Summer is in full swing in Buffalo and for many of us, that means coming out of hibernation after a long winter, spending time outside, and adapting to the overwhelming amount of stuff to do in the area. Ghost town no more, local and touring bands playing the Buffalo scene provide entertainment on most nights of the week. Suddenly, you find yourself deciding between several great events. I’m indecisive, so I like to avoid that unpleasant moment when you have to make a choice; fortunately, Buffalo is small enough to bounce around town from venue to bar, catching some of everything and staying out late!
This article serves as a recent retrospective of roughly two summer
weeks of music; bands that I saw and some that I missed in our developing,
booming local arts scene.
July, 6th Hanford Bay Beach Party.
A fellow buffaBLOG compatriot hosts an annual 4th of July music event at a house in Hanford Bay (past Angola). This year, eight local bands traveled south from the city to play on a stage facing the beach and Lake Erie. I set out late after work. The sun is setting as my friend Dave and I leave our apartment. “Whatever happens tonight, I AM going swimming,” I say. I am riding shotgun and following directions I have scribbled down on a note pad. The closer we get, however, the darker it gets, and soon we’re lost on narrow rural winding roads. Neither one of us equipped with a smart phone, we call and text for help and eventually we get close enough to park in a neighbor’s yard from which we’re able to find our way by foot. As it turns out, Google has not figured out a working route to this location and so the circling, dead ends and turn-arounds were inevitable. We walk down to the beach on a public access path to catch the last half set of local band Early Attic. People are sitting, backs to the water in folding chairs on the sand. A minivan sized bonfire rages to the side while neighboring kids shoot off a consistent stream of roman candles and those squeaky, annoying rocket things.
Early Attic’s electronic indie rock sound is clear and balanced. They sound better than I’ve ever heard them, which is surprising considering the great lake behind me could swallow the noise vibrations in a heartbeat. About fifteen minutes later, experimental-instrumental electronic group Armageddon Party sets up. Their psychedelic grooves echo loudly across Hanford Bay. The DIY fireworks, bonfire, and warm breeze coming off the lake complete the aesthetic and sensory experience, and I relax into the sand. “Where are we again?” I think to myself, only a couple hours prior I was sweaty behind a counter, serving people food and drink, among electric lights and storefronts. With my eyes, I follow the coast in a line where the water meets the beach. In the distance I can vaguely see the subtle light pollution of downtown Buffalo, and I follow it back to where I am standing, appreciating the visible distance of our short trip and reminding myself that I am not somewhere else entirely. I never did swim.
A fellow buffaBLOG compatriot hosts an annual 4th of July music event at a house in Hanford Bay (past Angola). This year, eight local bands traveled south from the city to play on a stage facing the beach and Lake Erie. I set out late after work. The sun is setting as my friend Dave and I leave our apartment. “Whatever happens tonight, I AM going swimming,” I say. I am riding shotgun and following directions I have scribbled down on a note pad. The closer we get, however, the darker it gets, and soon we’re lost on narrow rural winding roads. Neither one of us equipped with a smart phone, we call and text for help and eventually we get close enough to park in a neighbor’s yard from which we’re able to find our way by foot. As it turns out, Google has not figured out a working route to this location and so the circling, dead ends and turn-arounds were inevitable. We walk down to the beach on a public access path to catch the last half set of local band Early Attic. People are sitting, backs to the water in folding chairs on the sand. A minivan sized bonfire rages to the side while neighboring kids shoot off a consistent stream of roman candles and those squeaky, annoying rocket things.
