Little Hamilton, Lazy Magnet, 8 off 8th and more
Slicing up the Hammy
Thanksgiving weekend is always a mixed bag at best. Even those bold enough to schedule or book a grand, top-quality event are often burned by those of us still straggling back in from out of town or still too comatose to leave the house. The solution? Party with the young folks. With a whopping six-band lineup, Little Hamilton's all ages digs provided the best bet for a decent rock 'n' roll show Saturday night.
We attempted a fashionably early arrival only to find we'd already missed opening acts Gnarwhal and folky vets The Cherry Blossoms. We were, however, greeted by a keg of Yazoo, which instantly eased any over-21 showgoer of his or her worst all-ages-DIY-venue fears. Next up, we received a caustic, ear-bleeding feedback-soaked clobbering from local-by-way-of-Tampa-Bay band MLU (apparently an acronym for "My Left Uterus"). Their spattering drums and rumbling distortion sounded as if a gang of hoodlums barged into a Sunn O))) show and beat the shit out of them. The place was by no means packed, but there were enough of us to kill a keg—if that means anything. Operating at full efficiency, Li'l Hammy had stages set up on opposite sides of the room to eliminate any gaps in the setup-and-tear-down process. The next act in this rapid-fire succession was Deluxin', the band fronted by former Be Your Own Pet member Nathan Vasquez. Playing without a bassist on this particular night, Vasquez delivered flat, monotone vocals over questionably tuned, atonal noodlings on his axe, while the drummer delivered syncopated percussion that may or may not have been rehearsed in advance. If this sounds unpleasant to you, being there in person probably wouldn't have changed your mind. But if audience reaction is any gauge of worth, this band is worth tons.
By the time Deluxin' were done, Lazy Magnet were ready to bust out some hypnotic, semi-ambient, melodic electronic drones. Playing in a dark room lit only by a handheld flashlight reflected off a disco ball, the band elicited mixed reactions. Some felt his vibe strong enough to bust an outright move while others seemed to find his jams combined with alcohol to be more of a sweetly effective sedative. Those kids were thumped back into consciousness by bipolar punk rockers MARJ!. With neck-snapping hooks, melodic dissonance and soul-cleansing yowls, the band rocked many a face clean off. After all that beer-soaked adrenaline it was time for aural blue balls when MARJ! were followed by Forrest Bride—a chill and jazzy instrumental collective complete with horns, strings, keys and more mellow vibes one could shake a proverbial stick at. Follow this up with a no-holds-barred dance party set to last into the wee hours, and we'd had enough ups and downs for one evening.
Tryptophantasia
By the time we got back in town from our yearly Holiday in Fam-bodia, we were itchin' for a rock show. All the tryptophan and reminiscing about the various ways we damaged our reproductive organs in our youth was fun and all, but if we're going to spend the night screaming at the top of our lungs we'd prefer that it was at a club over a loud sound system, rather than at a table over dinner. Our real family is great, but there's a reason we don't normally spend four nights a week drinking with them—our rock 'n' roll family is so much more civilized. With that in mind, we hoofed it down to the Mercy Lounge Monday night for an 8 off 8th hosted by We Own This Town.
Eliza the Arrow kicked off the evening with Beth Cameron, formerly of local favorites Forget Cassettes, singing over 8-bit tracks of her new album. We honestly aren't quite sure what to think about them beyond the fact that we're going to have to listen to the new album on repeat, in the dark, lying on our bedroom floor, to really get what's going on there. Cameron's work has always been dense, and her brief set wasn't quite enough for us to grasp what was going on, but daggammit we're stoked for the new album. Eliza were followed by The Kingston Springs, a name you might recognize from your local weather report even if you, like WOTT's Joe Baine Colvert, don't actually know where Kingston Springs is located. The foursome played some solid Southern indie swing that probably would have been quite danceable if we didn't have a brick of cranberry stuffing still lodged in our lower GI.
Next up were Bad Cop, a band we keep seeing in hopes of enjoying them but are always disappointed with—we're thinking it's the politeness and the safety-minded Iggy Pop impression by their lead singer, but we're just not buying what they're selling. Also, if you're a band from Nashville and you're playing in Nashville and play almost exclusively in Nashville, you don't need to tell us that you're from here—honestly, we could have guessed if we didn't know, which we did, so stop saying that shit every time you play. Also, sounding like a poor man's version of The Cult doing a modern rock take on The Stooges is so early Aughts...totes over it.
Majestico, on the other hand, might just be our new favorite band. They sound like Mott the Hoople except sometimes they kick it into overdrive and sound like Bad Company, which is basically like going from awesome to awesomer. Their shambolic Southern-glam sound hits the sweet spot like few bands in town, coming off with a casual swagger that puts your half-assed Pavement impression to shame. My Tyger, the Sam Ashworth-Jim O'Shea supergroup of sorts, played a tight set of radio-ready pop (and we mean that in a good way) that made us wonder why we never see them playing out. C'mon dudes, get on that shit—world domination awaits.
Speaking of world domination, the new De Novo Dahl lineup is just a couple of helicopters and a WMD away from achieving that end as well. The small army of musicians that have joined the re-emergent Joel J. Dahl and Serai Zaffiro—The De Novo Dahl Symphony Orchestra, as we like to call 'em—were full of the energy and melody that has made each of DND's previous incarnations so exciting, but this time they're not nearly as goofy. We'll miss making Muppet jokes, but we're glad the pajama costumes are gone. Now there's nothing interfering with our enjoyment of the Raspberries-meet-End-of-the-Century-era-Ramones pop goodness.
The end is near! The end of the year. Get ready for some lists, kiddos. Until then, keep those cat videos coming to thespin@nashvillescene.com.
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