Last night's sweltering conditions produced a soupy, sweaty success at 2010's Pitch Music Showcase. Granted, four of the night's most anticipated acts (Queens Club, Capybara, Mammoth Life and Stik Figa) were no-shows. But, despite some inevitable shit-talking on the Kansas City music scene, it went off without a hitch thanks to our generous sponsor support, always-dependable participating venues and Jason Dockery, The Pitch's Director of Marketing and Operations. Kudos, dudes.
I am going on record and saying that guitarist Jacobi Briscoe has one of the best, most clear set of pipes in the city. At times, he was pretty much drowning out the bass and drums. It was his show.
Stripped-down and smoky, Briscoe channeled Stevie Ray Vaughn on "Woman Don't Love." The tree canopy and buzzing cicadas did little to filter the hard drivin' sounds as people streamed into Californos from the southwest corner of Westport.
The Paperclips only have one Kansas City date (tonight at Trouser Mouse) for the rest of August. Their schedule shows them traveling the Show-Me-State for the rest of the month, including a date at the Mushroom Festival in Bugtussel, between the Lou and Columbia. (Heh heh, mushroom festival.)
Next, I headed over to the Beaumont for Mouth, a nominee in the experimental category.
Guitarist Jeremy Anderson has gone out of his way to make sure people know about his band's "bass-heavy, futuristic funk grooves that combine the rhythms of funk, disco, house, electronica, hip hop and dubstep with the unpredictable improvisational approach of a jam band."
I don't know if I would break it down like that. Anderson, barefooted bassist Zach Rizer and shaggy-haired drummer Stephen Gunn are obviously talented musicians. Unfortunately, they played to a small crowd (and Bobby, the enthusiastic dancer who got a shout out from Gunn).
Mouth often plays back up for local MC Reach, which is a formula I think better suits them. One of my friends said of their performance, "Every once in a while, they hit a groove where it sounds like awesome video game music." Let's just say that Rizer's gently-fingered bass lines and Anderson's funk guitar would definitely be appealing to those who've achieved a higher state of consciousness.
I stuck around for The Slowdown for a bit, and in short, it was loud as fuck.
With two bass players and two guitarists, The Slowdown (or The Slowhand, as fliers posted at the Beaumont entrance read) was definitely into it. It was a lot harder than expected. I heard someone say "90s-ish butt rock," but I wouldn't classify it as such. (For the record: Can someone please tell give me a true, solid example of "butt rock"?)
I slid out of the air-conditioned confines of the Beaumont and headed south. Then I waited a really long time for an Artie (the delicious Hogpound-Brown-and-raspberry-wheat beer mix from McCoy's, not the smarmy Riot Room bartender) at the Foundry.
I ended my evening with Coyote Bill & His Wild Ones, who further fortified my faith in local music.
He had folks dancing and stomping, screaming and smiling with his boogie blues. With his floppy hair flying, Coyote Bill looked pleasantly surprised to see people eating it up.
Susan Barrett, the bass player, put out controlled licks in contrast to CB's wild, grungy stylings and played with her pinky finger raised. "That's what I'm talkin' about, ladies and gentlemen," said CB.
"I'm big, fat and ugly. Drunk and uneducated too," he commented before going into his version of Howlin' Wolf's "Wang Dang Doodle." It was awesome. I loved seeing the cute bros and girls get down to something besides the usual indie-rock fare.
The night was a success. Props to all those musicians who played in that nasty, swampy-ass heat (especially those inside at the Riot Room): brush off them haters. We at The Pitch think you're the shit.