Blogs

Obviously there are tons of photos of the Showcase on our slideshow page, if, like us, you're having trouble letting go. But we'd be remiss to not share with you the one above, which was shared with us by Gabe Rovick of Focus4Design. Click to enlarge the photo.

If that's a cow town right there, it's one damn fine cow town.

Rock n' Roll Arby's in calmer times.

See more Showcase photos at westword.com/slideshow.

Arby's, 6:30 p.m.
The most insane, out-of-control venue at the Westword Music Showcase? No, it wasn't Broadway's with the metal bands or The Garage for the punkers. It was at the fucking Arby's. Never before have I witnessed a fast food restaurant in a state of greater chaos. It was around the time in the early evening when people who had been drinking all day in the sun suddenly realized they desperately needed food in those sloshing, sour barrels they called stomachs. The parking lot at 11th Avenue and Broadway looked like a scene out of a zombie movie, with groups of people staggering aimlessly in half-aware hunger. Some dude was passed out in front of the door. And not like, I'm-feeling-woozy-so-I'm-gonna-lie-down kind of passed out. I'm talking sprawled face flat on the sidewalk with his arms and legs splayed out like a freshly dressed chicken carcass. People had to step over him to get inside. Others stood by and took pics of the casualty with their phones. Beyond the door, the scene was like a one of those frenzied Red Cross feedings in Third World refugee camps. The mass of customers crowded the counter with no semblance of a line. The female Arby's employees were literally shrieking at people to shut-the-fuck up and listen to them: "EVERYBODY GET BACK! GET BAAAACK!!" The toilets were completely clogged and overflowing, yet people kept using the restroom. Some were openly drinking tall boys and fifths of hard liqour in the booths.

Verdict: I was too scared to stay there more than five minutes. But witnessing people who obviously never eat at Arby's furiously cram limp roast beef sandwiches into their mouths like they were wrapped by Jesus himself makes me understand the true power of rock-and-roll. Thank you for supporting local music, Arby's! Sorry about the toilets.

Eric Syl Grunesien

Buckner Funken Jazz brought the funk -- and the jazz -- at Dazzle.

See more photos from Dazzle at westword.com/slideshow.

The Culhanes, 12:00 p.m.
The Culhanes may be most straight-ahead country I've ever seen live. This is no ironic alt-country posturing; this Longmont-based act could be Merle Haggard's backing band, with the guitarist nailing it on the twangy leads, and the pedal-steel player playing it just as mournful as old Hank ever did. The vocals, on the other hand, were disappointing. Now, to be fair, the Culhanes were first up at Dazzle, and thus served as sound guinea pigs. And there were some tragic sound issues -- when you actually have to stop and soundcheck twenty minutes into your set, that can really throw you off. All the same, when the vocals finally did become audible, they still sounded like the kid from Talladega Nights doing Emmylou Harris tunes.

Verdict: I really liked this band, and they definitely didn't get a fair shake on sound. But they really do need a new vocalist.

Aaron Thackeray

Red Stinger ignited the party at the Bannock Street Garage.

See more photos from the Bannock Street Garage at westword.com/slideshow.

Red Stinger, 12 p.m.
One of the defining characteristics of punk is guys who love the people in the room exactly as much or more than they hate the System. No one who played Saturday at the garage embodied this more than Red Stinger. There was no getting in if you were underage, except if you were in the band. So Red Stinger gave a real devotee who wasn't 21 yet a mic and had him join them onstage. He smiled through the whole set, clutching nervously at his t-shirt. That's rock and roll, people.

Frontman Timmy and company left it all on the stage. Timmy became a father some twelve hours before the start of the show, but he was up there anyway, nearly toppling over as he screamed nasty words (see: a delightful little number called "Jizz Mustache"). Red Stinger lurched around the stage for forty-five minutes, setting the tone for a stage that would not relent at any point over the next seven hours. Seriously, these guys made Built To Spill look like they were in a coma.

Verdict: It's never easy to play a noon set for a quiet crowd, and Red Stinger deserves credit for playing like it was midnight in a packed house. And while they're not exactly exploring a new frontier, there are some pretty melodies hidden under all that aggression.

