Fine's definition of "indie" is a throwback to the late 80s/early 90s when American bands emerged from hardcore with noisy, unruly guitars, pummeling bass lines, smart-ass lyrics, buried vox, challenging time signatures, and lean, mean production. These bands didn't smile, they didn't jangle, and they booked studio time with Steve Albini. Chicagoans know the type.
Ghastly Menace has tripled. Four years ago, the band was just Andy Schroeder and Chris Geick, two former posthardcore musicians that got together to play pop. Now, the psychedelic outfit has six members. A rotating cast of characters simmered down to a steady lineup during the recording of the band's debut album, Songs of Ghastly Menace, which came out on Tuesday via The Record Machine.
Things always moved fast and furious for Smith Westerns. Not long after their 2009 self-titled debut—an adrenaline shot of glam rock—the three teenage Chicagoans were thrust into the indie-rock stratosphere. By 2011's Dye It Blonde, they were a full-throttle, undeniably confident touring force that, for better or worse, ranked among the buzziest of buzz bands. That they've seemingly out of nowhere decided to call it quits isn't entirely shocking—bands that burn so hard tend to flame out quickly. Judging from the seemingly tossed-off tweets that front man Cullen Omori made last week, in which he announced that the band was going on "indefinite hiatus," the end arrived abruptly. The band, which includes bassist Cameron Omori (Cullen's brother) and guitarist Max Kakacek, will play one final Chicago gig, sans Kakacek, on Tue 12/23 at Lincoln Hall.
It's been almost four years since local art-pop group Brontosaurus put out their first record, but they can hardly say they've been on hiatus. The band never stopped—instead, Nicholas Kelley and Nicholas Papaleo spent that time tightening their grip on the jagged, math-rocky chamber pop they've crafted together since 2010. After the release of their debut, 2011's minialbum Cold Comes to Claim, the pair pushed themselves to new levels of perfectionism, running over their songs until each and every piece locked into place. Last week, they released four new tracks from an album due out in 2015, the second batch of recorded songs they've ever made public. EP2014, the simply titled release that's now available as a pay-what-you-can download on Bandcamp, comprises the first four tracks from the still unreleased full-length Foundations Shake. It's an ambitious record, full of sharp turns and grand sweeps that the duo only started to trace on that early recording.
Local rockers Sybris recently released a special-edition EP in the style of a Dungeons & Dragons adventure module. The Voyage of The Stag Party includes an illustrated book complete with maps and features the band members as prerolled characters.
My first year at GR!C, I wasn't expecting this situation. The band I was coaching had been working for almost a week in preparation for a showcase where they'd only get to perform one song. Two days before the show, the drummer presented a completely new song to her eight-year-old bandmates. It was a great song, and she'd stayed up all night working on it. But it was a little more advanced than her bandmates could play, and with the show mere days away, there just wasn't enough time for everyone to learn the skills required. The band voted to stick with the original song they'd rehearsed all week. The drummer, devastated and, I'm guessing, humiliated in the face of her creativity being rejected by her peers, immediately quit the band and took refuge under a desk. Naturally. I had no idea what to say to get her to crawl out from under her tiny fortress, much less how to get the band back together again. I have to admit that a little piece of my heart broke off watching her hide under that desk—I can't even tell you how many times in my life I've wanted to do exactly that. So I ended up telling her that, and then launched into an off-the-cuff speech about diplomacy and how sometimes you have to take one for the team and about how you have a lifetime to see a song through to fruition. Little did I know at the time, I would end up giving a version of that speech every year to the girl who quits, and little did I know, I was actually giving some advice to myself to stick it out with my own band.
While you're there, check out this permanent exhibit that includes fellow midwestern musicians Bob Seger, Prince, and the Coug.
The greatest gift you can ever receive as a musician/songwriter is to hear a song of your own creation in a dream and then remember it after you wake up. It's like a winning lottery ticket that, having circled forever on an endless breeze, suddenly flutters down and sticks directly to your face. The phenomenon is, for lack of a better word, miraculous.
Ironically, when it comes to earplugs, I'm a hater. I've even managed to form a loud band with other anti-earplug enablers. One of my bandmates describes earplugs as "condoms for the head." And they are: they dull your present experience, yet protect you from stuff you don't want to deal with in the future. And hey, it's your body—the only ride you get—so the choice to wear earplugs is yours. But admittedly, earplug rebellion is bad behavior.