Early Attic’s electronic indie rock sound is clear and balanced. They sound better than I’ve ever heard them, which is surprising considering the great lake behind me could swallow the noise vibrations in a heartbeat. About fifteen minutes later, experimental-instrumental electronic group Armageddon Party sets up. Their psychedelic grooves echo loudly across Hanford Bay. The DIY fireworks, bonfire, and warm breeze coming off the lake complete the aesthetic and sensory experience, and I relax into the sand. “Where are we again?” I think to myself, only a couple hours prior I was sweaty behind a counter, serving people food and drink, among electric lights and storefronts. With my eyes, I follow the coast in a line where the water meets the beach. In the distance I can vaguely see the subtle light pollution of downtown Buffalo, and I follow it back to where I am standing, appreciating the visible distance of our short trip and reminding myself that I am not somewhere else entirely. I never did swim.
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| (Hanford Bay. Photo by Brien Hall) |
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| (Photo by Brien Hall) |
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| (Early Attic. Photo by Brien Hall) |
July, 7th Toronto Urban Roots Festival.
It is the morning after the beach excursion and I am sluggish to leave the comfort of my bed. It is a late start and I battle with the disappointment that at this point I will likely miss some of the bands that turned me on to this festival in the first place, namely Kurt Vile and Yo LaTengo. My inability to function at a reasonable hour is discouraging, but there is more music to catch and so I focus on what I will be able to see, pack some things and head the opposite direction of last night’s festivities toward the Peace Bridge. Dave and I are in good spirits after being accepted into Canada by the nicest border cop I have ever encountered, (he asked how we were doing) and only 150 kilometers of easy driving ahead. We cruise well under the speed limit to ensure my car isn’t crippled by the drive. A first listen of the new Daft Punk record, Random Access Memories, becomes the soundtrack to our journey. It’s variety and sonic weirdness compliment the scenery as dark clouds move into view and cast shadows over the modern industrial cityscape of Toronto. I am reminded of the dystopian nightmare filmed in the opening scene of the film Blade Runner (although none of the high-rises are expelling flames).
After taking the wrong exit off the QEW, we make a few loops, circling the general area where we, with our limited knowledge of the city, think that the concert is taking place. After resigning that we actually have a horrible sense of direction, we bother a kind couple at a Tim Horton’s and we are back on track. The festival grounds are located near Fort York, almost completely surrounded by a few massive condominium complexes. Once we get in, the atmosphere is friendly. It had been raining on and off all day and the grass is muddy and flooded in parts. A boy and a girl run along the outer fence, back and forth through a puddle, kicking their feet up and splashing around. The set up is comfortable. There are two stages on opposite sides of the park on which bands set up and play alternating back and forth with each set. Local food trucks and refreshment stands are available at the center of the event. There are a lot of people, but it doesn’t feel overly crowded.
It is the morning after the beach excursion and I am sluggish to leave the comfort of my bed. It is a late start and I battle with the disappointment that at this point I will likely miss some of the bands that turned me on to this festival in the first place, namely Kurt Vile and Yo LaTengo. My inability to function at a reasonable hour is discouraging, but there is more music to catch and so I focus on what I will be able to see, pack some things and head the opposite direction of last night’s festivities toward the Peace Bridge. Dave and I are in good spirits after being accepted into Canada by the nicest border cop I have ever encountered, (he asked how we were doing) and only 150 kilometers of easy driving ahead. We cruise well under the speed limit to ensure my car isn’t crippled by the drive. A first listen of the new Daft Punk record, Random Access Memories, becomes the soundtrack to our journey. It’s variety and sonic weirdness compliment the scenery as dark clouds move into view and cast shadows over the modern industrial cityscape of Toronto. I am reminded of the dystopian nightmare filmed in the opening scene of the film Blade Runner (although none of the high-rises are expelling flames).
After taking the wrong exit off the QEW, we make a few loops, circling the general area where we, with our limited knowledge of the city, think that the concert is taking place. After resigning that we actually have a horrible sense of direction, we bother a kind couple at a Tim Horton’s and we are back on track. The festival grounds are located near Fort York, almost completely surrounded by a few massive condominium complexes. Once we get in, the atmosphere is friendly. It had been raining on and off all day and the grass is muddy and flooded in parts. A boy and a girl run along the outer fence, back and forth through a puddle, kicking their feet up and splashing around. The set up is comfortable. There are two stages on opposite sides of the park on which bands set up and play alternating back and forth with each set. Local food trucks and refreshment stands are available at the center of the event. There are a lot of people, but it doesn’t feel overly crowded.
