Yes, this was seven months ago. Yes, I have already covered a show from this run. I am done running and apologizing... Problem? File a complaint here. You all voted for this (lol). Anyway, if you'd like to send me anything music related please shoot me an email [ fosterhildingmusic@gmail.com ] or DM me on Instagram.
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| photos courtesy of @bodypartstew on Instagram. |
If you'd like to see the companion videos I filmed with Nyle of Death Mothers Collective, see Cenöbite (now journal)'s here, seahorsechoke's here, and Vs Self's here.
What I remember most from this show was being held together by string, sweat, and pure will. I had never seen a venue more filled past its capacity than Ground Zero this night. it was bursting at its seams with the odor of sweat, excitement, and hair dye--like a balloon inflating with its own gases. Even the stage was populated by at least three more people than necessary at any given time--me being one of them and fighting for life, spot, and angle as I filmed.
Sweet, sweet Cenöbite... What is there left to say? It seems like only yesterday (a month and a half ago) that I wrote my "final" blog featuring you. Whoops... This time I mean it. I promise. I crouched behind Jack as his shattering fingers lulled the stage and its million watching eyes into motion. Love was at his most intense--just inches from the audience as they contracted to his will, despite the miles between them and agonies unspoken, only sung. Zander and Brady were steady, constant, and reliable--stones in a driving current and the glue between every crevice. Brady's fat and always-moving bass fit perfectly into the room as if it were its very own foundation. Zander made every swing and eruption of seamless energy look easy.
I hadn't fully considered the quick evolution between Cenöbite and journal before rewatching the videos from this night--it somehow even went completely over my head that they'd performed earlier versions of both reaching and sword_shield. Their turn from emo into the harshness of journal's new hardcore-adjacent aching was sporadic and near instantaneous. It shone here beautifully and this will always be one of my favorite performances of theirs. Stream Battle for One.
Somehow this was my first time seeing seahorsechoke. I hid behind Sterling's amp amidst the flowing waves of hands and bodies--his hands steady in their thrashing motion and uncompromising in their emotional energy. Alejandro and Elliot held down every outburst with precision and a refusal to be swayed. Noah was magnetic and vengeful centerstage. Stream Split.
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| photo stolen from Instagram. |
Aren't We Amphibians were the last act between the audience and the eruption of Vs Self. An older guy had stumbled onto stage, streaming on Facebook Live with his phone, holding onto me and the other documenters with every fiber of his being. Joshua's guitar was a relief from the hard-hitting smatterings of the sets prior--its melodic and math-sprinkled breaks floating just above Tyler's crunching and massive bass. Brandon's surprisingly heavy and punishing drums matched perfectly to Joshua's sweet and never-hopeless singing that sat somewhere in that little spot between scream and song.
I've said it before, but their mastery of balancing danceability with playful, math-adjacent riffs is rare and permanently impressive. As much as this gets overlooked, it's something that I think deserves so much more attention--as does Aren't We Amphibians, themselves. If you ever get the chance to see them, take it. Stream Sweethearts: A Split with Just Let Me Go.
My eyes stung with sweat and my arms were sore. The thread that had been my lifeline for the night had begun to wear thin. I heard in the buzz that there was a second secret show at The Church later in the evening. As much as I hated to, I had to miss it in order to sleep--that constant, annoying obstacle.
The main and final act of the night was up. It feels like Vs Self blew up overnight and in turn became the catalyst (lol...) for a new age of young emos. Kyle's guitar and voice were pitted against each other--the former deep and cool as the drowning ocean and the latter tinged with shrill despair for a youth never forgotten. It paired perfectly with Dante's vocals, wrought with their own aching, as did his rattling tambourine with Frankie's jumpy, snare-infested beats. Everything was of itself and in their own personal ecosystem--an addictive and obsessive one at that.
The spirals of Kyle's bittersweet nostalgia sung into the heavens hoping for home could not be put against a better background. Their wide yet fragile riffs nested between screams begotten of hardcore and empathy. I hid inches behind Kyle the whole night, peering over their shoulder in hopes to witness even a whisper of their hands' crushing weight. Stream Frances.
I'm so incredibly lucky and thankful to have been so close to such a heartbreaking show--even just to have been present. I'm sorry for the late blog. Thank you all for reading, going to shows, and always watching. Don't stop.
-Foster
Also see them with Stress Positions, Maldito Mundo, Dismay, and Knife's Edge at Peavey lounge on April 19th.
Also see them with meth., Dreamwell, Infant Island, and A Continent Named Coma at The Beast on April 20th.
Also see them with pneumonia., Feel More less, Parole, and Midstory at The Nile Underground on April 21st.
Also see them at Your Renaissance Festival on May 24th.
See Vs Self on the last leg of their tour at these upcoming shows.
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