Bully Brings It On Home at Sold-Out Stone Fox Gig

Part of attending any big outdoor music festival is staking early claim to a spot in front of the stage for your must-see shows. Last week, a thousands-strong crowd turned early up to see Bully at the Pitchfork Music Festival in Chicago. And those early bird masses weren't there to stake claim on prime spots to catch more established indie darlings like Ariel Pink and A$AP Ferg, who would take the same stage later in the day, they were there to deep-dive into the gravel-and-sugar grunge-pop hooks Alicia Bognanno & Co. offer up. This corroborates our own evidence that Bully's rep is spreading far and wide: We spotted several randos sporting Bully T-shirts at Forecastle, where the band probably could've drawn a similarly sprawling crowd. So it's no surprise Bully sold out The Stone Fox Friday night, rocking for a crowd of friends, fellow local-rock luminaries and at least one superfan who'd traveled from as far away as Michigan. 

As if a shoulder-to-shoulder capacity crowd needed any more warming up on a sweaty July night, thrash-pop duo Gnarwhal opened the show around 9:30 p.m. Remember how at the end of a bout of food poisoning, there's that period of endorphin-washed bliss, punctuated by occasional stomach cramps that slowly trail off? Watching a Gnarwhal set is like going through that about eight times in a row — which we mean as a sincere compliment. Guitarist-singer-screamer Chappy Hull and drummer Tyler Coburn spent a few minutes worrying like Abbott and Costello over settings on Hull's dual amp setup, but it was worth the effort. With the low notes fed to one amp and the highs to the other, Hull's Byzantine guitar arrangements split into fully realized bass, rhythm and lead, with the lead line often as not coming from a series of blink-and-you-miss-em hammer-ons and pull-offs. Coburn, meanwhile, was just as entertaining to watch as he was to listen to, staring at a fixed point in space like a juggler while neatly folding one blast beat into another as they ran through tunes from their new full-length, Shinerboy. 

In the studio, Quichenight is largely a solo affair, but when Quiche-chef-in-chief Brett Rosenberg brings his raucous and erudite power pop to life, he enlists an ensemble cast. Friday, the full-live Quichenight experience included Fox Fun's Asher Horton on guitar, Dan Carroll on bass, PUJOL's Daniel Pujol on drums, East Side Story's Joe Bidewell (whose resume includes a tenure as a John Cale sideman) on keys and Courtney Nuding from the sadly defunct local cable-access show Music City Shakedown on percussion. While the Q-nighters grooved their way through the first half of Rosenberg's summer-jam-packed Minor Sea LP, the crowd had some difficulty controlling a pair of beach balls. No real harm was done, but the constant threat of the balls taking out the house lighting rig added an element of danger. It went along nicely with the band's amped-up take on the tunes, whipped into a frenzy by Rosenberg's wild solos and a couple of sweet guitar duels with Horton.

From the moment they took the familiar Stone Fox stage (Bognanno used to mix sound at the club and bassist Reece Lazarus is the club's talent booker), Bully held nothing back. Right out of the gate, Bognanno delivered "I Remember" in a full-bore howl that made our own vocal cords twitch in sympathy. Behind her, drummer Stewart Copeland and Lazarus locked into synchronous orbit, while guitarist Clayton Parker's Lee Ranaldo-indepted lead lines scattered sparks as they squealed their way through the texture. The aching anthem "Trying," the sweet "Brainfreeze," the snarling "Trash" and other cuts from Feels Like, the group's hot-off-the-presses major label debut, whizzed by like bottle rockets tossed from a moving car. It was like so many other Bully shows we've seen — sharp and raw as hell — but also somehow different, sharper, yet even more raw, with seamless transitions between songs and a certain air of confidence that comes from winning over audience after audience, night after night on the road, opening for bands like Best Coast and JEFF the Brotherhood. The machine is so well-oiled that Bognanno had to stop herself from introducing the band as "Bully from Nashville." After a blistering double-time version of "Milkman," they called it a night — they had energy left to burn, but it was necessary to wrap at a reasonable hour, because they had to leave town at 6 a.m. to make the next gig.

Bully's rise is an example of the Nashville rock scene working at its best, giving a good band the right combination of pressure and breathing room to become a really good band, which then comes out of the crucible of touring as a fucking great band. Bully has been around for two years, but their well-deserved recognition is the product of many years' work: We can trace their lineage through Bognanno and Copeland's previous group, King Arthur, and Copeland's group The Lake before that. As they rise to join the ranks of internationally renowned locals like JEFF the Brotherhood, Diarrhea Planet and Those Darlins, we can always say we knew 'em when.