Lydia, From Indian Lakes, Sweet Talker and Sheep Among Wolves @ the Venue (4/20/13)

I'd originally planned to see Captured By Robots at the Shredder this night, but then on the night before, I received an email from Rob Lanterman from the local band Sheep Among Wolves.  They were opening for Lydia and From Indian Lakes at the Venue this Saturday, the letter said, and they'd hook me up with a ticket if I was interested in reviewing them.  After listening to a handful of their songs and weighing the four acts I'd never seen on that bill against the two that I already had on the Shredder's, I decided that it'd be worth a shot.  So, after Mr. Lanterman didn't balk at my standard don't-expect-a-good-review-just-cuz-you-give-me-a-ticket warning, I took him up on his offer.

Thirty-five people were already hanging around outside when I got down to the Venue.  When the doors opened, I counted at least seventy.  By the time that From Indian Lakes played, I estimated somewhere between 110 and 120 people in the crowd.  A darn good turnout.  I appreciated as well that the crowd was composed entirely of young, unfamiliar faces.  When you see enough of the same people at show after show, you can start to worry that those are the only people checking out live music in this town.

Sheep Among Wolves opened the show.  Their lead singer, Trevor Adams, had to attend a family reunion and couldn't make this gig.  However, while Lanterman and company's light tenors had their limits, I've heard bands get by with much less.  Besides, they had plenty of other stuff going for them: ringing guitars, hard but flexible grooves, an agreeably punk-ish stage act (lots of jumping and headbanging) and some droll, goofy banter.  And while this group's explicit and unapologetic Christian beliefs would've undoubtedly made some of my fellow atheists/agnostics uncomfortable, I appreciated that their lyrics emphasized guilt, pain and struggle much more than redemption.  Because of this, the Jesus Saves stuff felt hard-won rather than smug when it reared its head.  I'd like to see the complete lineup, but going off what I saw and heard here, this is a very respectable group.

Sweet Talker played next.  Just when I think I can't bear to hear one more friggin' cover of "Hallelujah," someone comes along and taps into that song's heartbreaking, unfathomable beauty once more.  Thanks in no small part to Kevin Fisher's caressing, angelic high end, this Phoenix duo's take on the Cohen classic rivaled John Cale's and Jeff Buckley's.  The misty keyboard, jangling guitar and smooth dance-beats of their originals proved equally enthralling.  That name ain't no joke.  Ethereal, utterly beguiling electro-pop.

From Indian Lakes played next (no points for guessing where they're from).  Here was just the thing to amp the crowd back up after Sweet Talker.  While their clean guitars and harmonies were plenty dreamy, their wailing distortion and lean, driving rhythm section brought the rawk.  They got some big applause from the crowd and rightly so.

Lydia closed out the night.  This Gilbert, AZ band's sound left a lot more room to breathe than From Indian Lake's did, but it was still plenty massive.  Steady beats and fluid basslines supported breathy vocals, tingling keyboard and chiming, Edge-y guitar lines.  Their tunes were so anthemic that I could've sworn I'd heard them before if I didn't know better.  The audience had certainly heard them before, though: they cheered wildly at each song that frontman Leighton Antelman called and at quite a few of the ones that he didn't.  Antelman gave as good as he got too--he playfully teased the crowd a little and seemed genuinely grateful for the adoring reception (even if they didn't play an encore).

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Rob Lanterman.  If you like what you've read and would like to help keep it going, click the yellow "Give" button and donate whatever you can.  Even $5 can go a long way.  And all the best to Trevor Adams's grandma, who just turned eighty.

Negative Approach, Bad Antics, Raid and 1d @ the Venue; Sun Blood Stories and Ronnie and the Reagans @ the High Note Cafe (2/15/13)

I was seriously pumped for this show when I first heard about it.  Initially, the headliner was OFF!, the current project of former Black Flag/Circle Jerks frontman Keith Morris.  Then word spread that they had canceled the gig due to health issues and that tickets would be refunded.  That bummed me out in a big way.  Not long afterwards, however, I received word that the other acts on the bill would still play.  Since a couple folks whose taste in music I respect were more excited to see Negative Approach than OFF! anyway (they've got a pretty impressive history too), I said what the hell and headed over to the Venue.

