Over the past few months, we've seen and heard a lot of quality local bands that are either new, new to us, or simply underappreciated. We've mentioned many of them previously in It Lists and the like, but since we can only write so much for our show lists each day, we thought we should say a little more about some of the more interesting artists we've encountered recently, and that's where this feature comes in. You'll probably read more about these groups everywhere else like next year or something:
Animal Forces: And/Or Gallery has always been a misfit in the Dallas Art Scene, often showcasing the less accepted and radical world of video artists, as well as the bizarre and obscure, such as "free art" champion
Chad Hopper. Despite And/Or's daring exhibitions, the space still remains a cozy spot that is inviting enough to attract some of the more pristine patrons of the Dallas art scene. It's hard to imagine what some of those well-dressed enthusiasts were thinking a few months ago as they hurriedly scurried out of the gallery's door towards the respite of the crowded street (where the worst sound you have to deal with is the not so faint hum of the highway in the distance) in order to escape the brute force of Denton's Animal Forces.
And yet Animal Forces made complete sense in the small space, terrorizing the crowd behind the curious sight of two voting booths, so as to make mysterious the method of attack. The duo is made up of
Bianca Hockensmith and
House Of Tinnitus' Amelia Jaycen. And/Or and H.O.T. remain the only two places the duo has played, meaning that they have only played in my two favorite places in either Dallas or Denton. When asked where they'd like to perform next, I was sent a cryptic email stating, "The forest/the mall." Animal Forces is obviously into extremes.
Their music is all at once a simultaneously violent, prickly, and ambient roar, further confusing the listener with tiny subtleties of variance screeching through the din. The sounds mostly seem to come from a combination of contact microphones, guitar pedals, and equalizer manipulation, and the little melodious bleeps that fade in and out are created by altered toys, reminding one of how creepy and noisy children's toys can be.
Though the band suggested that the And/Or exodus was perhaps a little lonely, it was a thrill to see guys in suits and women in dresses practically running out the door away from the calculated chaos. A little bit of ceiling fell off, and a piece of artwork took a spill, but overall I found the Animal Forces performance to be a harmless and positive little reminder that art and music can still shock and get under the skin of a largely desensitized public. It also provided a hint as to the potential of cross pollination between two underground havens thirty five miles apart.
(DL)Febrifuge: It's tough to figure out what to make of Febrifuge the first time you hear them. On some levels, much of what they do is similar to more widely known, popular "indie" groups that you've certainly heard before-- you know what I mean, right? The kind of pop that consists of sprawling atmospherics and sonic experiments surrounding quiet, relaxed songs steeped in traditional folk, chamber pop, blues structures and indie pop. Stylistically, much of this is nothing new. In fact, there are a lot of bands doing very similar things all over the country these days, resulting in quite an overload of this kind of ethereal, vaguely experimental folk based indie pop that seems all too easy to produce in the Myspace era. But before you go conjuring up an image of Febrifuge as a group of twenty year old twits twiddling knobs and singing their hearts out between bong rips, you might want to dig a little deeper into what the group does, because the project reaches quite a bit farther than most comparable artists, and the audible talents of its central figure make it a whole different proposition all together.
Febrifuge is the moniker of a formerly one man project lead by Denton resident Chris Day. Day handed us his debut record,
A Short Instance of Separation, several months ago, and the sheer impressiveness of his songwriting and vocal talents stood out immediately amongst a pile of highly forgettable local releases. From the onset, the most distinguished element of Febrifuge's sound is Day's studied and compelling vocals, soaring with a nervous, understated yet emotive croon a la Jeff Buckley and Elliott Smith, with a range nearly as impressive as the former and a quiet wistfulness similar to the latter. His lead is front and center throughout the debut, and considering that he possesses the kind of polished vocal talent that could probably make an indie/major A&R guy swoon, this was certainly a wise move.
Nearly as interesting as the vocals are the arrangements and recording, both of which were done almost entirely by Day himself, aside from some help with backing vocals and a mastering assist from Alan Douches, who has worked with Animal Collective and Olivia Tremor Control, among others. Every track on Febrifuge's debut is packed with tons of sounds-- piano, keyboard, strings, guitar, etc., but none of it ever feels like overload, and all of it is quite impressive. Some songs, such as opener "A Wounded Bird Still Dreams of Wings," soar with touches of doo-wop and ghostly atmospherics that are nearly overwhelming, while "Our Hermitage" keeps things highly minimal, with pounding, disjointed percussion and a simple chime serving as the major melodic device behind interweaving vocal harmonies that are nothing short of gorgeous.
At the end of the day, Febrifuge is reflective, emotional pop music for people who don't typically listen to anything that can be described in that way, and the care, thoughtfulness and attention to detail behind Day's wonderful debut will have many of you asking why you've never heard of this guy before.
(SR)Bad Sports: There was a time in Denton music where it was impossible to miss stoner sludge act
Chief Death Rage. They played at every DIY spot, week-in and week-out, sometimes performing multiple sets at multiple venues in a single night. As much as their ubiquity and volume proved the group hard to ignore, what made it even harder was their remarkably tall bass player,
Orville Bateman Neeley III, quietly towering over his considerably smaller band-mates like a Stoner-rock Dolph Lundgren. He anchored the group with his excellent basslines, as well as an intimidating visual element that emphasized the tankwheels-crushing-a-skull brutality of the Chief Death Rage sound.
