Lucky You Fest: Day One
Saturday, April 14th 2018
Lucky You Tattoo, St. Petersburg FL
Who needs The Fest?
A legendary punk party up in Gainesville (that just announced another
amazing line up) that I’ve never been to in my many years living here because
it’s never been convenient. Who needs Manchester Punk Festival? The latest in
a long line of musical landmarks courtesy of my home city that is run by
veterans of the scene and that just this past week hosted Propagandhi and a
tonne of nostalgic UK bands from my youth.
I’ll tell you who needs them: not me.
All I need is my local tattoo parlour, and I’m one of those increasingly
minority weirdos with naked skin. It’s
time for the first Lucky You Fest.
It takes a lot more than luck to pull an event of this size together: 19 acts over two days, loads of different styles and some delicious seitan sandwiches. Christian from promotions team Robot House has been spreading the word relentlessly for months (along with several others), while putting on regular gigs on a seemingly weekly basis. On top of all that, his new band Joyeater are bravely going first today, ready to feed on any happiness they might invoke within you back into their quartet and continue the cycle. They are definitely not Joy Division, which is to say, talented but a complete downer. The band also features Laura from Piss Ghost on guitar, Tim of Gutless on drums (remaining happy even as he accidentally flings a stick) and Jack from Lipschitz, whose singing is light in an effortless sense but still audible above Joyeater’s groove-laden punk. They have a more gigs coming up soon that you can see at their Facebook page.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Anne of The Nervous Girls informs Lauren as they prepare to begin. Hey, this crowd won’t bite you! Well, except maybe the members of Joyeater. But then isn’t that why people make music, to let the tunes do the talking for them? This would appear to be the impetus behind this band, as for their first song Pick Up the Phone all three members are belting their lungs out, trying vainly to overcome that swipeless barrier. It’s in contrast to the rather quiet vocals on their uploaded material, which frankly doesn’t do them justice. The Nervous Girls are not too nervous to have formed a post-punk, all female ensemble with no fuckin’ bassist, and they seem to channel their nervous energy into breaking your entire idea of what a band line-up is, with Amanda and Lauren swapping between drums and guitar twice in just a five song set. Introducing an “angsty 90s” number, Anne asks for a show of hands of people born before 1994; everyone loves generational divisions, as much as they love being told that according to a recent announcement from demographic dons at the Pew Research Center they are a millennial even if they’re as old as 37. Finally, the body image themed Hunger is strangely reminiscent of If You Tolerate This Then Your Children Will Be Next by Manic Street Preachers, full of slow crashing majesty. Which is a masterpiece, if you’re too fucking young to know, for fuck’s sake.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t1gKtv1NOn4 (live clips by Christian of Robot House)
I had been wondering how ten artists were going to fit into six hours, but it turns out the secret is having incredibly fast, 10 minute average turnaround times. Every occasion that you’ve spent three-quarters of an hour staring at your shoes was a manufactured lie. Speaking of fast and short, Big Puppy from Tallahassee. I make this connection not because vocalist Chelsaint Bernard has a song about being 5ft tall and not appreciating your condescending bullshit, but because their blasts of 80-second 80s hardcore are awesome. Each number is part of a loveable, huggable, comforting litter, overwhelming you with its strength as it might. Chelsaint catches my eye with a drinking bottle exactly like my own, proving that no matter their crimes here in the Gulf, BP do in fact depend on clean water for survival like the rest of us (sorry). It occurs to me here that I think I really like when bands have standalone singers. Not only is it easier to imagine myself getting to do it, they’re much more likely to jump around like a rabid dog if they aren’t holding an instrument.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=STE0e1kX3WY
From the land of the Magic Kingdom in Orlando we are next trick or treated to Witchbender. How does that track go? “Don’t bend the witch, do bend the rich.” Describing their messy clattering punk as "smeared, volatile, unleashed or something,” I also get something of an Issa Diao from Good Clean Fun effect from the singer, identified as Julio Felix or something. There’s a slightly gritty friendliness to his vocals and his movements are like if Diao broke edge and had a sudden massive intake of coffee. While a bit more of the fringe, Witchbender are also like GCF in that their heavy music project appears to be a wide concept comedy vehicle, and at the very least drug-critical (not going on many benders then I imagine). Speaking of wide, Julio has not one but two simply gargantuan sandbag sized beverage containers for the physically demanding set. Basically enough water to melt any pissed off witches in the crowd. And if you haven’t got the message that hydration is important, an overreaction to the availability of Coke rather than Pepsi earlier that day leads to a strangely amusing intro in which the whole band groupscreams Julio’s pain. Merely hinting at a more serious side, yet leaving us guessing, Witchbender perform a song about immigration, but speaking personally it is not nearly tedious, slow or dehumanising enough.
