Entertainment : Music

Ain't nothing but a rock'n'roll blog: Blackout Fest

Live coverage of The Union's three-day rock fest

By Terry O'Donovan, Assistant Entertainment Editor
   Jen Kessler, Entertainment Staff Writer
   Dani Purcell, Staff Writer
   Jillian Mapes, Assistant Managing Editor
   
April 19, 2008 | 7:04 p.m.

The bars and "clubs" (i.e., bars) of Athens are seeped in rock'n'roll -- a local aspect for which I have always been grateful. This weekend the local rock flavor of our town comes full circle with the 13th annual Blackout Fest at The Union. My cohorts and I will be live-blogging from the music festival all weekend.

On-the-scene blogging throughout the weekend's festivities will be split among myself (Jill Mapes, Speakeasy Entertainmrent Editor), Jen Kessler (Speakeasy Assistant Entertainment Editor) and Speakeasy Entertainment writers (!!!). Honestly, I never thought I would be nerdy enough to be blogging from a booth at The Union. 

SATURDAY:

7:04 p.m. -- Silo Circuit

I'd been waiting for this one, honestly. Silo Circuit is, simply put, my new favorite local band. What can I say, I'm a huge sucker for indie rock featuring violin. 

On this specific day, I can calculate four reasons why Silo Circuit blows my mind:

1. The band's distinct brand of Eastern European fusion music reminds me of the time when I starred in my high school's production of "Fiddler on the Roof." That was one high point of the lameness that was my high school career. Still can't shake those Hebrew-laced songs I had to learn. 

2. Silo Circuit just played a legit cover of Prince's "When Doves Cry." I LOL-ed hardcore and basked in some kind of '80s glory.

3. The accordion plays a pivotal role in defining Silo Circuit's sound. 

4. Silo Circuit, despite sparse use of the guitar, integrates the spirit of rock'n'roll while melding sounds of cello, violin, accordion, trombone and banjo.

I don't mean to preach here, but this band's music is both beautifully layered and touchingly eclectic. -- J.M.

6:24 p.m. -- October Fist

When guitarist Jared Kurzawa dons his red tobaggen, an October Fist set is inherently bound to be promising.  "Has anyone blacked out yet?" he joked, to resounding cheers in the audience.

I have a habit during the Fist's shows -- I've managed to mentally block the music's profound effect on the innermost regions of my ears for brief periods of time, and tend to focus on the slightest of idiosyncrasies of its two forward-most members: Kurzawa's hips and guitarist Brian Wenner's mouth.  Bizarre, I know. But both are constantly moving. 

Wenner, in the deepest realms of concentration, resembles a suffocating guppy, attempting to dislodge a stubborn piece of gum from underneath his tongue, or perhaps trying to whistle. I say that in the most admiring way possible, mind you. The kid's got mad skills. He shreds something ridiculous. 

The band produces the most unfathomable progressions in the most absurd time signatures possible,  inciting a droning, driving effect -- enough to render metal fans speechless or resounding in a chorus of enthusiastic "WHOO"s.

While playing "Warthen Warnow," the stage is entrenched in darkness save the neon-blue illumination of Wenner's funky, sound-altering ebow. The glow creeps up the uppermost frets of his guitar, and it's glorious.

His mouth isn't moving during the solo to this song, in case you are wondering. His guitar pick dangles from his lips as he moves this fantastic object over where his fingers used to be, and the strings reverberate, sobbing beneath said piece.

The sheer wall of noise and movement is cut short. The sound girl informs the band that there is no time left. I have a creeping feeling that the band was planning to play "Eggman Strikes Again."  The silence hangs for a moment.  Wenner apologizes.

To quote the final shouts of an enthused fan, "That was like, two-chicks-at-once awesome!" --D.P.

4:46 p.m. -- Sad Bastards

I didn't want to be awake at this hour, let alone hanging out in a near-empty bar. Then I heard it...I heard a permeating twang of "fuck folk."

Some colleagues (I'm so official) kept telling me Sad Bastards' music sounded like fuck folk, as the illusive local band personally described it. I must have missed the memo that cemented fuck folk as a legit musical genre. I had heard people use the term "freak folk," but it has always been with connotation of psychedelic influences.

I was slightly skeptical about this so-called fuck folk, but Jen and others had been speaking fondly of the band. Upon hearing the sound of a metal chain dragged across a old-fashioned wash board atop acoustic guitar and searing vocals, I understood what they had meant. 

Allow me to remark with the sentiments "damn, shorty!" in regards to my initial impression of Sad Bastards' music. It made me, well, kind of sad, but in an exhilarating sort of way. I love it when the local music of Athens excites me. 

I could not help but think of the dialogue from the film "High Fidelity" between Jack Black and that guy who looked like Moby (again, so official) every time I heard the name "Sad Bastards." Jack Black refers to Belle & Sebastian as "old, sad bastard music," a remark that Mody dude can not completely defend because, well, it's kind of true of B&S's music (not that the band isn't one of my favorites). But I digress.

The swagger of Sad Bastard's front man seemed oddly familiar to me. At first I thought it was because he slightly resembles the actor James Spader in his younger days. Then I decided that wasn't it, so I really couldn't tell you what triggered a familiarity. His band's music, however, stands as Athens original. -- J.M. 

FRIDAY:

12:12 a.m. -- Greg Cartwright

The frontman of semi-well known bands Reigning Sound and Oblivions is playing now. He's by himself, sans back-up, which lends a sort of "An Evening With" vibe to the performance. He plays a few chords of a song; changes his mind; makes some jokes; starts a new song. And so it goes - somehow, despite the missteps, the cluster remains captivated. The energy's been building subtly throughout the night. The headliners, This Moment in Black History, are on next. The place is fairly full; the bartenders are scuttling back and forth, filling orders and washing glasses.