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| (The way I remember our drive into Toronto) |
The last day of a four-day event,
we’re just in time to catch Neko Case. We move our bodies a few feet to the
front of the stage, wading through ankle deep runoff. After a few songs into
the set, the sky lets loose and a downpour ensues, lasting the remainder of the
set and gradually coming down with more volume and force until it eventually
tapers off. Neko Case sings beautifully, without even one note off pitch to my
ears. She plays mostly songs off her new album, but mixes it up with a few
familiar tunes, songs that first turned me on to her soulful, indie-folk
gospel.
After that, a now very wet crowd shuffles over to the other stage to watch Belle and Sebastian close out the night. Belle and Sebastian put on a fantastic performance. The most exciting part, however, is how front man Stuart Murdoch involves members of the audience. Audience participation varies from groups of people enticed to climb on the stage and dance through a song, to a one on one scrabble game between Murdoch and a female audience member. At one point, Murdoch walks off the stage and into the crowd where someone applies makeup to his face while he sings. Another female is given a microphone to sing a small vocal part with the band. While I was disappointed that I didn’t arrive in time to see the incredible line up of other bands, these two performances easily made the trip worthwhile.
After that, a now very wet crowd shuffles over to the other stage to watch Belle and Sebastian close out the night. Belle and Sebastian put on a fantastic performance. The most exciting part, however, is how front man Stuart Murdoch involves members of the audience. Audience participation varies from groups of people enticed to climb on the stage and dance through a song, to a one on one scrabble game between Murdoch and a female audience member. At one point, Murdoch walks off the stage and into the crowd where someone applies makeup to his face while he sings. Another female is given a microphone to sing a small vocal part with the band. While I was disappointed that I didn’t arrive in time to see the incredible line up of other bands, these two performances easily made the trip worthwhile.
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| (Neko Case at T.U.R.F. Photo by Jeff Ross) |
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| (Above: Dave benefits from the kindness of fellow festival-goers in the form of a borrowed rain coat Below: Stuart Murdoch of Belle and Sebastian walks into the crowd performing "Lord Anthony," and a seemingly disgruntled fan flips the bird) |
July, 9th The Jungle Gym.
The Jungle Gym is the name of a house venue located on Buffalo’s west side. I make my way through a house I have never visited through the kitchen and out a back door. It is between sets and most attendees are getting some air. I recognize some people. There is Brandon Schlia, founder of local recording label Steak and Cake, and drummer of The Malones, along with a few other writers including bufaBLOG’s chief, Mac McGuire. I am impressed by the number of people that have come to see live music on a Tuesday night.
Soon, I’m back inside packed tightly next to adjacent humans awaiting Aircraft’s set. I am a little claustrophobic and having some trouble breathing in the dank musk of the underground venue. The music is loud and the energy is high. The usual space between crowd and performer that divides the experience is gone and it feels like we are all gathered to hang out together. Aircraft performs not on a pedestal to be watched and admired from a far, but with the audience on the same ground, barely a foot of separation. This intimacy relies on a certain kind of mutual respect. The togetherness is felt as Aircraft plays “Rising While I Fall.” This song begins with an initial sparse arrangement joined by a catchy vocal melody of OH’s. The crowd sings along in between Justin Smith’s lead interjections. Its like a drunken scene from a neighborhood pub where intoxicated stragglers launch into a traditional folk tune before stumbling out. This kind of group sing along is rare. It seems that most concert watchers would rather stand perfectly still while they contemplate the vibrations they are feeling from a removed state. In this cramped space, however, there is no room for the kind of self-conscious abstinence observed at many indie shows.
