Any show attended by both myself and Austin Kroll, at multiple points in the show, we will make eye-contact and he'll have this enthralled look on his face, and mouth ("Yeah! Yeah!") or something that looks just like it. Try it. He's the fan every band needs, and that's why.
Oddlot is the never-say-die spirit of punk. Know that. Loud guitars, Dan Dobson, Chris Chapman on strum and thrum, respectively, with a standout lead in Chris Merlick, banging drums off the swinging arms of Nick Dagovitz, a bald bellows breathing fire front with harmonica and maraccas for good measure, or measure-filling, Joe Jarvis. They rock the balls off the joint, experience clearly on their side; their combined years maybe 4 times the count on tonight's headliner. A snare stand mishap midset slows them down but a beat, if that, the show must growl on. ("Yeah! Yeah!") And they take to in grand fashion. Having seen them before, I know they can hit the brakes, but not tonight. Tonight it's howls on high and rolling thunder. This, guys and gals, is music to rob trains to; y'all grab the horses, I'll grab the molotovs, let's move!
Now, when asked which of the other bands he would least like to fight, Chris of the fleet-fingered shred says, "Crack Pipes. That lead singer, Ray? That man's religious fervor.. "
I must agree as the next set by The Crack Pipes swings into effect. If Oddlot et al just robbed the train, these gents are here to burn the husk and play to the smoke-choked sky. Like psychedelia never left the Southern Baptist tradition with the devil's house band. This man Ray Colgin, more megaphone than man, he has something to say. Apparently, Austin doesn't think we dance here in Fort Worth, and his next song needs a dancing crowd. Well, if you know Fort Worth, you know we delivered! I don't see how you could help it, honestly, with the Blues Brother guitarist Billy Steve Korpi layin it down cool, the perfect amount of funk on keys courtesy of Coby Cardosa, Mike Corwin's bombastic elasticism on drums, and Nick Moulos thick bass keepin the groove, this is the end-of-days soundtrack to Reverend Ray's sermon. A storyteller, this man. One song gleaned, he says, from an old man in Louisiana as payment for a ride to the next parish, and it's a thumper. ("Yeah! Yeah!") A song about Hannibal the Warlord, and how he wants us to dance, and well, we hadn't stopped, so consider us the choir to his preacher.
Now, when asked which of the other bands he would least like to fight, Rev Ray of the stentorian yell says, "Fungi Girls! Numerical advantage!"
Despite being the smallest and youngest of the units this evening, Fungi Girls aren't known to disappoint. One thing I've noticed is the vocals of surf-shredder/lead vox Jacob Bruce always have this peculiar underwater quality to them, and I can't get enough of it. Skyler Salinas, looking primal as all get-out, hunched over murdering his kit, still finding time to throw in backup vox. Deryck Barrera with the walking bass and the biggest grin in the room.
These younguns breeze through swirls of psyche and surf and balls-to-the-wall bpm, all in good time. An understated sense of melody not found in just any punk band permeates their songs through the fuzz and distortion. ("Yeah! Yeah!") This kind of mature sound from such a young group is startling, and no wondering why they've garnered such broad appeal already, Pitchfork media darlings. These Girls are the boys for the job, and they've done their homework.
Now, when asked which of the other bands he would least like to fight, Deryck of the ferocious hair says, "Crack Pipes. No, wait, I wanna fight BOTH!"
My money's on a bloodbath. A loud one.
Tags: Fungi Girls Crack Pipes