For the second half of the witching hour we have Night Witch, again from Tallahassee. Will they be the Coke to Witchbender’s Pepsi? Or perhaps the pummelling of chauvinists to their eye of newt. In their first gig since January this feminist hardcore act are arguably the most abrasive of the day. I’m not sure why there seem to be so many angry as fuck feminist punk bands at the moment. It’s not as if politicians in Ohio are introducing bills to ban abortion in all circumstances, for example. To go with the contemporary sounds that I know of, I’d say Night Witch sound like Lauren Kashan of Sharptooth guesting with Fucked and Bound (with a startling similarity in their recent album covers). Even for hardcore, the tunes are almost comically short on occasion, but like all polite hardcore acts Night Witch compensate with a large Minor Threat-style discography release, and (if I heard singer Rosie correctly) a 20 song album on the way. It’s also a little amusing (I say this in complete respect) that the onstage banter often dwarves the songs waiting in the wings. Either way, Rosie has a lot to say, and her bandmates are as patient as the audience as she allows herself to be vulnerable, talking without clear script about issues such as sexual assault, including how a simple pleasure like riding a bike can be ruined through association with a bad memory. Eco-feminist theory springs to mind.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OiJsSfymPUQ
On the subject of environmental factors, watching The Zeta from Puerto La Cruz in northern Venezuela is like watching the sun explode in your face. Holy shit! This is a sort of post-rock punk, growing and building like much mostly instrumental music, but as seen here in the confines of a festival set it’s quicker and more immediate. You see the mass they’re going for in their album titles like Explosión Del Cosmos Del Alma (Explosion Of The Cosmos Of The Soul) and En Medio De La Tormenta (In The Midst Of The Storm). I’m drunk on the vibrations and vegan barbecue. In an oversaturated field where there’s a chasm between how boring it can be to listen to some of these artists at home and how phenomenal the experience can be live, The Zeta are making their own epic chasm in any room they’re invited into. Rather than post-metal growls, towards the back end shouted Spanish vocals come in suddenly from Juan Ricardo Yilo, while guitarist Daniel Hernandez Saud jumps onto some sort of bodiless bongo drums (I tried in vain to find the technical term for these). This is the second day of an ongoing U.S. tour, but the band is currently based in Florida, with certain members having just received work permits. I suggest keeping the hard work for the shows, because it pays off.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2paDyBSV0LU
I’m really loving the trajectory of styles on display here. No two acts sound the same, with Frameworks from Gainesville being a great choice to follow The Zeta, holding their own in the post-chasm. If I’m reading the social media breadcrumbs correctly, they are, also appropriately, doing sporadic local gigs after a couple of years of touring Latin America, with a recent live tape split with Mexico’s Joliette out on Deathwish Inc (Jacob Bannon’s label). Frameworks are a five piece, justifying each member with an incredibly heavy post-hardcore approach, à la Small Brown Bike or a faster and more melodic Glassjaw. The performed track Tangled off their last album Smother is a perfect example. There’s really nothing other than music going on here, exposing hacks like me who think they’re funny, and they’re so into keeping the focus within the Framework of music that doing the journo-digital-stalker thing to find out who is playing what has brought me up mostly empty-handed. Respect.
“This is a punk show right? You’re not writing this up for Rolling Stone?” Yeah, and I’ll be telling the dear readers that You, Reality Asylum, are a punk band with no guitars of any kind. Yer out of the box and into the talk box, with Ricky’s vocals expressing vocoder contortions and Lauren’s having a bit of a sympathy mellowing. Not in a bad way, mind; compared to my previous exposure to the darkwavers things in general just seem more subdued, sinister and psychedelic, which is all reasonable for an asylum episode. Even the acid house diluted in a water slide-fuelled Sewer of Love seems a little calmer than the recording. I continue to be amazed by the giant flasks on display for some reason (it’s not as if I’m thirsty since Lucky You kindly provides free water). Maybe Reality Asylum’s approach today is vast consumption of various colour local kombucha, and they finally reached the fabled land of getting tipsy on the trace alcohol beverage: a sleeper scoby within the punk scene. Fun and palate cleansing natural product made with modern tech! Just what is needed at this point in the evening. Lauren is still however wading through the fizz of synths and F-Zero noises to get up in the crowd’s business in a brite tank of amorous fermentation. I can see how some would find this sort of venture into their carbonated bubble uncomfortable, but this festival is a community space, and you can’t sustainably build a bridge without taking bricks off a wall.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LLFFfXEOVoI
It is getting pretty late, with PM in the PM bringing us up to midnight. After their opening flex Permanent Makeup ask us to fill in the gap left by nervous Reality Asylum viewers and we creep forward into the void. Chris gets back to doing his bassman in a caveman jigs and drummer-drawer Susan is channeling pure glee when her expression isn’t deep in concentration. This trio is committed to permanently making up, with improvisation essential to the songwriting process, but whether it’s live or on wax (I picked up their recent album Scrape on Record Store Day) it always feels organic and cool. Today I feel compelled to describe them as the offspring of J Church and The Fall, their respective deceased singers (R.I.P.) having forged an experimental intelligentsia project in the post-punk-post. And John Peel’s going, “This is Permanent Makeup” in his red wine tone, as if he isn’t about to play something odd. At the close of the session Chris reminds the gathered that there is “no special art club” and anyone can do it, a sentiment he expressed in the first No Clear Records blog post almost 10 years ago. Just going for it certainly seems to be working for them.
