Taking the phrase “less talk, more action” to heart, Disappears showed atmosphere and muscle aren’t mutually exclusive while keeping the banter to a brief “thanks guys” near the end.
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What was refreshing about the show was Paternoster’s ambition: She yelped and rattled her way through minor sound hiccups and “guitar troubles” for a nearly hour-long set.
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Slum Village should not exist and Obie Trice probably shouldn’t be alive.
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Onward with the sarcasm.
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Dublin has some of the best live music in the world.
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Even when teasing the crowd with new material, Converge demonstrated how and why it has remained relevant by being an ever-evolving entity.
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I was like, “Whoa, can I write a song like this?”
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The pieces are all here. It could have been a good song.
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With no light show, no banners, no frills, the ignition was unquestionable when Carrie Brownstein, Mary Timony, Rebecca Cole, and Janet Weiss took the stage.
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Although the British act was always Adam Franklin’s show anyway, he provided ample demonstration of the how and why in the environs of the black cavern under Chicago’s el tracks known as Bottom Lounge on Tuesday night.
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He was a gangster-turned-artist who still had a chip on his shoulder.
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Lucero’s songs mirror her own musical journey–simultaneously fragile and arresting.
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