with an appetizing "BLEEH". And this experience has repeated itself a few more times since, my expressions of distaste diminishing, but my disgust remaining intact.
La Mere Vipere is in the opinion of YEA, the Hot and Sour soup of Richmond underground music. They sound amazing on the surface, but no matter how many times you try, you're left with a horrible taste in your mouth. So, if your tastes run Hot and Sour, you may want to skip the next (vitriol-filled) section, unless you like reading about all the things that are horrible about what you love. Enough disclaimer, on to the review. After an excessively long sound check, the band begins. The singer, who at his best sounds like the worst qualities of Maynard James Keenan and Jello Biafra, dominates a spot in the mix that Luciano Pavarotti would be ill advised to take when accompanied by deaf second graders with Down's Syndrome. And, perhaps it's the alcohol taking its effects (and more on that below), but the already too Modern Rock Radio sound (they describe themselves as "Melodramatic Popular Song" on Myspace) of Vipere is even more MRR-friendly than YEA remembered from previous experience. The lead guitars, while quite often interesting, are drowned out by the forgivably loud drums (its a small venue) and unforgivably loud vocals. The bass seemed to rarely stray from playing the root of the chords, and was as quiet as the lead guitar. "This band needs more complexity," YEA remembers thinking - a trend that continues as the set wears on. The first song ends, and fully reveals another problem that was hinted at before they started; perhaps just a pet peeve, but no band should spend nearly as much time tuning in between songs as they spend on the songs themselves (or perhaps this is a blessing in disguise, as more tuning is less playing). YEA begins to wonder if La Mere Vipere is the George W. Bush of Richmond music, ascending to their position due to pedigree and connections. More to the point, the band does not seem to be willing to take the risks necessary to be a great band. And, make no bones about it, beneath the stunning mediocrity is a truly great band waiting to happen. The second song was again reminescent of Melodramatic Popular Song group, TOOL, and similarly would be better served as a mostly instrumental outfit (again, in YEA's opinion).
After another painfully/blissfully long tuning session, however, something magical happened. YEA found himself outside of Barstow, in Dr. Gonzo's mythical "bat country". Or, perhaps the band had just gotten into their groove, or started with their poppiest material. Whatever it was, YEA was taken aback by the opening salvos of the third song. The lead guitar began an off-kilter ostinato riff, of which the rest of the rhythm section actually took full advantage, creating some crunchily dissonant tense harmonies, and a slimelike static-yet-dynamic motion dominated the song. And, although the momentum gained by this number was slowed by another long tuning interlude, it was not stopped. The second volley of the battle for YEA's favor became a fire-at-will assault. Filled with machine-gun guitars and pained screams, paired with tight playing on all fronts and an especially notable subtle, yet in-yer-fuckin'-face! drum performance, this song fucking dominated the enemy line (no more war metaphors, I promise), and was almost *gasp* Metal. The last song, finally performed without "The Tuning Song" intro, continued this trend, however YEA was at this point distracted by a discussion of "Hello Kitty" with HBH and A Random Bar Patron, and did not take notes.
~THE HBH CORNER~
YEA doesn't seem to be a fan of prominent vocals (unless said vocalist is named Michael Allan Patton -YEA). HBH, on the other hand, will often gravitate towards music which features clear/precise vocals and interesting lyrics. Having heard the band previously only in recording, HBH can only complain that Tesseract was not in the setlist, and that HBH couldn't hear the vocals too well from her seat sadly nursing non-beer at the bar.
I was a picky eater as a child and even into my teens. When puberty finally began to affect my taste buds, I began to branch out and try foods I had previously never cared for. So, when on an overnight school trip to Charlottesville I found myself in a Chinese restaurant against my wishes, I scanned the menu, and one item popped out at me: the titular soup. I love hot foods, ditto for sour. This should be a perfect fit! My excitement in anticipation was only exceeded by my horror upon the first taste. You know how in movies, when someone eats something disgusting, and spits it out in a foamy spray? That was me. Fast forward a few years, and many gastronomic curiosities later, and I again find myself in a Chinese restaurant. Now wanting to try something different than my usual Chinese fare, I again opt for Hot and Sour soup, figuring perhaps the preparation would be significantly different, or that my taste buds were much wiser and better able to handle the subtle blend of flavors. No, although I am happy to report that instead of spewing hot soup and saliva on my companions, I merely disgustingly dribbled the mouthful back into the bowl with an appetizing "BLEEH". And this experience has repeated itself a few more times since, my expressions of distaste diminishing, but my disgust remaining intact.
La Mere Vipere is in the opinion of YEA, the Hot and Sour soup of Richmond underground music. They sound amazing on the surface, but no matter how many times you try, you're left with a horrible taste in your mouth. So, if your tastes run Hot and Sour, you may want to skip the next (vitriol-filled) section, unless you like reading about all the things that are horrible about what you love. Enough disclaimer, on to the review. After an excessively long sound check, the band begins. The singer, who at his best sounds like the worst qualities of Maynard James Keenan and Jello Biafra, dominates a spot in the mix that Luciano Pavarotti would be ill advised to take when accompanied by deaf second graders with Down's Syndrome. And, perhaps it's the alcohol taking its effects (and more on that below), but the already too Modern Rock Radio sound (they describe themselves as "Melodramatic Popular Song" on Myspace) of Vipere is even more MRR-friendly than YEA remembered from previous experience. The lead guitars, while quite often interesting, are drowned out by the forgivably loud drums (its a small venue) and unforgivably loud vocals. The bass seemed to rarely stray from playing the root of the chords, and was as quiet as the lead guitar. "This band needs more complexity," YEA remembers thinking - a trend that continues as the set wears on. The first song ends, and fully reveals another problem that was hinted at before they started; perhaps just a pet peeve, but no band should spend nearly as much time tuning in between songs as they spend on the songs themselves (or perhaps this is a blessing in disguise, as more tuning is less playing). YEA begins to wonder if La Mere Vipere is the George W. Bush of Richmond music, ascending to their position due to pedigree and connections. More to the point, the band does not seem to be willing to take the risks necessary to be a great band. And, make no bones about it, beneath the stunning mediocrity is a truly great band waiting to happen. The second song was again reminescent of Melodramatic Popular Song group, TOOL, and similarly would be better served as a mostly instrumental outfit (again, in YEA's opinion).