And on the subject once again of working and regular people expressing themselves we come to the Lucky You Fest first day closers, Brooklyn oi quartet The Brass. The suitably rank and file name (reminder to self: watch Brassed Off this May Day) and source inspiration combines with your New York muscle hardcore influence for a bracingly bracey performance of the kind I rarely see around here. One number reminds me of Work Together by Welsh legends The Oppressed, with vocalist Clay bearing a gravelly similarity to Roddy Moreno. Representation for further UK nations continues with a cover of Alternative Ulster, and I must have misheard Clay saying the song was twice as old as him, because that would make him 80, and to that I’d have to say that looking at him he’s not been living nearly hard enough. A brass horseshoe of space slowly expands into the venue as punters clearly here to see this band especially finally bring some physical friction to proceedings. There obviously should be a place in the punk arena for working class men to express their base instincts if they want; if you don't think that to some degree, then let’s forget the whole thing. Sharing is good. That said, with possible justification given for travel time (the band were in New Orleans the day before, and perhaps their friends were with them), these boot and beefcake boys in the crowd weren't here clapping politely for the other 9 groups, so there’s something of a confrontational takeover vibe to what’s going on, or at least an unfortunate separation. As for The Brass themselves and their music, it’s refreshing enough to end the day on. Their new album Our Own Path is available now on snazzy as fuck brass colour vinyl from Insurgence Records.
I was unfortunately unable to attend day two of the Lucky You Fest due to another gig (you can listen to everyone from the weekend here). But day one was enthralling enough to hammer home the current health of things in our area. Long may it continue. You can see the various future gigs coming up at Lucky You - of which many are from Robot House Presents - right here.
It takes a lot more than luck to pull an event of this size together: 19 acts over two days, loads of different styles and some delicious seitan sandwiches. Christian from promotions team Robot House has been spreading the word relentlessly for months (along with several others), while putting on regular gigs on a seemingly weekly basis. On top of all that, his new band Joyeater are bravely going first today, ready to feed on any happiness they might invoke within you back into their quartet and continue the cycle. They are definitely not Joy Division, which is to say, talented but a complete downer. The band also features Laura from Piss Ghost on guitar, Tim of Gutless on drums (remaining happy even as he accidentally flings a stick) and Jack from Lipschitz, whose singing is light in an effortless sense but still audible above Joyeater’s groove-laden punk. They have a more gigs coming up soon that you can see at their Facebook page.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Anne of The Nervous Girls informs Lauren as they prepare to begin. Hey, this crowd won’t bite you! Well, except maybe the members of Joyeater. But then isn’t that why people make music, to let the tunes do the talking for them? This would appear to be the impetus behind this band, as for their first song Pick Up the Phone all three members are belting their lungs out, trying vainly to overcome that swipeless barrier. It’s in contrast to the rather quiet vocals on their uploaded material, which frankly doesn’t do them justice. The Nervous Girls are not too nervous to have formed a post-punk, all female ensemble with no fuckin’ bassist, and they seem to channel their nervous energy into breaking your entire idea of what a band line-up is, with Amanda and Lauren swapping between drums and guitar twice in just a five song set. Introducing an “angsty 90s” number, Anne asks for a show of hands of people born before 1994; everyone loves generational divisions, as much as they love being told that according to a recent announcement from demographic dons at the Pew Research Center they are a millennial even if they’re as old as 37. Finally, the body image themed Hunger is strangely reminiscent of If You Tolerate This Then Your Children Will Be Next by Manic Street Preachers, full of slow crashing majesty. Which is a masterpiece, if you’re too fucking young to know, for fuck’s sake.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t1gKtv1NOn4 (live clips by Christian of Robot House)
I had been wondering how ten artists were going to fit into six hours, but it turns out the secret is having incredibly fast, 10 minute average turnaround times. Every occasion that you’ve spent three-quarters of an hour staring at your shoes was a manufactured lie. Speaking of fast and short, Big Puppy from Tallahassee. I make this connection not because vocalist Chelsaint Bernard has a song about being 5ft tall and not appreciating your condescending bullshit, but because their blasts of 80-second 80s hardcore are awesome. Each number is part of a loveable, huggable, comforting litter, overwhelming you with its strength as it might. Chelsaint catches my eye with a drinking bottle exactly like my own, proving that no matter their crimes here in the Gulf, BP do in fact depend on clean water for survival like the rest of us (sorry). It occurs to me here that I think I really like when bands have standalone singers. Not only is it easier to imagine myself getting to do it, they’re much more likely to jump around like a rabid dog if they aren’t holding an instrument.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=STE0e1kX3WY
