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The Spectator series
Live reviews with minimal research. I don’t want to know how long you’ve been a band, how you met or what you listen to. I’m here to see you play.
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There’s nothing quite so rewarding as being swept up in a good show, especially when you go in without knowing the bands. This was the case Monday night, when I went to see a group called “Feels” play the second night of their month long residency at Los Angeles’ famous music club The Echo. Free shows are not a high stakes gamble, but this one paid off big.
Openers CG Roxanne and the Nightmares, a three-piece act, tore into the crowd without so much as a “hello”. Their fast, distorted take on country western rock and roll was a shot of energy, and set the tone for what the rest of the night held in store. Despite a few technical difficulties, a dropped beat once or twice, the trio was smooth, well-rehearsed and energetic, pouring sweat and shouted hoarse by the end of their set. Singer Marlon Rabenreither’s voice is alternately a soothing bass or a ragged wail. He doesn’t deliver the typical punk snottiness, rather his voice is held high in his throat, and when it breaks it feels intentional. When he shrieks lines like “baby, I fucking hate New York” you have to smile, because it feels like he means it, albeit half jokingly. In keeping with their throwback sound, when they took time to talk to the crowd it was fast, low and mumbled. Do your best bad impression of Elvis on speed and you’ll have a good idea. Somehow it only added to their charm, which made me wonder if that too was rehearsed.
Next came rock and roll trio Flat Worms. The first word that came to mind when they started playing was ‘tight’ — they were in each other’s heads. Singer/guitarist Will Ivy rips chords from his guitar, raising it on high before yanking it down and pulling out a buzzing, throbbing assault of noise. Bassist Tim Hellman seems almost lazy as he throws down fat, solid lines over Justin Sullivan’s thundering drums. Flat Worms are fun. Not in a lighthearted, pop song way — they have an intensity you can tell comes from years of playing sweaty rooms, but their riffs can be surfy, their use of feedback and noise is almost playful. They seem at home on stage, and it’s clear that playing music is both their calling and their relief, and that feeling translates to the audience. This isn’t a group to sing along to, however. The vocals are flat, almost chanted, and may be the weakest aspect of their performance. That’s not to say that it drags down the show, their sound is full and powerful, and the vocals seem to be an afterthought to their churning rhythms and wailing feedback.
Main course Feels were a revelation — I will be following this group in the future. The first four piece of the night, Feels ride the line between thrash and groove. Slow, almost tar-like riffs that ooze into your ears are juxtaposed against speedy headbangers, all of it supporting the gorgeous vocals of Laena Geronimo. The songs are well-crafted and dynamic, more involved than three chord punk. This is a band of professionals, they’re what we still in the garage aspire to be. I bet they’ve played this set a thousand times, but they still threw everything they had into it. Or maybe they didn’t; when you’re this sharp it can’t be hard to make it look that good. The rhythm section is a sound to behold, roiling, intense, and almost maddeningly in sync — a lesser band would make a mess of tempo changes Feels spit on. The leads alternate between biting, and atmospheric, with a tone that feels pulled out of East Bay Ray’s playbook. Feels are polished, they are serious, and they are not to be underestimated.
The Gooch Palms are the perfect dessert. Fun, fun, fun. What more can be said? A guitar and drum duo transplanted from Newcastle, Australia, they run bare bones. Rhythm is a snare and a tom played by hip shaking, sneering Kat Friend, supporting Leroy Macqueen’s energetic guitar. He can croon, he can wail, he can rumble, and he does it all while wearing a truly horrible haircut. But it’s all about a good time. The pair dressed in matching Adidas softball jackets, his mullet and her long bob both dyed a faded magenta. A show like this is hard not to enjoy, and who cares how fancy the music is? They play the kind of rock and roll our grandparents feared, and they blend it with doo-wop, sugary pop melodies, and a serious dose of showmanship. Macqueen jogs in place, runs in circles, and wears a gigantic grin with his tongue sticking out at you. It made me think of Jim Carrey covering the Isley Brothers. Friend, tethered to her drums, jumps, dances, head bangs, and shakes. The pair break out synchronized movements, but they don’t feel overly rehearsed. The Gooch Palms are effortless performers, and a treat to see.