I apologize again. I got caught up with NaNoWriMo (which I failed, miserably), so all my writing energy has gone to that. I promise this winter break to really catch up on this blog. I have an ENORMOUS backlog of some really exciting things coming that I think you all are going to really enjoy. More video stuff should be coming soon as well. This will probably be a little shorter with barely any photos sadly... As always, send me your music, shows, ideas, movies, whatever at [ fosterhildingmusic@gmail.com ] or DM me on Instagram.
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| shitty photos courtesy of me and whatever I could scrape together. |
This show was honestly such a little treat and a break from seeing so many of the same acts in Flagstaff apart from Toothache (who I will, despite this, never get tired of seeing live). It was also great to return to Ground Zero under the pretense of a more relaxed and less crowded bill/audience. I've seen a few mixed genre shows in the past, but this was definitely one of my favorites, and the style of mixed genre show that I prefer over others--one where bands still share some common thread and aren't completely pitted against each other in terms of vibe.
Feedbacker took the stage first to a sparse audience which was ill-equipped for what they were about to consume. Every song was stripped down to its own disjointed little pieces like a scrapbook of sounds. Jack looked like a cyclops with their headlamp, carrying the sounds on their back with an array of instruments and objects, creating a pop drone river of bloops like a gray washboard of distortion that sang into the high ceilings of the warehouse and its gathering crowd. The metal bucket was a centerpiece, Jack banging onto it between swipes of chunky, static chords until everyone's eyes were stuck in one place. Its cold clanging, like the echoes of a torture machine, made me wish the room was pitch black.
Lily's vocals smoothed Jack's harsh dynamics with a blanket of ethereal poppy riffs. Each vocal passage felt like whispered echoes in a warped memory of a dream tied together by fishing wire, complete with a passionate and sometimes grungy edge. Everything was rough and harsh and beautiful in the most perfectly Feedbacker way possible. They reminded me of Xiu Xiu, Swans, Weatherday, and a million things in between. Above all, though, Feedbacker refuses to be anything except what they are, always forward, and I have fallen in love with them because of that. Stream Song With Strings.
Slowly on their way to becoming a household name, Toothache was up next as the crowd reached a pinnacle. Kiva's new splattering fills between the harsh harmonies of Chatroom were a rigid, on point, and welcomed addition to their current fan favorite. Feedback snarled the ends of every phrase in wavering chorusy vibrations derived from Cheyenne's guitar. Brighton's bass hailed in the next era of song in each section of Bare Knuckle, constantly proving to be their still most diverse sonic exploration with its three distinct parts. Toothache's reverbless shoegaze never disappoints.
Seeing Toothache so many times and being involved in other projects with them such as Washed, I can't help but feel like I'm becoming the worst person to document their rise. Is it still possible for me to be an impartial, outside observer? I don't know, but I'll try.
Darling still features my favorite of Brighton's aching refrains: "why does it feel like pulling teeth?" My only wish is for it to be recorded already and streamed into my ears at the push of a button. Songs like Bare Knuckle, What a Pity, and Cradle mark their movement into a new age--a harmony with post-rock and heavy experimentation that makes me excited for the future of Toothache. Screeching needles pin their borderline-nu metal homage breakdowns in Cradle, and hints of future ventures claw at the corners of every distortion-drenched passage. Where will they go next? Stream Nowhere to Spill.
Twinstar closed the night, their washes of gazey noise refracting off of every surface. Melanie and Nick's amps battled between background and foreground, their vibrations echoing each other beneath classic 90s shoegaze soundscapes. Andrew's bass introduced slight harmonic changes rather than huge ones, making every subtle difference count for something. Kyler's ride sneezed through the surface of their massive echoing wall while his fat and loose snare blended in alongside it. I thought Melanie's vocals were synth for a moment in their unwavering lullaby. Nick mastered his tremolo bar, taking obvious MBV inspirations to replicate the crushing weight of wailing, echoing, defeated guitar.
Between walls of fluid riffs and the masterful whips of controlled feedback just at the cusp of becoming too loud, all perfectly hushed between each melodic swipe, Twinstar is a master of dynamics. At times they are reminiscent of a hopeful doom, and at others they can take a backseat to their own sound and rest in softness, experimenting instead with polyrhythms and expectations. Nick and Melanie's guitars held hands through the echoey resonance that swallowed the room whole.
I had a lot of fun at this show, and it was a kick to get a hint of this blog turning back into a shoegaze revival journal. I'll be posting a lot more this month, hoping to get caught up on blogs and other projects in the music documenting arena. I have some very exciting things coming, but for now, keep going to shows and supporting local music. Thank you for reading.
-Foster
Continuing Dead Mothers Collective's live series, check out Washed, TV Messages, and Vs Self's new videos on Youtube.
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