With just days to go before the next robust Communion event here in Philadelphia, let's take a look back at the insanity that took place at Underground Arts a few weeks back:
By Michael Southerton and Emily Southerton
Rosu Lup
Michael: SXSW-bound Philly songsters Rosu Lup set a beautiful precedent by kicking off Communion on the Underground Arts Black Box Stage. The songs of Rosu Lup are tenderly crafted melodies that weave elements of Appalachian roots with
modern sonic aesthetics. The steel resonance of acoustic guitars and banjos are folded into a reverb-soaked backdrop provided by rich California tones from the electric guitar. The backbeat drives the rich rhythm section, and the core of the four-piece band is uplifted by the lovely addition of strings (two violins) and brass (trumpet and trombone.)
And “uplifting” is perhaps the most appropriate term to describe Rosu Lup. While all songs carry the burden of reality, they offer each listener the comfort of a helping hand, of a guiding voice. Rosu Lup will not be the sunshine on a rainy day, but they will grace you with the beauty of the rain. In one particular song, “Pine,” they ask the listener, “Did you find what you were looking for?” If you haven’t, you might try Rosu Lup.
Emily: City Rain played second. The Philly electro pop duo started big with their latest single, “Join the Human Race,” which is a feel-good highly-digitized pop song that has the build and feel of Arcade Fire’s hook in “Wake Up,” or anything from “Joshua Tree.” Bassist Scott Cumpstone thumped with the beat while lead singer Ben Runyan (synth & beats) sang full-throated and passionately over the track and jumped around the stage to hype the audience early on. While a duo, City Rain has feel of a trio by using video projection in such a present and dramatic way that it almost becomes a third member of the band. Through “Join the Human Race,” and the rest of their set, City Rain projected a hodgepodge of shots from their latest music videos above the stage—shots of a young boy running, empty classrooms, and photos of themselves.
The whole set was solid, and City Rain got a lot of folks really dancing and enjoying themselves as they ran through more original hits like “There is an Optimist in Me,” and U2 covers. If you’re looking for a great local electro pop band, City Rain are your boys.
Michael: In the late 70’s Bruce Springsteen and his guitar saved rock and roll from it's then mortal enemy: disco. And while Brooklyn-based Team Spirit front man Ayad Al Adhamy does wield a blonde Fender Esquire to admonish “no talent bedroom synth acts,” his foe is a new enemy of rock and roll: Timidity; and on Thursday night, Team Spirit killed it.
Team Spirit took the Black Box stage by storm, and transformed the small theater into their own garage show. After drummer Alex Russek opened the set with hard hitting drum solo that nearly dismantled his floor tom, Team Spirit bandmates joined him on stage and went to work.
Here, Adhamy made his first blow to the timid beast; he slashed the Black box room in half, calling passive listeners off the flight of chairs in the back that make the venue a little too cozy, and ushering a small mob to the floor space right in front of the stage.
What ensued was 35 minutes of heavy punk pop power, anthemic choruses, and an aggressive assault on the stand-by, shy, adolescent fears that even we 20 and 30 somethings still harbor after years of trying to be cool. Team Spirit are not ironically named; they are not angst-ridden, “us and them,” finger pointers. Instead, their music genuinely makes it clear: our inhibitions are the only elephant in the room; get rid of them, and they’re plenty of room for everyone.
Adhamy’s final onslaught came at the show’s climax. He ran into the crowd and chucked his guitar back on stage. Grabbing his mic, he got down on his knees and called the crowd around him to do the same. Underneath the fuzzed out bass, pounding drums and crunchy SG, a voice was heard. A timid voice. “What are we doing?” a hesitant fan asked, gradually finding the floor. Off mic, Adhamy turned to her without missing a beat and replied, “Having fun.”