I stay for the final set by somewhat recently-formed band The Malones. As they set up I tell the lead singer Steven Floyd that I admire the vibrato and timbre of his vocal. For a moment I think about my comment and hope that is does not make him self-conscious before they play. It does not and The Malones deliver an exceptionally tight set to the 50 or so attendees now crammed shoulder-to-shoulder like a single organism, focused on the music, life-supported by breathing in one another’s exhalations. Sounds gross, but the feeling is one of comfort and belonging.
The Jungle Gym is the name of a house venue located on Buffalo’s west side. I make my way through a house I have never visited through the kitchen and out a back door. It is between sets and most attendees are getting some air. I recognize some people. There is Brandon Schlia, founder of local recording label Steak and Cake, and drummer of The Malones, along with a few other writers including bufaBLOG’s chief, Mac McGuire. I am impressed by the number of people that have come to see live music on a Tuesday night.
Soon, I’m back inside packed tightly next to adjacent humans awaiting Aircraft’s set. I am a little claustrophobic and having some trouble breathing in the dank musk of the underground venue. The music is loud and the energy is high. The usual space between crowd and performer that divides the experience is gone and it feels like we are all gathered to hang out together. Aircraft performs not on a pedestal to be watched and admired from a far, but with the audience on the same ground, barely a foot of separation. This intimacy relies on a certain kind of mutual respect. The togetherness is felt as Aircraft plays “Rising While I Fall.” This song begins with an initial sparse arrangement joined by a catchy vocal melody of OH’s. The crowd sings along in between Justin Smith’s lead interjections. Its like a drunken scene from a neighborhood pub where intoxicated stragglers launch into a traditional folk tune before stumbling out. This kind of group sing along is rare. It seems that most concert watchers would rather stand perfectly still while they contemplate the vibrations they are feeling from a removed state. In this cramped space, however, there is no room for the kind of self-conscious abstinence observed at many indie shows.
I stay for the final set by somewhat recently-formed band The Malones. As they set up I tell the lead singer Steven Floyd that I admire the vibrato and timbre of his vocal. For a moment I think about my comment and hope that is does not make him self-conscious before they play. It does not and The Malones deliver an exceptionally tight set to the 50 or so attendees now crammed shoulder-to-shoulder like a single organism, focused on the music, life-supported by breathing in one another’s exhalations. Sounds gross, but the feeling is one of comfort and belonging.
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| (The Malones rock out at The Jungle Gym. Photo courtesy of The Malones) |
July, 11th The Ninth Ward and Duke’s Bohemian Grove Bar.
The plan is to meet fellow buffaBLOGGER Carly Cassano at Duke’s for local garage-rockers The Telltale Signs. At the last minute I am prompted to relocate to The 9th Ward. I arrive just in time to see Massachusetts based band GIRAFFES? GIRAFFES! The two-piece consists of Ken Topham on drums and Joe Andreoli on guitar. They play technical, instrumental jams occasionally mixing in some guttural expressions. Topham sets up sideways and is surrounded on three sides by an elaborate drum kit. Extra cymbals are propped up high on the stands and mounted upside down so they stick out like weird mushroom antennae, or some musical contraption you’d expect to see in a Dr. Seuss animation. Andreoli plays guitar that he loops and builds on top of. Each angular riff compliments the last as the parts intermingle and weave together, new rhythms filling in where another part lets up. The two members face one another and seem to make faces, often smiling and laughing. They feed off of each other’s energy and their charisma extends outward to the audience creating a fun shared environment. Dancing to this kind of sound manifests in bizarre jerky movements, twists and bodily contortions.