From the land of the Magic Kingdom in Orlando we are next trick or treated to Witchbender. How does that track go? “Don’t bend the witch, do bend the rich.” Describing their messy clattering punk as "smeared, volatile, unleashed or something,” I also get something of an Issa Diao from Good Clean Fun effect from the singer, identified as Julio Felix or something. There’s a slightly gritty friendliness to his vocals and his movements are like if Diao broke edge and had a sudden massive intake of coffee. While a bit more of the fringe, Witchbender are also like GCF in that their heavy music project appears to be a wide concept comedy vehicle, and at the very least drug-critical (not going on many benders then I imagine). Speaking of wide, Julio has not one but two simply gargantuan sandbag sized beverage containers for the physically demanding set. Basically enough water to melt any pissed off witches in the crowd. And if you haven’t got the message that hydration is important, an overreaction to the availability of Coke rather than Pepsi earlier that day leads to a strangely amusing intro in which the whole band groupscreams Julio’s pain. Merely hinting at a more serious side, yet leaving us guessing, Witchbender perform a song about immigration, but speaking personally it is not nearly tedious, slow or dehumanising enough.
For the second half of the witching hour we have Night Witch, again from Tallahassee. Will they be the Coke to Witchbender’s Pepsi? Or perhaps the pummelling of chauvinists to their eye of newt. In their first gig since January this feminist hardcore act are arguably the most abrasive of the day. I’m not sure why there seem to be so many angry as fuck feminist punk bands at the moment. It’s not as if politicians in Ohio are introducing bills to ban abortion in all circumstances, for example. To go with the contemporary sounds that I know of, I’d say Night Witch sound like Lauren Kashan of Sharptooth guesting with Fucked and Bound (with a startling similarity in their recent album covers). Even for hardcore, the tunes are almost comically short on occasion, but like all polite hardcore acts Night Witch compensate with a large Minor Threat-style discography release, and (if I heard singer Rosie correctly) a 20 song album on the way. It’s also a little amusing (I say this in complete respect) that the onstage banter often dwarves the songs waiting in the wings. Either way, Rosie has a lot to say, and her bandmates are as patient as the audience as she allows herself to be vulnerable, talking without clear script about issues such as sexual assault, including how a simple pleasure like riding a bike can be ruined through association with a bad memory. Eco-feminist theory springs to mind.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OiJsSfymPUQ
On the subject of environmental factors, watching The Zeta from Puerto La Cruz in northern Venezuela is like watching the sun explode in your face. Holy shit! This is a sort of post-rock punk, growing and building like much mostly instrumental music, but as seen here in the confines of a festival set it’s quicker and more immediate. You see the mass they’re going for in their album titles like Explosión Del Cosmos Del Alma (Explosion Of The Cosmos Of The Soul) and En Medio De La Tormenta (In The Midst Of The Storm). I’m drunk on the vibrations and vegan barbecue. In an oversaturated field where there’s a chasm between how boring it can be to listen to some of these artists at home and how phenomenal the experience can be live, The Zeta are making their own epic chasm in any room they’re invited into. Rather than post-metal growls, towards the back end shouted Spanish vocals come in suddenly from Juan Ricardo Yilo, while guitarist Daniel Hernandez Saud jumps onto some sort of bodiless bongo drums (I tried in vain to find the technical term for these). This is the second day of an ongoing U.S. tour, but the band is currently based in Florida, with certain members having just received work permits. I suggest keeping the hard work for the shows, because it pays off.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2paDyBSV0LU
I’m really loving the trajectory of styles on display here. No two acts sound the same, with Frameworks from Gainesville being a great choice to follow The Zeta, holding their own in the post-chasm. If I’m reading the social media breadcrumbs correctly, they are, also appropriately, doing sporadic local gigs after a couple of years of touring Latin America, with a recent live tape split with Mexico’s Joliette out on Deathwish Inc (Jacob Bannon’s label). Frameworks are a five piece, justifying each member with an incredibly heavy post-hardcore approach, à la Small Brown Bike or a faster and more melodic Glassjaw. The performed track Tangled off their last album Smother is a perfect example. There’s really nothing other than music going on here, exposing hacks like me who think they’re funny, and they’re so into keeping the focus within the Framework of music that doing the journo-digital-stalker thing to find out who is playing what has brought me up mostly empty-handed. Respect.