Emily: A few years ago, at the tail end of a Mississippi summer, I biked through Jackson’s neighborhoods to see The Weeks play an outdoor festival in Belhaven. They rocked hard for neighbors, past teachers, friends and families who filled the lawn at the hometown show, and as a storm rolled in and the sky opened up and rained down upon the stage…The Weeks. Rocked. On. Rain bounced from the cymbals while the boys whipped water from their long hair, and Sam Williams sent electric guitar licks into the misty night to dance with the ghosts of Mississippi’s rock and blues legends. It was the first I saw them, and the show left such an impression on me.
A few years and record labels down the road, this January, The Weeks traveled north and headlined the Communion show at Underground Arts in Philly. Recently signed to Kings of Leon’s Serpent and Snakes label, The Weeks have been taking their hard and gritty southern roots rock to the pop scene across the country, and a loyalist crowd, albeit a Yankee one, showed up at Underground Arts for them. The band took the stage with, “The House We Grew Up In,” and as Cain Barns beat out dance eighth notes on a high hat, his brother Cyle howled, “the kids were going crazy to that Mississippi rain; I said: ‘Oh oh, let the band play,’” and the northern crowd did let the band play, and danced along as if they too could feel that Mississippi rain.
The Weeks rolled through material that hyped the pop crowd while satisfying the souls of classic rock and southern blues enthusiasts. Admiral Collier, a recent addition to the band, slid around nasty organ licks that harken to Garth Hudson, while Damien Bone hit jangly Buddy Holly bass lines that hold songs while weaving curiously through them. And everyone who listened took in the calculated lyricism that glorifies the boys’ home state. With verses thick with Mississippi mud, Mississippi rain, Muddy Waters, southern whiskeys and southern hearts, the band pays tribute to their homeland in a way that only southern rock and soul bands can do (Drive-by Truckers, Marshall Tucker Band), and the northern audience loved it. From the stage-side head bangers to the group of post-grad frat-bros, together, everyone sang, “I know of a place that gets slow when it rains, with a sky that’s as blue as the blood in my veins, and a burnt cigarette sits on some window pane with the loud laughs and thunder in a slow southern state,” and they sang it as if they did know that place.
And I appreciate that. It felt good to be forever young and southern with the Weeks that night, and whether you’ve been to their Mississippi or not, it feels good to let them take you back. When these boys next play a show in your hometown, on a rainy deck or underground stage, git your ass there.
Lineup:
1) The House that we Grew Up In
2) Lawman’s Daughter
3) Bad Enough
4) Brother in the Night
5) Thief in my Mouth
6) Gobi Blues
7) Slave to the South
8) Chicahominy
9) Buttons
Michael: Communion is about community, and Philadelphia has no better band to headline the event than Toy Soldiers. In the last few years, Toy Soldiers and unwavering front man Ron Gallo have turned their brand of swamp-tonk & roll into a Philadelphia movement, and transformed venues like Fergie’s and Ortlieb’s into Grange Hall throw-downs that gather together Philly’s musicians, comedians, photographers, and artists. On Thursday, the usual suspects stayed late, and the Maybe Boys capped the night off right.
A hallmark of a great band is the ability to create a complete group vibe that still features the personalities of its individual members. Doing so keeps each show and each set fresh, as different personas burn bright like the colored stage lights that fade in and out in time. This is all part of the Toy Soldiers experience. Front and center is Ron Gallo, calling out to faraway figures he’s characterized in song. Luke Leidy takes his turn walking hand in hand with speak-easy piano tones, and Bill McCloskey’s bass rumbles with the weight of a loaded flatbed rolling out of some dust-bowl storm. Dominic Billett is a freight train with a head of steam, keeping his beat and the band on track, but pushing the rails hard enough to shake a few spikes loose. And on this night, it was guitarist Matt Kelly who carved the hardest canyon. His solos rose out of the sonic landscape like a sickle-moon, and cut with the clarity and presence of a winter night.
And before we went out back into our own winter’s night, when the crowd screamed for more, we were rewarded with “Maybe,” a song that in its search for some fertile ground, inevitably sows life in the hearts of the community of listeners who have all suddenly huddled a little bit closer.
