Concert Review: Stull and Dark Castle at the Replay, Thursday, February 12, 2009
By ANDREW MILLER
"We're Stull, we're from Des Moines," announced guitarist Shawn Carrey, midway through the group's performance. After pausing a beat, he revealed the band actually hails from Lawrence, and that he knew most of the people in attendance. But when Stull settles into one of its blues-based grooves, anchored by Hank Osterhout's bow-stroked upright bass, even close friends might get so lost in the entrancingly repetitive doom-metal tunes that they forget their connection to the people playing them.
However, Stull isn't interested in extending this spell uninterrupted for thirty-plus minutes, or concerned with staying in character as the type of scary, unsmiling dudes that sell T-shirts emblazoned with the slogan "Denounce the Holy Spirit." For example, the group tossed hard-rock trading cards into the crowd. (I got Junkyard!) Guitarist/lead vocalist Joel Brummett just wanted to tell jokes (Why do I like to go fishing? Just for the halibut) and work stories (someone puzzled him by taking a couple's lunch break at Quik Trip). When he got to the one about the duck and the bartender (put it on my bill), a front-row spectator in Native American garb celebrated the punchline with a toot on the pipes hanging around his neck. It gave the gag a silent-film slapstick quality, like a slide whistle. But when the man puffed along with the intro to Stull's last song, Brummett gave him a friendly yet dissuasive nod. All goofiness ends when the music starts.
Headliner Dark Castle, from Saint Augustine, Florida, eschewed banter altogether, but that doesn't mean they left silence between songs. Mesmerizing feedback loops, which were more compelling than the average metalcore group's A-material, filled the tuning interludes between massive, largely instrumental selections. An impressive rig behind the duo served as an unofficial third member, making fuzzy riffs crackle and roar.
Guitarist Stevie Floyd balanced sludgy noise with flashes of progressive melody. Her voice ranged from guttural to scratchy, camouflaging nicely with the low-end rumble. Drummer Rob Shaffer screamed into his microphone, but his vocals never really registered. However, with his kit set up near the front of the stage, his drumming seemed outsized, as if he were a titan using trees for sticks. Dark Castle packed a modest fog machine, the mist from which seemed like the physical manifestation of a distorted tone so thick and heavy it felt almost humid. The band's set kept resonating long after the smoke cleared.
It would've been worth it even if I hadn't scored the sweet trading card.
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