I only counted about twenty people in the crowd when I arrived.  That number would build to about fifty-six or fifty-seven as the night progressed.  Not the number that would've turned out for Keith Morris, I imagine, but respectable enough.

Local hardcore band 1d opened the show.  Their buzzing and squealing guitar, their rumbling basslines and their flailing drums all sounded sharper here than they did at the Rich Hands show.  Nonetheless, their yelping-dog vocals, manic stage presence and haphazardly constructed songs still felt too rote and received.  Granted, it's a bit unfair to ask a bunch of teenagers to have all their crap figured out.  Also, the fact that they're getting out there and doing something like this is probably a good in itself.  Maybe I'm just getting cranky and impatient in my old age.

Local band Raid played next.  See?  I'm not that hard to please.  It's enough for me if you at least create the impression of coherence.  I caught exactly one lyric out of this entire set: "I WON'T GO QUIET!"  They weren't howling Dixie there.  But anyway, the solid rapport between their buzzsaw guitar, twangy bass and rampaging drums persuaded me that the songs would make sense with the volume turned down.  It helped too that their songs showed some sturdy construction and that their lead singer could bellow loud enough and clear enough that I could kinda make out the words.

Bad Antics, a four-piece outfit from Placentia, CA (it's to the northeast of Anaheim), played next.  I thought about describing Raid as hyperkinetic, but then I heard these guys and figured I oughtta save the adjective for them.  This band's piercing scream, furious drums, greased-lightning bass and face-melting guitar called to mind Motorhead's joyous relentlessness.  With all his strutting and hair flailing, their lead singer showed enough energy for two mortal frontmen.  The crowd matched him pretty well even if some of the folks in the moshpit started to wilt near the end.  Oh, and in case you were wondering what the lead singer's face looks like...

You're welcome.

Negative Approach closed out the night.  This old-school hardcore act didn't fool much with your standard jerky tempo shifts.  Maybe they figured that that crap would dilute their rage.  The only thing more fearsome than frontman John Brannon's slit-eyed glower was his blood-curdling growl.  His bandmates backed him up with some machine-gun drumming and yowling guitar noise.  As brutal and unyielding as their music was, however, they still managed to work in some tunes and a groove.  The crowd became a maelstrom of moshing, roaring and crowd-surfing during this set.  Brannon seemed to express his approval with a curt nod. Coming from him, that was downright heartwarming.

After Negative Approach wrapped up, I swung by the High Note Cafe to see if I could catch part of the show there.  I counted over fifty people, which made this far and away the best-attended show that I've seen at this place.  I managed to catch the tail end of Idaho Falls band Ronnie and the Reagans' set.  What I heard sounded pretty good: an arty, slightly skewed take on blues, folk and country.  Have to watch out for these guys in the future.

Sun Blood Stories played next.  The body heat was all-consuming as the enraptured crowd hollered and grooved to the hot molasses of the band's blues-rock.  The strobe light flickering behind the band added to the set's psychedelic feel.  Primal, sexy stuff.  Prophetic too--I just know that this is what it's gonna be like at Treefort.

photo by Keesha Renna

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.

Andrew Jackson Jihad, Future of the Left and Jeff Rosenstock @ the Venue; Range Life @ the Red Room (11/10/12)

My friend and I were hanging out one night a few weeks back when we got handed flyers for this show.  When my friend saw Andrew Jackson Jihad's name on the bill, she flipped out and asked if I wanted to see this with her.  Given my great respect for her musical taste, I couldn't very well say no.

She wasn't the only one excited about this gig, apparently.  There had to have been well over a hundred people when I made it down to the Venue (well over 200, according to the Venue staff).  Unfortunately, I didn't see my friend among the crowd (probably needed to work), but I did see members of Red Hands Black Feet, Le Fleur, the Green Zoo and the Useless.

