Music

Kansas City Rockers Paper Cities will melt your little house of cards

By Richard Gintowt 

Persons driving past Mike's Tavern on Troost at approximately 2 a.m. last Halloween witnessed two dudes in powder-blue leisure suits brawling with an inebriated, masked mob.

Meet Paper Cities, Kansas City's reigning badass supergroup.

"Basically, I was breaking down my drums and Cory [White] came out and said these guys were fucking with his wife," explains drummer Billy Johnson. "Long story short, he got his ass whooped."

If any band deserves to act like it owns this town, Paper Cities is a good candidate. The steely quintet of local metal and hard-rock vets takes on the character of a tattooed brotherhood when they occupy local taverns, as they do just about every day.

The group began to take shape a year ago when White quit Lawrence prog-metal outfit the Esoteric during a particularly grinding tour.

"We got in a big-ass band fight in Sandusky, Ohio," White says. "We would tour all year long, and we just wanted to kill each other. It had nothing to do with music — it was stupid shit that didn't matter. It's all good now."

White promptly enlisted Johnson and bassist T.J. Matthews (formerly of Shots Fired) to help him work up some metal riffs he had been demoing. The addition of singer and guitarist Marty Bush (formerly of Salt the Earth and Burial at Sea) and keyboardist Zac Laman rounded out the new group.

Bush describes the band's first six months as an identity crisis. Blast-beat metal riffs and guttural screaming soon gave way to more melodic pop structures and actual singing. The resulting batch of songs is something akin to shared faves Helmet, Hum and Jawbox: melodic hard rock that's hella fun to perform.

"We're not shredding scales or anything, so we get fucking shit-canned onstage," White says. "The last time we played was the only time I thought we were too drunk to play."

With an EP being prepped for a summer release, Paper Cities will hit the road for 17 dates in May. The group's hometown shows at venues such as the Riot Room have steadily gained momentum. That venue in particular holds special meaning to Bush and Matthews.

"It's back to 100 percent," Matthews says. "That was our home, and it just got snatched from underneath us and turned into a douchebag bar. I would go in there and just get angry."

Note to douchebags: Watch out for two guys in powder-blue leisure suits.