Last night was a disappointing turnout for Hot Flash Heat Wave and its line-up–though
not a surprise, given the last-minute change of venue, from 333’s all-ages, punker
paradise, to the Astoria’s 19+ wasteland.
Trash
Bait is the all-girls, brat-punk group that started
the night off with a handful of simple-chorded hate songs. Their sound was of a
harsh, angry nature, and a quality that one might assume that these songs had been
thrown together just prior to the show. Their presence wasn’t much better; the
most effort made to engage was during a long period of dead-air, when the
drummer asked, “How does it sound? Are we good?” I felt compelled to scream, “No!”
Despite changing vocalists throughout the performance, their yelling and
screaming stayed pretty one-dimensional, and even with two guitarists, their sound remained thin and scratchy. All in all, Trash Bait delivered a less-than mediocre start, and as you might
expect, most of the crowd stayed seated.
The Woolen
Men followed up with a completely different vibe;
one that entailed much happier progressions and upbeat tempos. The indie-pop
rock trio got people up and moving with both singer and bassist jumping to the
beat and attacking every next chord with absolute confidence. These guys were
committed to their sound, and as a performer, myself, I appreciate it when
another artist owns their shit up there in the spotlight; there’s nothing that
turns off an audience more than the half-ass scream or awkward off-beat notation,
as was the case with Trash Bait. Overall,
The Woolen Men’s music was of a softer,
indie-punk sound that I’d heard before, but I was charmed by the quick, catchy
riffs and simple melodies that brought the mood up a few notches.
By the time Hot Flash Heat Wave hit the stage, I was coming down off my
Red-Bull kick, pleasantly mellowed by the sweet major-tone strums of their
infectious beachy-boy single, “Gutter Girl.” The San Francisco surf-rockers
rolled into the Astoria wearing a questionable array of costume-ish attire. The
two singer-guitarists stuck out the most, one rocking Macklemore’s signature “Thrift Shop” style fur jacket, and the
other in an oversized mechanic’s jump-suit and chunky gold bling. But any
contempt I had toward these guys was quickly washed away by the wicked, smooth blend
of honey-sweet vocal melodies and on-point backing rhythms by the rest of the
band.
The inconsistence and poor responsiveness
of the sound guy had not only the bands frustrated, but the crowd too. One
thing I don’t agree with these days is live-sound management made portable on
your ‘iProducts.’ It risks too much error of what could be a great live jam,
and in one swift accidental stroke of the hand, destroy the bands’ sound–unfortunately
this was the case throughout the night. My suggestion: leave the sound board in
one spot, and for god’s sake, don’t shove it in you f***in’ pocket and sit on
it.
I left the show shaking my head, thinking,
how can these bands be playing such a shit venue? And, Why? I’m new to Vancouver’s
music scene, but I feel like Woolen Men and
Hot Flash Heat Wave have done
themselves an injustice, lowballing for a spot in the downtown east side’s
gunge-pits. To see those bands, ten bucks was a fair price, but a better
location would’ve brought in the crowds.
It was worth sticking it out to see Hot Flash Heat Wave, and I’ll be first
in line to see them when they’re back
in town.
I bid you good night,
Napkin
I was scrolling through my Facebook feed last night when I stumbled across a post from something called "hammer records" in which they reviewed a show that some of my fave local bands had played recently. Curious, as I had never heard about this record label before in my life, I clicked on the link. The website was a dismal 14 year old's livejournal style blog, and the writing was even more unprofessional. The writer came across as a bitter misogynistic troll rather than a serious music critic. The writing was of an unnecessarily harsh and bitter nature and a quality that one might assume it had just been thrown together at the last minute. I imagine that the author, being void of any semblance of a soul, couldn't come up with any clever or constructive criticism to write so instead they penned the most unnecessarily mean review I have ever read. All in all, "napkin" delivered a less than mediocre review, and as you might expect I am probably the only one to read it anyway.
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