So it was understandably surprising to see that Orville's next project was to front an upbeat, quick-tempo power pop-tinged punk group called
Bad Sports. There was even a brightly colored green-screen music video, where Orville bobs his head along to his singing very much like a, well, like a lead singer. Forming late last year, the trio is comprised of Orville on guitar and vocals,
TV's Daniel on bass and vocals, and
Gregory Rutherford on drums and the occasional backing vocal. The songwriting is split between Orville and Daniel.
Material came quickly for Bad Sports, spurred on by a collective enthusiasm for the catchier sides of punk, hardcore, and post-punk such as
Black Flag's earlier records,
The Ramones,
The Damned and
Wire, along with a healthy dose of power pop like
Slade,
Sweet, 70's
Sparks, and a hint of mod jangle pop. These various rock disciplines are then intertwined and reprocessed, resulting in brief, distorted little songs where the reverb decays just long enough to be dramatically effective, like the concrete echo of a band playing too loud in a greasy garage.
The band has already trekked out on a hastily planned tour, playing to weirdos across the Midwest, drinking Old Style Beer and eating pizza. In keeping with the Midwest theme, Bad Sports released a couple of seven inches on two notable labels respectively out of Saint Paul, Minnesota (
Big Action Records) and Lincoln, Nebraska (
Boom Chick Records), the kind of towns where this style of music seems to thrive. Neeley hints the group should have enough material for an album at some point, and Bad Sports seems to be as smart and prolific as fellow punks
The Wax Museums in regard to conduct and philosophy.
At this point, Neeley has an impenetrable track record, with two wildly different outings under his belt. Though I'm a huge Chief Death Rage fan, I'm glad he stepped out of the shadow to turn in one of the few surprises in local music over the last twelve months.
(DL)Rocket for Ethiopia: The strange thing about Rocket for Ethiopia is that they are a young punk band that embraces pop but actually sounds more like Red Cross, the Adolescents or the Germs than the Descendents or Bad Religion. Here's what I mean-- the immediately appealing thing about this Carrolton group is their reckless, fuck all, first wave hardcore slop, exemplified by their short 40 second bursts of angry distortion, indecipherable shouting and chaotic, whirlwind rhythms. However, listen a bit closer, and you'll find some very poppy surprises-- is that a Dick Dale influence I hear on lead guitar? Sure. And did they just use the chord progression from the Misfits' "Teenagers from Mars" for ten seconds before causing the song in question to permanently self destruct before you really had time to think about such things? I think so. The point is that Rocket For Ethiopia are young enough to not quite know what they want to "be," but curiously, the indecisiveness works to their advantage. Shifting from almost traditional sounding surf guitar on one track to completely trashed, disorienting ferocious hardcore with touches of proto-punk on the next, the group seems to revel in being difficult to pin down, both figuratively and literally.
Another part of Rocket For Ethiopia's appeal is their non-preachy commitment to DIY and their willingness to help spawn and promote a scene that most local music followers don't even know exists. As one might imagine, Carrolton is hardly a center of artistic subculture, but the band has plans to try and change that, maybe just a tad, with a simple idea that might just be ridiculous enough to work. Citing their long time involvement with the 1919 Hemphill scene (they listed the venue as a major influence on their music), the group plans to attempt to unite what they characterize as a growing hardcore punk scene emerging in the suburban sprawl between Fort Worth and Dallas in order to create a new DIY epicenter based in Carrolton, complete with what they hope will be a fully functional DIY venue to open some time in the near future. "Yeah right," was probably your response to that last sentence, but stranger things have happened. After all, the cultural, structural and economic similarities between 2008 suburban Dallas and late 70's Orange County are sort of striking when you get down to it.
(SR)Ribelle Scaltro: I was hesitant to try to pin down Ribelle Scaltro. The two performances I had previously caught were exercises in opposites, and the tracks on the Myspace page did little to clear up the initial confusion. After a brief explanation from lone member Rachael Steinberg, it was revealed that the long waits between shows are only part of the reason that the music is subject to change so much. "I feel good about doing something different each time I play live. I don't want it to become something stale and predictable," she tells me by email when asked about the disparities. It wasn't that I disliked either version of Ribelle Scaltro, quite the opposite. It's just that I've seen and heard Ribelle Scaltro, the acoustic singer-songwriter, and I've heard an almost cold keyboard and drum machine Ribelle Scaltro. Both had their qualities, but the latter was what really compelled me to investigate further.
It's Saturday night in the dark, dusty, and literally dripping basement-garage of Wisconsin, and Steinberg cooly "mans" the keyboard in front of her. A slightly clipped beat adds minimal interference and emphasizes the inherent despair of the melancholy chord changes. Steinberg sings bleak yet pretty melodies where the vocal effect is more audible than the lyrics. She says her most recordings feature mostly "layered vocals, spoken word, and incoherent whispering."
Her latest collection of songs are collected under the title of "Death Confetti," and there is no word on whether this is a physical collection or a conceptual one, though I'm hoping it's both. These tracks are the most reflective of the style mentioned above, and it's hard to convey just how successful the vocal style in particular is, both live and on recordings. There are traces of Marble Index- era Nico but with more pop structure and a more sweetly melodic touch than a comparison to that legendary slab of despair implies. Other songs are less rigidly formatted, and burst more rudely with vocals simply spoken over caustic sound-scapes.
Critics, as well as fans, whether they admit it or not, consider it a sign of "artistic maturity" when a performer finally settles into a sound that they'll possibly milk for years to come, often writing off early material as lacking focus. It speaks well of Ribelle Scaltro's music that a reluctance toward a defining sound has proven to be an asset, thusly wielding the lacked focus as a play to the performer's strength, resulting in an equally intriguing sound as well as live show.
(DL)
