He has all the dance moves of my drunk family at a wedding, and less than half the shame.
Fubar, St. Louis
Rain had pounded all day in St. Louis. It was almost like we were tropically experiencing the last vestiges of the rainy season. This rain was more than just a late summer storm; near Foam was the victory party for Bruce Franks Jr. The corruption was wiped away just down the street.
With this frame of mind, it would have been hard to not enjoy an evening of music. St. Louis was in an awkward state. This turned out to be the theme of the evening.
As I nursed my Excel Brewing IPA, the first band, True Friends, took the stage. The tiny stage was filled to the brim with equipment, a set of drums, a tablet on a music stand, and a microphone.
True Friends is only a single person, Nate Larson. It’s kind of an awkward name isn’t it? Or perhaps it was ironic.
In an age where pop stars sing over a synthetic drumbeat, True Friends sings over a synthetic melody and a natural drumbeat—though there was a slight hint of the old wet drum sound. For lack of another way of saying it, the set was fun, lighthearted, and a welcome respite from the pouring rain.
Mike Adams at His Honest Weight took the stage next—well, that is to say the drummer took the stage. The other four members of the band stood in front of the stage. Adams himself is a lanky fellow who looks like he walked straight out of 1995. He has all the dance moves of my drunk family at a wedding, and less than half the shame. The rest of the band fit right in with Adams.
Their latest album, Casino Drone, is a cacophony of altered states of sound. It sounded very much a product of the studio, but hark, that was a false impression on my part.
With pedalboards rivaling Kirk Hammett, these guys were able to reproduce their sounds to perfection. Couple this wizardry with a strong vocal performance by Adams and the recipe for a great show was all there.
But wait, there’s more!
We were also treated to some lovely, if view impairing, dancing by a female fan. In the end, that’s the problem when you play your show on the floor. | Nik Cameron