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| photo courtesy of Zander. |
I'll be honest, I have not had the motivation to even think about this blog for quite a while now, I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write this one. This was a pretty long weekend of shows so it'll take me a bit to crank out all of the blogs, but of course I couldn't miss starting it off with the Monette and Cenöbite tour kick-off show. If you guys have any shows, music, or cool stuff to send me, feel free to comment, shoot me a DM on Instagram, or email me directly [ fosterhildingmusic@gmail.com ].
MOCAF was finally filled--it was sweet to see in comparison to the nearly empty warehouse I was met with at the last show they hosted. They're slowly improving with time. Better equipment here and there, bigger crowds. It's becoming a great little venue with the capacity for a killer audience and fun little pits. Also, I don't have many pictures from this show, just the few I took, but I will be updating it this weekend with some better ones when I get them.
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| shitty photos by me... as always. |
Young but not devoid of some little surprises, Sunday the Cats were first to the stage with a honky tonk-ing energy. They force fed their audience a blend of surfy garage rock and clean punk. Wyatt's fingerpicking gave the guitar a dull and unique sound that blended right into AJ's prodding and consistent drums. Noah's bass helped ground and direct their sound forward--their pulsating continuation.
There's a sense of minimalism to their tone and presence. A trio, no picks in sight, one distortion pedal, their instruments and microphones. They have all that they need. Wyatt and Noah's vocal blend is a fun, choppy, and apathetic homage to bands the likes of Dinosaur Jr. Stay on the look out for more from Sunday the Cats, already boasting a promising trajectory.
The warehouse was packed to the brim by the time Taciturn was on. I could barely keep my eyes off of them long enough to take notes. Taciturn is mesmerizing. After scrolling through an endless arsenal of every guitar sound possible, they bursted through in a raging heat of noise with my favorite song of theirs, Scant. Its hook is a gutting and nasty riff that bobs in its own uncertainty. Nyle's screaming animal guitar, Nate's drums revving into perfection, Natasha's growling bass that rumbles into the negative space of each riff. I'm impatiently awaiting its release.
The combination of Natasha's yelping and wishful vocals and Nyle's raspy roaring creates such a unique emotional cross-section. Halfway into their set, they so perfectly devolved into a cacophonous noise machine. Nate's sample machine is one of my favorite things in general, and Nyle's amp sounded like an idling engine. I made an equation to most accurately describe them:
(Asphalt Truck on Fire * Pain) + (N₁ + N₂ + N₃) = The Sound of Taciturn.
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| very cool photos courtesy of Natasha Janfaza. |
I have yet to find another band that sounds exactly like Taciturn, because one don't exist. There are elements here and there: some Slint Tweez-sounding guitar tone, some Daughters-like post rock deliciousness, some Swans-ish atmosphere. But above all, they are themselves--a screaming, noisy conglomerate of yearning and twisted lullabies. Masters of controlling their own uncontrollable noise. Stream Punk Death.
This was probably one of the best shows I've seen in Flagstaff so far--a fantastic lineup full of bands all rising to their prime. It fills my heart with hope.
Cenöbite is on the cusp of becoming so much more and so much bigger than the speedy, straightforward punk that they once were. Their newly reinvented self is more diverse, unique, inventive, and boundary-pushing. Spiked with a tinge of (south)midwest emo edge, they never fail to harbor an energy of cockroach hatred and traumatic recoil.
Zander's drumming is done with the exactness of a surgeon and the passion of a lover. Apart from the slaughtering beats, his cymbal splashes rolled over the warehouse like a clean sheet. Along with Brady's massive bass, their rhythm section is a tight and unstoppable force. Jack's liquid clean guitar poured into the room with such veracity only to be murdered with the crunchy meat of his distortion, altogether breeding their inventive, post-hardcore, emo perfection. Love ranted with unbelievable fury underneath the thick soundscapes, exacting some ancient and unspoken revenge.
Their performance reminded me of musical theatre--such an experience that everyone could take part in. Love brings the statues of Cenöbite to life with his anger and the audience along with them. Each member of Monette stole the microphone to join in on Botanical Everything. The audience is the performance, too. Stream The See Through Glove.
Next in this long lineup of some of Flagstaff/Arizona's greatest undergrounds was Toothache. In the months that I've seen them, they've distilled their setlist down to only the most vital components and new parts. They're embracing their own new age with openness and ambition that the world stage can only be happy for.
Cheyenne's sound finally feels complete with her new amp--blasting through with her signature twangy wall of distortion. Bare Knuckle seems to get tighter with every performance. Brighton's vocals start in a languid whisper and escalate into an abrasive pleading--"I beg them." Along with Kiva's grounding drums, it's easily Toothache at their most emotional and passionate--it feels like a slug slowing to its salty demise in some post rock-ish stew.
Darling is a vast attempt at building their own mountain of sound, complete with the endless crashing cymbals and that perfect crackle of feedback. It's a song you can feel. Their newest, What a Pity, ended their set and replaced Bare Knuckle as their most adventurous exploration of sound yet. It quickly blossoms into a post-hardcore ballad complete with Brighton's much anticipated screaming, which then becomes a wall of noise so thick and endless it seeps into the very ground. There is nothing but upwards for Toothache.
In the spirit of real noise rock, Monette began with a complete disregard for each other's instruments--striving to be the most off they could possibly be from each other in a mess of sonic worship before rewarding audiences with the ever-present and ever-iconic Kink. Bryce's ramble of toms and kick roared over the warehouse like a dying engine. Bremer's guitar tone was a big wreck of sticky fuzz that shocked the room into place. Adi's bass and screaming was something that every single person could get behind--crunchy and vitally resentful.
They've taken a page out of Taciturn's book by playing their own funky little samples between songs. Their two newest ones took on the little warehouse with an unmatched fury that was both unexpected and universally welcomed. Their second one harnessed a despair so sacred that it refused to abide by any laws of music--of which they know well enough to break, master, and enslave. Bryce's spiky and crackling fills of rimshots and pain forced my face into one of utmost disgust and respect.
Between their winding time signature changes, atonal chords like fingers on chalkboards, their washes of straightforward punk or rock feel like a birds wing over their cocoon of damaged sound. MK is the perfect closer and exhibits some of the best songwriting I've ever heard. Period. Stream Scraps.
That's it. This summer is going unbelievably fast and I hope all of you can continue wasting it responsibly by going to little shows like this one. Thank you all for reading.
- Foster
Nyle from Dead Mothers Collective (and Taciturn) has been producing a great series of live audio and video from various shows in the area. He just released the live audio of Toothache and Taciturn's sets from February 6th, 2023 (see companion blog here). Check them out on his YouTube.
See Toothache, To Kill a Fly, Taciturn, and Monette this Friday, July 7th at The Hive.
See Animal Shin, Police State, Taciturn, and Monette this Saturday, July 8th at Trunk Space.
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