I don't know when Play Loud Fest actually began. Was it the Thursday pre-show? The Friday night show? Or was it twenty years ago, when RecordBar first opened? All I know is that good bands play there all the time, the staff is top notch, and it's only a six-minute walk from my house. Even if I didn't fully grasp the Play Loud Fest experience, showing up for friends was a given. But that's already too much exposition. We've got to hurry. So here are the bands I saw:
On Friday, Rex Hobart and the Misery Boys played an early set. Anytime is a good time for honky-tonk, and no one does it better than Rex Hobart. The Nudie Suits aren't quite as stunning as they were 30 years ago, but the songs are just as tight and the lyrics are as witty as ever. The short half-hour set included several absolute favorites, wrapping up with the absolutely delightful "Bridge Burners Union (Local 36)." Why don't I see Rex every week?
On a second small stage Dan Jones and the Squids began exactly one minute after Rex stopped. How's that for non-stop entertainment? I'd seen the act a few weeks before and not much had changed. It's pop. It's rock. It's garage. It's punk. And it's delivered with equal doses of gusto and resolve. Bassist Steve Tulipana pushed harder than usual. Dan Jones bantered longer, mostly to reflect on RecordBar's twenty-year anniversary and his even longer-running friendship with the members of his supporting band. It was a long set and afterwards I had to run out to catch a KC Current match. The party continued that night with a dozen musical projects spread across a handful of venues, all within walking distance. When I returned Saturday evening, the bill was already in progress.
Cat Fight should be on everyone's must-see list. This Lawrence "queer fem-punk band" balanced cutesy and wrenching in equal measure. Much of that came from the emotive singer who bounced lithely cooing into her microphone just as often as she gripped it with both hands screaming in agony. The guitarist swung wildly too: from off-kilter indie strangeness to pop-punk power chords. The bass player claimed space with active runs. The drums were fast and snappy, sometimes devolving into D-Beat aggression. And there was a groaner of a knock-knock joke. I want to do this again.
Approach got the big stage and decided not to use it at all. Instead, he stayed on the floor, moving through the audience, determined to bring the rock crowd into his old-school hip-hop world. Steddy P offered hype. Louiz Rip threw in a couple of verses too. Several audience members bounced and stepped from the start as if they were part of Approach's posse. The rest of the room had to be won over. He took on that challenge, and through constant bars, energy, and positivity, he eventually captured the room. Then he quickly handed it off to the next band in better shape than he found it. That's Approach for you.
Macemouth was loud. Josh Hartranft shouted, ravaged bass chords, and lost clothing as the night went on. Mitch Hewlett drummed and triggered a between-song sample or two. His playing varied, adding interesting twists to the band's '80s hardcore punk mission. He left plenty of room for Hartranft’s sonic thrusts. The punks loved them, and everyone's ears were ringing.
There was a delay between acts – a scheduling snafu created when the festival didn't get an expected permit for an outdoor stage. Instead, the outdoor performers were sent to Lemonade Park in the West Bottoms. A bus offered to shuttle passengers between locations. Maybe some took it, maybe a few visited the other participating venues on the block for DJs and electronic-based performances, but I stayed put.
Emmaline Twist hadn't played in a long time. The band never broke up, but it did sort of fade away as its members pursued other interests. Frontperson Meredith McGrade joked that the members now only recognized each other under blue stage lights. They then jokingly refined their statement, "we only acknowledge each other under…" The results were impressive. There was no rust as the relaxed quintet dropped a set of lush post-punk as if no time had passed at all. Afterwards, a petition was being discussed to force the group to return to full-time status. I'd sign that.
I didn't know Clownvis would be part of this. As his name suggests, he's part circus clown, part Elvis impersonator. His show was a musical extravaganza: Some covers – "Viva Las Vegas" led the night, "My Way" closed it, and in the middle, "Rhinestone Cowboy" had everyone singing (and singing) along. And some originals – his tribute to Redbox was punctuated by tossing the titular DVDs out into the audience. There was a break for "union mandated" magic performed both poorly and exquisitely. But mostly there was comedy between the tunes. Clownvis was a witty man, a good time, and a surprisingly welcome diversion while the main stage was turned over for the headliner.
It wasn't long after 11:00 when Roman Numerals took the stage. When was the last time the band was on stage? I don't know – years. And some number of them. The project was born at the turn of the millennium, riding the same post-punk revival that saw Interpol, Editors, and Franz Ferdinand hit the airwaves. It's that vibe. The quartet features familiar faces, including both of the RecordBar's owners. Together they told the story of learning they'd been granted the lease for the bar while out of town preparing for a tour. Steve Tulipana's banter grew increasingly sentimental as the fifty-minute performance continued.
The specifics of the setlist were a mystery to me. It was a long weekend, and I didn't even attend half of it. Whatever the quartet played, I appreciated its atmospheric post-punk with angular guitar bite and the synths that filled in the edges. Then I appreciated the all-Joy Division encore. And finally, I appreciated stepping outside at midnight when the set ended. But was this the end of the Play Loud Fest? Or would it not be over until the Sunday post-show gig wrapped? Or would it not be over until every signed poster is removed from the walls and the doors to the club are locked for the last time? Again, the specifics don't matter – whatever happens at RecordBar is always worth going to. Now that's definitely enough exposition – we're still in a hurry.