“This is a punk show right? You’re not writing this up for Rolling Stone?” Yeah, and I’ll be telling the dear readers that You, Reality Asylum, are a punk band with no guitars of any kind. Yer out of the box and into the talk box, with Ricky’s vocals expressing vocoder contortions and Lauren’s having a bit of a sympathy mellowing. Not in a bad way, mind; compared to my previous exposure to the darkwavers things in general just seem more subdued, sinister and psychedelic, which is all reasonable for an asylum episode. Even the acid house diluted in a water slide-fuelled Sewer of Love seems a little calmer than the recording. I continue to be amazed by the giant flasks on display for some reason (it’s not as if I’m thirsty since Lucky You kindly provides free water). Maybe Reality Asylum’s approach today is vast consumption of various colour local kombucha, and they finally reached the fabled land of getting tipsy on the trace alcohol beverage: a sleeper scoby within the punk scene. Fun and palate cleansing natural product made with modern tech! Just what is needed at this point in the evening. Lauren is still however wading through the fizz of synths and F-Zero noises to get up in the crowd’s business in a brite tank of amorous fermentation. I can see how some would find this sort of venture into their carbonated bubble uncomfortable, but this festival is a community space, and you can’t sustainably build a bridge without taking bricks off a wall.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LLFFfXEOVoI
It is getting pretty late, with PM in the PM bringing us up to midnight. After their opening flex Permanent Makeup ask us to fill in the gap left by nervous Reality Asylum viewers and we creep forward into the void. Chris gets back to doing his bassman in a caveman jigs and drummer-drawer Susan is channeling pure glee when her expression isn’t deep in concentration. This trio is committed to permanently making up, with improvisation essential to the songwriting process, but whether it’s live or on wax (I picked up their recent album Scrape on Record Store Day) it always feels organic and cool. Today I feel compelled to describe them as the offspring of J Church and The Fall, their respective deceased singers (R.I.P.) having forged an experimental intelligentsia project in the post-punk-post. And John Peel’s going, “This is Permanent Makeup” in his red wine tone, as if he isn’t about to play something odd. At the close of the session Chris reminds the gathered that there is “no special art club” and anyone can do it, a sentiment he expressed in the first No Clear Records blog post almost 10 years ago. Just going for it certainly seems to be working for them.
And on the subject once again of working and regular people expressing themselves we come to the Lucky You Fest first day closers, Brooklyn oi quartet The Brass. The suitably rank and file name (reminder to self: watch Brassed Off this May Day) and source inspiration combines with your New York muscle hardcore influence for a bracingly bracey performance of the kind I rarely see around here. One number reminds me of Work Together by Welsh legends The Oppressed, with vocalist Clay bearing a gravelly similarity to Roddy Moreno. Representation for further UK nations continues with a cover of Alternative Ulster, and I must have misheard Clay saying the song was twice as old as him, because that would make him 80, and to that I’d have to say that looking at him he’s not been living nearly hard enough. A brass horseshoe of space slowly expands into the venue as punters clearly here to see this band especially finally bring some physical friction to proceedings. There obviously should be a place in the punk arena for working class men to express their base instincts if they want; if you don't think that to some degree, then let’s forget the whole thing. Sharing is good. That said, with possible justification given for travel time (the band were in New Orleans the day before, and perhaps their friends were with them), these boot and beefcake boys in the crowd weren't here clapping politely for the other 9 groups, so there’s something of a confrontational takeover vibe to what’s going on, or at least an unfortunate separation. As for The Brass themselves and their music, it’s refreshing enough to end the day on. Their new album Our Own Path is available now on snazzy as fuck brass colour vinyl from Insurgence Records.
I was unfortunately unable to attend day two of the Lucky You Fest due to another gig (you can listen to everyone from the weekend here). But day one was enthralling enough to hammer home the current health of things in our area. Long may it continue. You can see the various future gigs coming up at Lucky You - of which many are from Robot House Presents - right here.
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