The show lets out and we head to Duke’s to catch The Telltale Signs. We arrive to discover that they have already played due to some last minute cancellations and another band no where to be found or heard from. Despite this plan falling through, it is still early and there is another band about to go on from Brooklyn, NY called IceBalloons. With an unhealthy amount of cheap beer circulating through our bloodstream we have transitioned from apprehensive shuffle to all out interpretive dance as we experience Ice Balloon’s sound for the first time. Among colorful lighting and fog machine overcast, Ice Balloons front man takes the stage wearing a homemade fly mask from which the unmistakable flicker a human tongue periodically emerges. His t-shirt shows a picture of Ronald McDonald’s face combined with the printed phrase, “Eat shit and die.” His overall persona is like a wannabe Batman villain imagined by David Cronenberg. The resulting stage presence is surreal. Their sound is loud. The vocals buried and distorted. The drums accent without respite, driving and heavy handed.
The plan is to meet fellow buffaBLOGGER Carly Cassano at Duke’s for local garage-rockers The Telltale Signs. At the last minute I am prompted to relocate to The 9th Ward. I arrive just in time to see Massachusetts based band GIRAFFES? GIRAFFES! The two-piece consists of Ken Topham on drums and Joe Andreoli on guitar. They play technical, instrumental jams occasionally mixing in some guttural expressions. Topham sets up sideways and is surrounded on three sides by an elaborate drum kit. Extra cymbals are propped up high on the stands and mounted upside down so they stick out like weird mushroom antennae, or some musical contraption you’d expect to see in a Dr. Seuss animation. Andreoli plays guitar that he loops and builds on top of. Each angular riff compliments the last as the parts intermingle and weave together, new rhythms filling in where another part lets up. The two members face one another and seem to make faces, often smiling and laughing. They feed off of each other’s energy and their charisma extends outward to the audience creating a fun shared environment. Dancing to this kind of sound manifests in bizarre jerky movements, twists and bodily contortions.
The show lets out and we head to Duke’s to catch The Telltale Signs. We arrive to discover that they have already played due to some last minute cancellations and another band no where to be found or heard from. Despite this plan falling through, it is still early and there is another band about to go on from Brooklyn, NY called IceBalloons. With an unhealthy amount of cheap beer circulating through our bloodstream we have transitioned from apprehensive shuffle to all out interpretive dance as we experience Ice Balloon’s sound for the first time. Among colorful lighting and fog machine overcast, Ice Balloons front man takes the stage wearing a homemade fly mask from which the unmistakable flicker a human tongue periodically emerges. His t-shirt shows a picture of Ronald McDonald’s face combined with the printed phrase, “Eat shit and die.” His overall persona is like a wannabe Batman villain imagined by David Cronenberg. The resulting stage presence is surreal. Their sound is loud. The vocals buried and distorted. The drums accent without respite, driving and heavy handed.
(GIRAFFES? GIRAFFES! Older live performance)
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| (Fly mask wearing front man of Brooklyn band Ice Balloons at DBGB's) |
Driven by the sudden warm weather and the fresh energy collectively felt by a town finally emerging from over six months of cold and dark, these past couple of weeks have been a blur of staying out well into the morning and having the benefit of very little sleep. There is striking diversity dispersed among these bands and venues. I have walked down beaches, celebrated festivals, invaded private residences, and frequented bars. Each place offers a different aesthetic, but what they do have in common is an emphasis on providing an experience of original music. Being involved in the local music community for the past four years I have noticed a change. It is hard to describe in concrete terms, but it is more of a feeling, a quiet optimism, and a slow, exponential evolution that is not yet fully formed. The shape it will take in the weeks, months and years to come will depend on the continued inspiration and hard work of fellow concertgoers, sound creators, and venue operators.
It is a critical time for the Buffalo music scene. It is in a state of transition and growth. Opportunity exists, but is reluctant to emerge. Progress has not and will not develop autonomously. It has to be extracted in pieces by creative individuals with fresh ideas. Bold moves and calculated risks will see this city to wonderful places. People have moved away, empty businesses and whole residential areas haunt many neighborhoods. However, with a nihilistic twist of ideology, our city is actually in a good place and saturated with possibility. We have inherited a partially blank canvas from which we can create and determine our future.
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