After another painfully/blissfully long tuning session, however, something magical happened. YEA found himself outside of Barstow, in Dr. Gonzo's mythical "bat country". Or, perhaps the band had just gotten into their groove, or started with their poppiest material. Whatever it was, YEA was taken aback by the opening salvos of the third song. The lead guitar began an off-kilter ostinato riff, of which the rest of the rhythm section actually took full advantage, creating some crunchily dissonant tense harmonies, and a slimelike static-yet-dynamic motion dominated the song. And, although the momentum gained by this number was slowed by another long tuning interlude, it was not stopped. The second volley of the battle for YEA's favor became a fire-at-will assault. Filled with machine-gun guitars and pained screams, paired with tight playing on all fronts and an especially notable subtle, yet in-yer-fuckin'-face! drum performance, this song fucking dominated the enemy line (no more war metaphors, I promise), and was almost *gasp* Metal. The last song, finally performed without "The Tuning Song" intro, continued this trend, however YEA was at this point distracted by a discussion of "Hello Kitty" with HBH and A Random Bar Patron, and did not take notes.
~THE HBH CORNER~
YEA doesn't seem to be a fan of prominent vocals (unless said vocalist is named Michael Allan Patton -YEA). HBH, on the other hand, will often gravitate towards music which features clear/precise vocals and interesting lyrics. Having heard the band previously only in recording, HBH can only complain that Tesseract was not in the setlist, and that HBH couldn't hear the vocals too well from her seat sadly nursing non-beer at the bar.
While not the last band to play, due to pre-show fatigue exacerbated by booze, Baltimore's Yukon was the last band to be reviewed (in the interest of full disclosure, YEA must admit he does not recall their performance as well as the others, and is relying almost solely on his notes to review, which are sadly lacking in detail). YEA had mixed feelings about this outfit. Their sound was a great complement to La Mere Vipere, if that can tell you anything. It was as if 80's pop and art-noise had a bastard child. Texturally, the music was intriguing, with great harmonic tension and solid playing by the guitarist and especially the drummer. However the band suffered from trite LOUDquietLOUD, pop music song structures. A more freeform, organic approach would complement the pleasant melodic plod of the dense textural playing and easily catapult this band from mediocre to awesome. To be frank, some lineup changes are likely in order. The drummer is currently pulling double duty as vocalist, which is unfortunate, as his voice is not up to snuff. A new, stronger vocalist would be a great fix, as the drummer's solid, Helmet-esque playing is this band's strongest suit. An adventurous rhythm guitarist, or ideally a keyboardist, to accentuate the almost psychedelic lead guitars and expand their sound would be a huge boon. And finally, the bassist, while talented, should be featured much more prominently live, as he is in their recordings. This is not to say that the band is no good; YEA merely thinks some small changes could be made to maximize wasted potential.
As The Court settled their tab, disbarred, and steeled themselves against the frigid weather,
Amoeba Men geared up to play. Their particular brand of chaotic, noisy rock is awe-inspiring, and is highly recommended to anyone with a discerning ear for experimental music. YEA didn't need to be there and take notes to give a down and dirty summary of their set: The drumheads miraculously withstand the beating they are given, and easily sound twice as loud as you would think they could. The manic vocals and angular, disjointed guitar make one feel as if in the grips of a horrible, terrible drug unknowingly administered to them - like being on acid and PCP, and trying jenkem(fermented shit in a jar, for the unhip) for the first time. All the while, a performance art piece is taking place, with the audience as unwitting members; the guitarist is backing into the crowd, and has a knack for bumping into the people who least expect or appreciate it. If you push him away, he only comes back. Harder. And this miserable experience is underscored by unsettling, insect-like keyboards droning and buzzing away at your last nerve. Needless to say, one of my favorite Richmond bands to see live.
On the walk back home, warm ethanol flowing beneath chilled skin, YEA was sure the correct decision was made. It was fucking cold, and would have made for a miserable bike ride.
As The Court settled their tab, disbarred, and steeled themselves against the frigid weather,
Amoeba Men geared up to play. Their particular brand of chaotic, noisy rock is awe-inspiring, and is highly recommended to anyone with a discerning ear for experimental music. YEA didn't need to be there and take notes to give a down and dirty summary of their set: The drumheads miraculously withstand the beating they are given, and easily sound twice as loud as you would think they could. The manic vocals and angular, disjointed guitar make one feel as if in the grips of a horrible, terrible drug unknowingly administered to them - like being on acid and PCP, and trying jenkem(fermented shit in a jar, for the unhip) for the first time. All the while, a performance art piece is taking place, with the audience as unwitting members; the guitarist is backing into the crowd, and has a knack for bumping into the people who least expect or appreciate it. If you push him away, he only comes back. Harder. And this miserable experience is underscored by unsettling, insect-like keyboards droning and buzzing away at your last nerve. Needless to say, one of my favorite Richmond bands to see live.
On the walk back home, warm ethanol flowing beneath chilled skin, YEA was sure the correct decision was made. It was fucking cold, and would have made for a miserable bike ride.
No comments:
Post a Comment