New York musician Jeff Rosenstock opened the show.  It woulda been nice if he'd played with a band instead of some backing tracks, but the recorded bass, drum and guitar parts were still pretty darn rousing.  Besides, Rosenstock's strong tunes, raw soloing, charmingly pitch-challenged howl and high-energy stage act did just fine on their own.  I couldn't make out too many of the lyrics, but his gloriously awful cover of Tom Waits's "Anywhere I Lay My Head" (which he sang down among the crowd) persuaded me to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Next up was Future of the Left, a four-piece outfit from Cardiff, UK.  I had a feeling that this group was gonna be good when I saw that they'd modeled one of their t-shirt designs after Saul Bass's Vertigo poster.  Damn if they didn't prove me right: they mixed smart, funny, righteously indignant lyrics and on-pitch screaming with grinding riffs, monolithic basslines and pulverizing drums.  Not only did they go metal and disco, they sometimes did both at once.  And brother, it's hard to beat the Brits when it comes to telling off a drunken heckler ("Give you a reason?  Sir, you're talking entirely in cliches.").  They didn't need to do too much of that, though: other than that one guy, the crowd was happy to cheer, clap to the beat and climb onstage to do some screaming call-and-response with the band ("I TRUSTED YOU!") during the finale.

The show could've ended after Future of the Left and I'd have been satisfied, but Andrew Jackson Jihad took the stage next and turned in an equally impressive set.  This Phoenix band's nerdy vibe, multi-genre tunes and goofy, incisive, sarcastic, sardonic, surreal, grisly lyrics smashed together the Ramones and Randy Newman (and maybe tossed in some Meat Puppets for good measure).  They zipped through ragtime, blitzkrieg, Bakersfield, country swing and solo-acoustic.  Some of the more blood-soaked tunes made me uneasy (particularly one little ditty about finding a girlfriend's corpse), but their closing ode to existential terror ("I'm afraid of the things I wanna do but I won't...  I'm afraid that my dog doesn't love me anymore...  I'm afraid of my grandfather's cancer...") put that stuff in perspective.  Whatever the subject matter, the crowd cheered, sang along, headbanged, jostled each other, crowd-surfed and stage-dived.

My night would've been more than complete after the Venue show, but then I got to the Red Room in time to catch most of local band Range Life's final performance.  Not only did their jangling drones, elegant solos and lean, limber rhythm section all sound in top form, Kailie Leggett had returned to sing one last time with Ben Turner, whose vocals never sounded more confident.  A crowd of about thirty sent Range Life off into that good night with dancing and warm applause.  A fine farewell.

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.

Aficionado, Mixtapes, Citizen, Hotel Chelsea and My Young Dreamer @ the Venue; New York Rifles @ the Red Room (10/12/12)

This was a tough call.  Originally, I'd planned to catch New York Rifles's return to the Red Room this night.  They'd kicked some serious ass when I saw them back in July, and this night's bill also featured equally ass-kicking local bands the Hand and the Bare Bones.  At the last minute, however, I opted to check out this show at the Venue, which featured four bands that I'd never encountered before and Hotel Chelsea, whom I hadn't seen in a while.  After all, it kinda defeats the purpose of this blog if I just write about the same bands over and over and over.

I counted a little over forty people when I got down to the Venue around 8 pm.  About half of that crowd would leave as the night went on, but those folks may have just had school or work in the morning (the audience seemed comprised largely of teenagers with a few parents tossed in).  Hopefully, it wasn't the music that drove them away.

First up was My Young Dreamer, a young pop-rock band from Meridian.  I missed a bit of their set, but what I caught sounded promising.  Their solid groove and friendly, confident stage presence put across some smart, catchy songs.  I especially appreciated "Be a Man So I Don't Have To," about a guy hoping that his girlfriend will take the axe to their dying relationship.  Frontman Jake Haley and guitarist Michael Pease's clear vocals didn't lean too hard on the stereotypical pop-punk whine.  An attempted sing-along fell flat, but they shouldn't let that discourage them.  If they can keep this up, folks should come around eventually.