Aaron Thackeray

Havok led things off at Broadways.

See more photos from Broadways at westword.com/slideshow.

Havok, 12 p.m.
This four-piece band sounded like classic Bay Area thrash, stuff reminiscent of Testament and Exodus with a splash of Anthrax. The guitar work owed a clear debt to a death metal influence, and the vocalist's wail and singing was akin to that of Tom Araya circa Show No Mercy and Reign In Blood. Over halfway through the set, Havok performed a fairly faithful cover of "Number of the Beast" by Iron Maiden -- after asking if anyone liked Iron Maiden and getting two responses. These guys didn't miss a beat, and while it's not often the style of music I enjoy anymore, when a band is this energetic, enthusiastic and showing high spirits (despite playing early in the day for a rock show), you can't help but like them.

Verdict: Havok makes thrash seem relevant again, and that's not so easy to do.

Brian Landis Folkins

Fresh Breath Committee kicked things off at Vinyl.

See more photos from Vinyl at westword.com/slideshow.

Fresh Breath Committee, 12:00 p.m.
The day started off nice and sunny and Club Vinyl's rooftop, but I was a bit late in catching the set from the Fresh Breath Committee. The collective was rocking a decent-sized crowd and ended their set on their song "Soul Music," with Flawless displaying his versatility by blowing on the saxophone. The entire crew -- Flawless, Fo-Chief, Kontrast, Catch Lungs, Purpose, Hi-Res, DJ Skip Ripkin, and Crystal -- I was told, gave a solid and passionate performance throughout. But most people were talking about Crystal's voice, and how that added soul to a group that follows the more traditional underground hip-hop sound.

Verdict: Missed most of the set, but from what I can tell, the group gave a solid performance that the crowd seemed to enjoy.

Brian Landis Folkins

Yerkish led off at Fidel's.

See more photos from Fidel's at westword.com/slideshow.

Yerkish, 12 p.m.
The crowd inside the cramped cantina is building slowly as Yerkish takes the stage, and the band wastes no time in laying out its frenetic, frantic rhythms. It's a dynamic complimented by lead singer Tim Kaminski's impassioned, insistent vocals and the clean, driving guitar lines of Nate Huisgen and Tony Brown. The group's sound draws from multiple sources at once, easily incorporating direct, speedy blues lines and hard rock acrobatics in a single song. Drummer Ryan Eschenbach recalls bebop cadences in his sycopation, while Kaminski shifts quickly from densely packed vocal lines to elongated, impassioned melodies in tunes like "X-Ray Specs" and "USS Jesus." As much as such musical fusions may seem incompatible on their surface, the band makes it work, and the rich musical structure fits Fidel's small, intimate space especially well. Playing the first spot in an all-day musical roster can present its own pitfalls, but Yerkish does a quick job of engaging the crowd and setting the tone for the rest of the day.

Verdict: While the relatively early hour of the performance dampened the energy of the crowd a bit, Yerkish manages to drum up some contagious energy and enthusiasm.

Eric Syl Gruniesen

The Epilogues tore up La Rumba.

See more photos from La Rumba at westword.com/slideshow.

Alan Baird Project, 12:00 p.m.
It's never easy being the first band to play at an all-day event. Typically, bands that are booked to perform early in the day have to work a lot harder to get the word out and rally crowds to come see them. Thankfully, the Alan Baird Project was up to the task, and had a surprisingly big crowd (despite the band's under-21 fans being turned away at the door due to La Rumba's liquor license restrictions). From the opening chords of the band's opening song, "Blood", the Alan Baird Project left no doubts they intended to prove they belonged on that stage. Juggling between power pop guitar-driven power ballads such as the heart rending "Letters to Virgina," to the eight-minute closing song "Highway" (which sounded a lot like Wilco in parts), the band delivered a pretty polished set. It is pretty obvious that this band is still young and a bit green on stage, as evidenced by a few awkward moments between songs, but I suspect that will change as the band plays matures and plays more shows. What impressed me most with this band was their three part vocal harmonies and incredibly tight rhythm section.

Verdict: Fans of radio-friendly pop rock should check out this young band.