One more band to play before Friday of Blackout Fest XIII is history. --T.O.

10:17 p.m. --  Cheap Time

I have just found my favorite band (thus far!) of Blackout Fest in Nashville's power trio Cheap Time. As the young punks began their set, I literally stopped mid-sentence to proclaim "Holy shit, this band rocks!" I briefly have an internal battle over whether Cheap Time reminds me more of The Ramones or The Clash. I decide, ultimately, that it is not that important because both bands are two of my favorites in way of the classic punk genre. Cliched, I know. -- J.M.

9:11 p.m. -- El Jesus De Magico

I'm slightly overwhelmed by my late Blackout Fest start tonight, but I feel slightly better when hear the trippy, slurred vocals of El Jesus De Magico as I head upstairs. My nerves calm themselves as the guitar distortion takes full force, so much so that my mind drifts off to a distant place as I sway in this booth and head bob. To me, there is something quietly entrancing about loud, repetitive guitars.

My trance is interrupted as someone smashes a beer bottle several feet away. The decent-sized crowd seems socially lubricated already, drunks slithering about and strange looks being directed toward me, the girl intently glued to her laptop instead of rocking out with the best of them.

I hear a bass build-up and guitar line at the beginning of one track that intrigues me and strangely enough, reminds me of "White Room" by Cream. This band thrashes sufficiently harder, faster and in a more surreal manner than Cream, so the comparison strikes me as off-color but still worth mentioning.

I enjoy the band's set but not an astounding amount. Perhaps it is because I know there is more rock to be had as this weekend progresses. I must say, I am most excited for tomorrow's early set, especially Sad Bastards and Silo Circuit (!!!). I'm kekeke-ing like a school girl in anticipation of Silo Circuit's performance because I just can't get enough of the band's eastern European vibe. The band's new album is, in a word, impressive.

The local boys of baroque-style (baroque may, or may not, be a legit modern musical style, so just humor me) indie-folk trio Russenorsk were offered an early Saturday spot at Blackout, but they had to turn it down due to their appearance at Columbus' Agora Arts Festival, said the band's lead singer. This, of course, bums me out because the band is one of my favorite local acts, but I wish them the best of luck in Columbus. -- J.M.

THURSDAY: 

12:25 a.m. -- Psychedelic Horseshit

I have a feeling it is going to get a little dicey when the drunken, dancing crowd melds with hardcore Psychedelic Horseshit fans. The band was not even playing a half hour when the lead singer asked if the next song were to be his band's last. I, though weary-eyed and exhausted from the long day I've faced, desperately hope that this experimental noise that surrounds me will not end.

I blog relatively unaware of the band's aesthetic appeal, only glancing up from my laptop screen every 30 seconds or so. I hear reverb that strikes me sounding like a clarinet, sparking my visual interest. What is see is an excess of weird dance moves, but the dancing doesn't match the noise rock that escapes the wildly experimental sounds that escape the speakers. Oh, the power of heavy intoxication on behalf of the audience.

Psychedelic Horseshit's set, albeit brief, possesses a thrashing sort of ambiance that repeats itself continually. There are some kinds of experimental music that changes so frequently that it becomes difficult for an audience to fully understand the musical motif set forth. Maybe this is the reason why much experimental music is misunderstood and under-appreciated. This, however, appears to be a discussion fit for another time and certainly another place. And the bottom drops out. -- J.M.

11:46 p.m. -- Wheels on Fire

I wish it were easier to stop dancing in order to write this blog. Wheels on Fire is powering through their final song, and The Union is a sea of fist-pumps, ear-to-ear grins and half empty PBR bottles. It's equally difficult to turn away from the obscenely fashion-savvy wardrobe choice of the band's lead singer as he belts into the microphone, cowboy fringe swinging from his arms.

Up next is the eagerly anticipated Psychedelic Horseshit, whom Jill and I were cheated out of interviewing on-air on ACRN.com earlier today (heh). But seriously. Keep an eye (or an ear) on ACRN for in-studio interviews with Blackoutfest bands.

If you read this in the next four minutes, skedaddle up here to catch the extremely talented, Columbus-based Psychedelic Horseshit. As for myself, I was accidentally stamped as over-21. I'm going to go half-empty a PBR bottle myself and revel in the shoegaze splendor that promises to pour forth from the (newly-carpeted) stage. -- J.K.

7:32 p.m. -- Casual Future/Never Evers:

The last time I went to The Union before 9 p.m. was...well, never. There is something kind of cave-like about leaving the warm air and bright sun of Union Street behind as I climb the dark, mysterious steps to reach the bar's stage. I'm not if I would go to a local show so early unless it were a few select bands, and Casual Future is definitely one of them. As Jen and I nestle a spot in the sparse crowd, I feel slightly sad that so few people are here to see such a talented local act. As the band closes its set, however, the PBR-clutching audience members seem to have multiplied. No one appears too drunk...yet.

As for the music, Casual Future's retro indie reverb is swingin' in full force. There is something just so quintessential about the band's modest approach to music. The band's members don't seem to take themselves too seriously, even closing Camper Van Beethoven's "Take the Skinheads Bowling." What a classic song from a classically Athens sort of band.

The keyboard-heavy rock sounds of Never Evers is up next. I must admit, I am not too well-versed with this band's music, but I am majorly bummed to be leaving as Never Evers start raging on. The pulsating drums and dreamy guitars create a balance between '60s psychedelic pop and classic blues-rock. I am reminded of The White Stripes as I trot down the stairs toward the light of the outdoors. -- J.M.

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