After My Young Dreamer came Hotel Chelsea, who sounded in fine, thunderous form from Ryan Sampson's winning bellow and Red Kubena's searing solos to Mikey Rootnote and Chris Devino's freight-train bass and drums.  They played so well, in fact, that I couldn't help but wonder at the crowd's muted response.  What, did their Ritalin prescriptions need adjusting?  Anyway, a highlight of the set came when Kubena and Sampson briefly discussed which song to play for their closer.  Kubena would only hear of one option: the self-explanatory "Sampson is a F*ck."  No points for guessing which song they finally settled on.

Next up was Citizen, whose five members hail from Michigan and Ohio.  Their take on pop-punk had a slightly more hardcore feel that the preceding two acts' did: Eric Hamm's thick, twangy bass, Cray Wilson's pounding drums and Nick Hamm and Ryland Oehler's grinding riffs framed Mat Kerekes's rousing scream.  In spite of the extra abrasiveness, however, they still sounded plenty tuneful.  A nice combination.

Mixtapes from Cincinnati, OH played next.  With their sharp melodies, sharper lyrics, unstoppable drumming, buzzsaw riffs, locked-in rapport and playful, hyperactive stage act, this group would've made the show worthwhile all by themselves.  They bounced, twirled, spat at each other, chucked their guitars into the air (not quite intentionally).  Grand fun.

The Albany-based band Aficionado closed out the show.  You know that an emo/prog-leaning rock band is doing something right when their lineup includes a flautist and they still don't sound like a bunch of prissy crybabys (well, not too much, anyway).  Indeed, Laura Carrozza's serene flute parts and soothing vocals helped put the music over by tempering the melodrama of Nick Warchol's agonized moan.  In the man's defense, though, I should add that his thoughtful lyrics helped with that too.  Meanwhile, the elegant guitar lines, grounding bass and pulverizing drums demolished any lingering reservations that this normally emo/prog-phobic reviewer had.

After Aficionado finished, I headed over to the Red Room.  There's something to be said for shows starting late, sometimes: I got there in time to catch all of New York Rifles' set.  Their buzzing, stinging guitar, hooky basslines, quick drumming and can't-believe-I-haven't-heard-this-a-million-times-but-now-I-want-to songs sounded even better than I remembered.  It probably helped that there was a slightly larger crowd to see, hear and dance to them this time around.

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.

JJAMZ, Superhumanoids, Red Hands Black Feet and Kristopher Rabbit @ the Venue; Amy Bleu @ Grainey's Basement (9/9/12)

I've never made any secret about how much I love Red Hands Black Feet, but what really attracted me to this show was JJAMZ.  I'd dug what I'd heard from lead singer Z. Berg's previous band, the retro-60's outfit the Like, so I was curious to see what this project was all about.

Regrettably, not many others felt the same way.  This show might have suffered from the Lightning Bolt show at the Shredder and the simple bad luck of taking place on a Sunday.  I counted about twenty-five people there at its peak, including me and a few members of the bands.  So it goes.

First up this night was local group Kristopher Rabbit, whose industrial riffs and beats, tortured lyrics and angsty vocals owed a clear debt to groups like Nine Inch Nails.  These guys looked awfully nervous--I overheard one of them say afterward that they'd only rehearsed a week--but their songwriting definitely showed promise.  If I may be so bold, though, I would offer a piece of advice: it's usually good for frontmen face the front of the stage.

Red Hands Black Feet played next.  The modest crowd grooved out to the blending and weaving guitars, the surging basslines and the ever-more-supple drumming.  Their growing confidence and finesse gave the songs extra power and lyricism.  Another excellent performance.  Yawn.  (Just kidding.)

After Red Hands Black Feet came the Los Angeles-based band Superhumanoids.  Their Facebook page says some stuff about how they employ "summery '60s harmonies" and "the adventurous dissonance of '90s indie-rock," but what I heard was straight-up '80s: some Echo and the Bunnymen, some Kraftwerk, some Georgio Moroder, some Miami Vice soundtrack.  Murmured and cooed vocals, catchy tunes, glinting guitar, smoothly funky rhythms, multicolored synth hooks.  Their luded-out "I Wanna Be Sedated" cover spoke volumes for their brains, good taste and sense of humor.