Philadelphia Communion Show – January '14
By Michael Southerton and Emily Southerton
Rosu LupMichael: SXSW-bound Philly songsters Rosu Lup set a beautiful precedent by kicking off Communion on the Underground Arts Black Box Stage. The songs of Rosu Lup are tenderly crafted melodies that weave elements of Appalachian roots with
modern sonic aesthetics. The steel resonance of acoustic guitars and banjos are folded into a reverb-soaked backdrop provided by rich California tones from the electric guitar. The backbeat drives the rich rhythm section, and the core of the four-piece band is uplifted by the lovely addition of strings (two violins) and brass (trumpet and trombone.)
And “uplifting” is perhaps the most appropriate term to describe Rosu Lup. While all songs carry the burden of reality, they offer each listener the comfort of a helping hand, of a guiding voice. Rosu Lup will not be the sunshine on a rainy day, but they will grace you with the beauty of the rain. In one particular song, “Pine,” they ask the listener, “Did you find what you were looking for?” If you haven’t, you might try Rosu Lup.
City Rain
Emily: City Rain played second. The Philly electro pop duo started big with their latest single, “Join the Human Race,” which is a feel-good highly-digitized pop song that has the build and feel of Arcade Fire’s hook in “Wake Up,” or anything from “Joshua Tree.” Bassist Scott Cumpstone thumped with the beat while lead singer Ben Runyan (synth & beats) sang full-throated and passionately over the track and jumped around the stage to hype the audience early on. While a duo, City Rain has feel of a trio by using video projection in such a present and dramatic way that it almost becomes a third member of the band. Through “Join the Human Race,” and the rest of their set, City Rain projected a hodgepodge of shots from their latest music videos above the stage—shots of a young boy running, empty classrooms, and photos of themselves.
The whole set was solid, and City Rain got a lot of folks really dancing and enjoying themselves as they ran through more original hits like “There is an Optimist in Me,” and U2 covers. If you’re looking for a great local electro pop band, City Rain are your boys.
Team Spirit
Michael: In the late 70’s Bruce Springsteen and his guitar saved rock and roll from it's then mortal enemy: disco. And while Brooklyn-based Team Spirit front man Ayad Al Adhamy does wield a blonde Fender Esquire to admonish “no talent bedroom synth acts,” his foe is a new enemy of rock and roll: Timidity; and on Thursday night, Team Spirit killed it.
Team Spirit took the Black Box stage by storm, and transformed the small theater into their own garage show. After drummer Alex Russek opened the set with hard hitting drum solo that nearly dismantled his floor tom, Team Spirit bandmates joined him on stage and went to work.
Here, Adhamy made his first blow to the timid beast; he slashed the Black box room in half, calling passive listeners off the flight of chairs in the back that make the venue a little too cozy, and ushering a small mob to the floor space right in front of the stage.
What ensued was 35 minutes of heavy punk pop power, anthemic choruses, and an aggressive assault on the stand-by, shy, adolescent fears that even we 20 and 30 somethings still harbor after years of trying to be cool. Team Spirit are not ironically named; they are not angst-ridden, “us and them,” finger pointers. Instead, their music genuinely makes it clear: our inhibitions are the only elephant in the room; get rid of them, and they’re plenty of room for everyone.
Adhamy’s final onslaught came at the show’s climax. He ran into the crowd and chucked his guitar back on stage. Grabbing his mic, he got down on his knees and called the crowd around him to do the same. Underneath the fuzzed out bass, pounding drums and crunchy SG, a voice was heard. A timid voice. “What are we doing?” a hesitant fan asked, gradually finding the floor. Off mic, Adhamy turned to her without missing a beat and replied, “Having fun.”
