Made my way down to the fabulous Cobalt ballroom on the Friday night leading into the long weekend. Duvallstar was up first, and as usual was her plucky and irreverent self. She was working sans bass player on this night, but her songs held up well in the stripped down format. If there was any suggestion to be made for her, it would be to come out of the shell just a little more. The slightly shy act is very endearing, but when the kids come to shake it in the front row, don’t be afraid to look ‘em in the eye.
Next up: the Green Hour, of which I had no prior knowledge. What’s this? Vox amps, farfisa keyboards, and Rickenbacker guitars on the stage at the Cobalt? They had my attention. Turns out they do a pretty respectable garage/mod/psych thing, which was a pleasant surprise. The bass player seems to be the one keeping the whole train on the rails, always making sure there was a solid underpinning for the two guitars and sometimes keys to swirl and freak out on top of. A lefty that hangs his bass a few inches under his chin, looking like some sort of vision of John Cale all elasticized and out of proportion like a bad mushroom trip, his appearance certainly helped with the mood. That’s not to say the rest of the band doesn’t do their part. The guitar riffin’ and drum poundin’ were all Erickson-approved goodness, and overall the band seems to be headed down a pretty interesting road.
I missed the Furies the first time they were around (due to not having been born yet), but they delivered this time. Chris Arnett made sure to take plenty of time for stabbing, twisted solos that could be likened to driving an old rear-wheel-drive Mercury top-speed across a frozen lake: exhilarating, but a little out of control. He soldiered on with a broken E-string for most of the set, proving that if you only need three chords for punk rock, you only need five strings to play ‘em. Unfortunately, the punch-up in front of the stage during their set seemed to draw a good portion of the crowd out onto the street. The irony of a true working-class punk band bashing away and decrying war while half of the audience was more interested in satiating their own blood lust was not lost on this reviewer. Still, the Furies paid no mind and gave those still in the bar a good long ear-screw, including an extended vamp on their closest thing to a hit, “No Fun City,” to close out another night in some booze-can. Posted: May 27, 2008