This year’s Reverb Festival was my first and I went into it not knowing what to expect. What I found over the course of the otherwise dreary fall day (besides the impressive array of local bands) was a more laid back, mature crowd and close-knit, community-like feel than any other local music fest that I’ve ever attended. It was a vibe that made everyone not so much forget about the crappy weather, but rather embrace it as the backdrop for an authentic Seattle music experience. Here’s a quick rundown of some of the bands I saw and highlights I experienced:
Thee Sgt. Major III – I started my day at the Conor Byrne with some peppy, ageless pop-punk played by a band that’s quite a bit older than a lot of the bands I’m used to seeing. But age be damned, that nostalgic sound is never out of style when it’s done right, and this old-school four-piece does it as such. Vocalist Leslie Beattie was a wailing, tambourine-slapping force that was only upstaged by the band’s guitarist who kicked out a seemingly endless supply of spot-on melodic solos that ranged from tasty, purposeful lead parts to tremolo-picked shred runs. Great first band to see.
Kinski – Their fuzzed-out drone rock was a bit much for the Sunset Tavern’s sound guy to handle at first, but once some nagging feedback (I’m pretty sure it was unintentional) was eliminated, things took a turn for the awesome. The amount of vocals during their set was surprising and almost irksome at first but ended up being essential, laying the groundwork for the instrumentation to gradually build up and then blast off into some heavy and heady rock-outs. The volume was cranked way up, and when I said something to Travis (standing next to me at the time) about how quiet it seemed between songs, he countered, “yeah, because it’s so loud during them.” Touche, good sir.
Hobosexual – As the band’s two members were setting up, I immediately noticed their frontman’s guitar selection. A vintage red Gibson Firebird? A weathered off-white SG model? You don’t get that kind of gear unless you can shred some serious geet. But this gut feeling couldn’t even prepare me for the start of their set. Guitarist/vocalist Ben Harwood came out the gate with a fierce, bluesy, hammer-on/pull-off (think Stevie Ray Vaughn) Southern-style slide riff that damn near ripped my face off. Just when their somewhat generic “Oh baby come on, get it on” lyrics had me pigeonholing them for a Southern blues revival-rock outfit, they went into a chunky, crushing angular number straight out of the ’70s heavy metal textbook. Hobosexual makes a lot of noise for only two guys, all of it righteous and hard-rocking. Go see them the next chance you get, lest you risk the chance of going any longer without seeing this shaggy-haired, fedora-wearing harbinger of teh RAWK.
Throne of Bone – METAL! Fucking demonic, tough-as-nails metal with headbanging, breakdown-style choruses pieced together by fearsome blast-beat thrash sections! Yet despite their hard sound, these guys aren’t serious in the least. Tongue-in-cheek metal staples abound, from lyrics about dragons and vikings to the vocalist’s getup – a black shroud, metal-studded gauntlet, upside-down cross necklace and bone-handled microphone. The rest of the band was inexplicably clad in cutoff hawaiian shirts. Seriously. Also, one of most genius bits of crowd banter I’ve ever heard was delivered when the vocalist paused between songs to comment and mock the surf videos being projected behind him, and some dude behind me yelled “HANG TEN FOR SAY-TEN!” All joking aside, Throne of Bone are an awesome all-around metal band – the guitarist has chops without being overly flashy, the drummer is a flurry of rapid-fire fills and pummeling rhythms, and the vocalist commands the mic with a classic black metal yowl. It’s badass enough that it had plenty of patrons doing that whole “raise one arm like you’re hoisting an imaginary mystical orb skyward” thing, yet deliberately cheesy enough that the continual comic banter wasn’t out of place. See these guys live sometime, their Myspace page doesn’t do them justice.
The Young Evils – Now I hadn’t heard any of this group’s stuff previously, but had read enough coverage from Seattle outlets to inflate my expectations a bit. My initial reaction was indifference and even disappointment (more accurately, it was “hey, that girl went to my high school!” Because singer Mackenzie Mercer totally went to my high school. How about that?). Neither of them is a stellar singer, and they tend to float around a comfortable middle range. The chord progressions are fairly generic, with nothing that new or different brought to the table. But somehow The Young Evils’ catchy, sing-along melodies and charming simplicity softened me up over the course of the show and changed my mind. Their songs are just too feel-good to not warm up to. And I dare you to try and listen to “One Way Route” and not get the “nah-na-nanna-nah” part stuck in your head. While they’re not exactly the next big thing on the local scene, they do the organic, folky, boy-girl singer thing about as well as you can. Not bad at all.
Wild Orchid Children – These guys brought their screaming psychedelia to a completely packed Tractor Tavern in true gonzo fashion. Each member sported a T-shirt with “I AM A WILD ORCHID CHILD!” emblazoned on the front, with tufts of smoke periodically rising from the back corner of the stage during sound check. One of their buddies, clearly zonked out of his mind, sat cross-legged stage right facing the band, an American flag bandana wrapped around the lower half of his face so only his shaggy hair and dilated eyeballs showed. Frontman Kirk Huffman shrieked and yelped in his now-signature unintelligible rap cadence, Thomas Hunter was a sweaty, mustached flurry of guitar showmanship and Kyle O’Quin somehow remained seated in zen-like focus mode over his keys. The rest of the band backed them up with sheer percussive fury, playing so hard at times it was a wonder that their drum heads didn’t cave right in. Their raucous romp of a set was a great last hurrah for the day and the perfect way to end Reverb, and although my hearing likely suffered irreparable damage, I don’t regret a minute of it.