Last up was JJAMZ.  This group owed a VERY clear debt to Blondie, and I'm not saying that just because Z. Berg was almost a dead ringer for Debbie Harry with her gorgeous cheekbones, breathy/growly delivery and coyly provocative stage act.  This wasn't some cosmetic job, though.  Their bouncy tunes, chiming guitar interplay, charming synth and tough, slinky, swinging rhythm section struck a nice balance between "Heart of Glass" and "One Way Or Another."  Premium grade pop-rock.  It's just a pity that more people weren't there: when/if this group comes back around, everybody else may have to pay double or triple what I did.  So it goes.

I stopped by Grainey's Basement after JJAMZ wrapped up in hopes of catching the set by local experimental duo the Finer Points of Sadism.  Unfortunately, I had to leave before they played (I started my new day job at 7 am the next morning), but I did get to catch some of the set by Portland-based songwriter Amy Bleu.  Her sly quaver, sweet folk melodies and twisted lyrics provided just the right coda to my night.  Highlights included "A Young Man Going to the Movies," a nice little original ditty about a guy who beats to death a couple of jackers (true story, she said), and a brilliant cover of Alice Cooper's "Poison."

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.

State of Confusion, Little Miss and the No-Names, 1d and Sandusky Furs @ the Venue (9/1/12)

Before this night, I'd never heard of State of Confusion.  Now, before some of you get all offended or indignant over that, please bear in mind that I was only eight years old and hadn't even moved to Idaho yet when they played their last gig.  Anyway, this show caught my attention because it marked their one-night-only return and because it featured three local punk acts I hadn't written about before.  And besides, I was just itching for a reason to write about the Venue again.

I showed up about an hour before the gig, and there were already a handful of punk scenesters hanging around.  By 7:20 pm, I counted at least forty people.  That number would at least double as the night wore on.  The crowd seemed nicely balanced between underagers, twenty-somethings and gentlemen and ladies of a certain age.  I also noted with pleasure the plethora of bitchin' band T-shirts (Black Flag, the Ramones, Husker Du, the Vibrators, the Runaways, the Germs, etc).

Sandusky Furs' grinding, tuneful punk-metal hybrid got the evening off to a fine start.  Tony Wright's rough bellow and thunderous drumming locked in perfectly with Dave Wall's fluid bass and Terry Harvey's buzzsaw riffs and ripping solos.  I couldn't ID any of their covers, but they sounded as tough, melodious and galvanizing as their originals.

Up next was young hardcore trio 1d.  At first, this group didn't strike me as anything special.  Howled vocals, jerky tempo shifts, manic drumming and riffing--with hardcore, all that stuff is just par for the course.  As their set wore on, however, I noticed that their tunes and riffs got sharper and that they laid down a damn solid groove when they slowed down some.  Also, their guitarist cranked out some impressive Greg Ginn-esque noise solos.  I take it as a good sign that my favorite of their original songs was also the newest.  Highlight: their set-capping cover of Black Flag's "Rise Above," during which a bunch of guys in the crowd grabbed the mic and shouted the lyrics in unison.

Little Miss and the No Names followed 1d.  Their harshly catchy songs, equally Greg Ginn-esque guitar, hard-driving basslines and whirlwind drumming all sounded fine and dandy.  What really put them over the top, though, was "Little Miss" Rebecca Noel's sneered/screamed vocals and fierce, heedless stage presence (flailing her hair, colliding with the crowd, etc).

By the way, I'm sorry about the crappy picture.  I wanted to move closer and try to take a better one, but...

...that really didn't seem like a good idea.

State of Confusion's headlining set justified the substantial audience that had come out for them.  Sharply crafted chants and riffs met with screeching guitar solos, massive basslines and hyperkinetic drumming.  SOC's music wasn't all just straightforward thrash-and-burn either: they managed to work in a groove even at their most frenzied, and a couple numbers near the end featured some jerky Minutemen jazz-funk and savory Sabbath sludge.  Their set had a couple technical difficulties--the guitar conked out now and again--but somehow, that just added to the warm, friendly vibe in the room.  The only real sour note was the knowledge that you probably weren't gonna see this group again.

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Jenean Claus and the Venue.