The Weeks
Emily: A few years ago, at the tail end of a Mississippi summer, I biked through Jackson’s neighborhoods to see The Weeks play an outdoor festival in Belhaven. They rocked hard for neighbors, past teachers, friends and families who filled the lawn at the hometown show, and as a storm rolled in and the sky opened up and rained down upon the stage…The Weeks. Rocked. On. Rain bounced from the cymbals while the boys whipped water from their long hair, and Sam Williams sent electric guitar licks into the misty night to dance with the ghosts of Mississippi’s rock and blues legends. It was the first I saw them, and the show left such an impression on me.
A few years and record labels down the road, this January, The Weeks traveled north and headlined the Communion show at Underground Arts in Philly. Recently signed to Kings of Leon’s Serpent and Snakes label, The Weeks have been taking their hard and gritty southern roots rock to the pop scene across the country, and a loyalist crowd, albeit a Yankee one, showed up at Underground Arts for them. The band took the stage with, “The House We Grew Up In,” and as Cain Barns beat out dance eighth notes on a high hat, his brother Cyle howled, “the kids were going crazy to that Mississippi rain; I said: ‘Oh oh, let the band play,’” and the northern crowd did let the band play, and danced along as if they too could feel that Mississippi rain.
The Weeks rolled through material that hyped the pop crowd while satisfying the souls of classic rock and southern blues enthusiasts. Admiral Collier, a recent addition to the band, slid around nasty organ licks that harken to Garth Hudson, while Damien Bone hit jangly Buddy Holly bass lines that hold songs while weaving curiously through them. And everyone who listened took in the calculated lyricism that glorifies the boys’ home state. With verses thick with Mississippi mud, Mississippi rain, Muddy Waters, southern whiskeys and southern hearts, the band pays tribute to their homeland in a way that only southern rock and soul bands can do (Drive-by Truckers, Marshall Tucker Band), and the northern audience loved it. From the stage-side head bangers to the group of post-grad frat-bros, together, everyone sang, “I know of a place that gets slow when it rains, with a sky that’s as blue as the blood in my veins, and a burnt cigarette sits on some window pane with the loud laughs and thunder in a slow southern state,” and they sang it as if they did know that place.
And I appreciate that. It felt good to be forever young and southern with the Weeks that night, and whether you’ve been to their Mississippi or not, it feels good to let them take you back. When these boys next play a show in your hometown, on a rainy deck or underground stage, git your ass there.
Lineup:
1) The House that we Grew Up In
2) Lawman’s Daughter
3) Bad Enough
4) Brother in the Night
5) Thief in my Mouth
6) Gobi Blues
7) Slave to the South
8) Chicahominy
9) Buttons
Toy Soldiers
Michael: Communion is about community, and Philadelphia has no better band to headline the event than Toy Soldiers. In the last few years, Toy Soldiers and unwavering front man Ron Gallo have turned their brand of swamp-tonk & roll into a Philadelphia movement, and transformed venues like Fergie’s and Ortlieb’s into Grange Hall throw-downs that gather together Philly’s musicians, comedians, photographers, and artists. On Thursday, the usual suspects stayed late, and the Maybe Boys capped the night off right.
A hallmark of a great band is the ability to create a complete group vibe that still features the personalities of its individual members. Doing so keeps each show and each set fresh, as different personas burn bright like the colored stage lights that fade in and out in time. This is all part of the Toy Soldiers experience. Front and center is Ron Gallo, calling out to faraway figures he’s characterized in song. Luke Leidy takes his turn walking hand in hand with speak-easy piano tones, and Bill McCloskey’s bass rumbles with the weight of a loaded flatbed rolling out of some dust-bowl storm. Dominic Billett is a freight train with a head of steam, keeping his beat and the band on track, but pushing the rails hard enough to shake a few spikes loose. And on this night, it was guitarist Matt Kelly who carved the hardest canyon. His solos rose out of the sonic landscape like a sickle-moon, and cut with the clarity and presence of a winter night.
And before we went out back into our own winter’s night, when the crowd screamed for more, we were rewarded with “Maybe,” a song that in its search for some fertile ground, inevitably sows life in the hearts of the community of listeners who have all suddenly huddled a little bit closer.
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