Review: CMF5, Side A
I had a lot of fun this weekend because of Bill Sundahl. The tireless force behind Spice of Life Productions held his fifth annual Crossroads Music Fest this past Saturday, with pre-parties the night before, and it was a gas. Not just any gas, though. A noble gas. Like xenon.
Forester Michael Click on the Pornhuskers' backup dancer for more pics.
On Saturday, more than two dozen local acts performed at the Brick, the Czar Bar, the alley at Mercy Seat and the main stage and Skylight Room at Crosstown Station. We made our picks, mainly as a way of covering the event in some kind of interesting way beforehand. However, just about every act I saw at the fest was solid if not better, and there were good crowds at all the venue, especially as it got late. From what I saw, all the places were packed out around 11. Not capacity, but not far off.
It actually started Friday night, for me, with some pre-party action at the Czar Bar. Here's a band-by-band highlight reel of what I saw both nights, with an emphasis on the new (or at least, stuff I haven't spilled much ink on yet). For more reviewage, flip over to co-coverer Berry Anderson's Side B.
Dead Voices. 9 p.m. Friday at the Czar Bar. This new group has a strong pedigree, with Dave Regnier of the Afterparty on lead vocals and guitar, Jason Beers of the Brannock Device on bass and Mike Stover of Mr. Marco's V7 on pedal steel. Not as somber as the name implies, the group rambles to upbeat-Dylan folk-rock shuffles, penning tunes that sound kind of like outtakes from Highway 61 Revisited or The Basement Tapes. They even covered a Rick Danko song (I think). But rather than aping Dylan, they layer on some of their own tastes and modern, indie-folk sensibilities, recalling acts like Blitzen Trapper. Regnier, who does backup vocals and lead guitar in the Afterparty, has a strong, clear voice and plays the frontman role well. He seems, in a word, inspired.
The Grisly Hand. 7 p.m. Saturday at the Brick. In two words: fucking great. This band was the Big Discovery of CMF5 for more than just me. The Grisly Hand isn't grisly at all. It's jubilant, catchy and fun, with full-throated harmonies to die for and kick-your-knees-up country-ish backbeats. Though lead singer Lauren Krum (who recently moved back from Chicago) has a great voice and delightful stage presence, much credit goes to co-singer and guitarist Jimmy Fitzner, who nailed duet lines in every song, with other band members, including the bassist, throwing in extra parts. The incredibly seductive effect was reminscent a twangier New Pornographers, and I mean that comparison to include the songwriting, which was smart and deliriously catchy and a little bit naughty. One song was clearly about resorting to self-pleasure in a time of involuntary celibacy, another Memphis-soul-inflected number talked about being a "goddamn fool," and the fabulous "Paris of the Plains" rhymed "Branson" with "white people dancin'." Their set was early in the evening, but it went over great. People were bopping and cheering and smiling at strangers. If you get a chance to see Grisly Hand (the name, by the way, comes from the Spoon River Anthology, according to Krum) do it, and bring everyone you know. Most of them will LOVE it.
Forester Michael Click click Kick Kick for more pics.
Kick Kick . 7:45 p.m. at Mercy Seat alley. This new band is known as much -- possibly more -- for the spectacle of its sometimes-lead-singer/all-time-interpretive-dancer, a young man of unknown origin and appellation who stands out at midtown bars with his skinny jeans, carefully arranged costume jewelry and Prince Valiant hairdo. I know you've seen him. With its touting of ballpits and talk of things "boss," the group is clearly trying to create and market a brand for itself. And if the presence of chicks singing along to all the songs is an indication of this strategy working, more power to them. (I'll not speculate as to what the presence of a band dad with a camcorder indicates.) The stage antics of Prince Valiant and crew are intentionally over the top, the music stadium-reaching (one of the guys even uses Stadium as his stage surname) and the lyrics amazingly dumb, as in the goofy singalong "Sexy Money Power." A Kick Kick set is a big, sparkly, chaotic and rather disturbing event, like a ferris wheel at a county fair losing its moorings and rolling into the parking lot. The songs are not bad by any means -- catchy, punky, party rock, like Iggy Pop after doing a couple lines of cotton candy. And I think they've got a talented voice in co-lead singer and guitarist JB Kick, who is a bit older than the other guys and has a refreshingly rough bark. I'd like to see the live-show insanity toned down a bit -- or at least refined -- so that it's not so distracting from the music. But they've definitely got the will to rock.
Makuza. 8 p.m. at Crosstown I'm going out on a limb here writing about Latin music at all, but I gotta take the risk because me gusto some Makuza. I know for a fact the eight-piece band has "a contemporary and authentic Afro-Latin dance sound, influenced by Afro-Caribbean, South-American and West-African styles" because that is precisely how the band's leader, percussionist and singer Pablo Sanhueza, describes it. With an incredibly dapper older frontman bangin' a cowbell and busting out some fancy footwork, Makuza mixed up a tight, rhythmically versatile set of salsalike sounds and possessed an alluringly carefree air. Conga drums, horns, crashing piano -- it's dance music for sexy people.
Forester Michael Bill Sundahl of the Columns
The Columns. 8:15 p.m. at the Brick. I'd never heard a note of this band, which is Sundahl's own new project. He plays bass and sings, leading his suave and rascally colleagues across jazzy, gin-swilling tunes that have a fedora doffed toward Tom Waits and a pocketful of McCartney. The hot club violin was a sweet touch. I'm not sure where the band's name is from, but I decided it refers to the front of a big New Orleans Greek revival house -- preferably one with Paul Newman and Orson Welles on the porch, drinking mint juleps and telling bawdy yarns.
Hearts of Darkness Afrobeat. 10 p.m. at Crosstown. Now that Hearts has added three female backup singers the group is simply unstoppable: a brawling, mad, rabble producing an earthquake of funk subversion. The dance floor was packed, responsive to the militant call of the horns on the choruses like guerrilla troops ready to make war on your ass. These guys are killers, and they've even begun writing their own songs (as opposed to covering Afrobeat master Fela Kuti and others), such as the show closer, which had a percussive, threatening chorus -- one America/ America one/America/America one ... and so on -- and played off the Malvina Reynolds song "Little Boxes" to almost chilling effect. I was a little bit scared. And loving every second.
Forester Michael Hearts of Darkness
And I loved the whole shebang. I also caught the Good Foot, Deep Thinkers and Bacon Shoe -- whose set the Dirty Force tried to barnstorm but arrived too early -- and, way back at the beginning of the night, the always charming Adam Lee & the Dead Horse Sound Company. Also on Friday, Lucky Graves (fuck yeah!) and Antennas Up slayed at the Czar Bar. Hugs and kisses too all. Big fucking soul-kiss to Bill Sundahl and his mighty volunteers and all the venues for their hard work in keeping Kansas City rocking hard and grisly.
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