With this their sixth album, their previous being 2023’s playfully lo-fi Grog, Frog set out to lean into that repetition, to see how far that original bit of inspiration could carry them. The album’s 11 tracks are unified by one common factor: they all carry the same chords. Although different tracks hit different emotional tones, and lyrical content is a scattershot variety of topics ranging from reflections of fatherhood to drunken doomscrolling, front man Daniel Bateman states that the album, in essence, all consists of the same song. “1000 Variations on the Same Song is a theme and variations. There are times in your life as a songwriter where you’ll start a bunch of stuff that all sounds alike, which can be a problem, something that you want to excise from yourself. This time, I decided to embrace it and take it as far as it could go,” Bateman had said about the record. 

With this ethos in mind, the album encapsulates the intentional and idiosyncratic alt-country that the band has become known for while also adding a level of improvisation and creative curiosity to their work. The most exemplary section of songs that emphasize this, after the bittersweet opener of “STILLWATER THEME”, are the first four variations, “TOP OF THE POP’S VAR.1” through “HOUSEBROKEN VAR. IV”, all of which were recorded in one continuous 15 minute sequence. Although Frog’s discography would typically never be characterized as disciplined, this embrace of freeform musicality and spontaneous inspiration allow for a unique conceptual arc to carry across the entire album. 

Their alt-rock aspirations collide with intimations of rap, Daniel Bateman was apparently listening to a lot of Kodak Black while conceiving the album, in “HOUSEBROKEN VAR. IV”, with lyrics like, “My niece was seven when she felt chinchilla / Fucking up the track like my name J Dilla / Topped Michael Jackson I outsold Thriller / No cap, just facts man, a stone-cold killеr,” being set against steady guitars. This melancholic mumble rap transforms into something more sensual on the jittery album highlight “JUST USE YR HIPS VAR. VI” with the lines, “Southside outside is the place we rest at / House full of down to rides / Yes they do keep a strap / If no dollar sign is implied or attached / Then baby doll of mine you can miss me with that.”

This willingness to transform rudimentary means into an array of dexterous songs is the album’s ultimate strength, finding inventiveness in the uninventive. With their distinctly Americana instrumentation of banjos, pianos, and guitars, all married together with Daniel’s warbling falsetto, 1000 Variations on the Same Song finds a broad spectrum of emotionality within its set sonic template. It’s an album that proves that there are a multitude of sounds and experiences to be discovered in artistic redundancy and in building upon what is already known.  

The post Over and Over Again on Frog’s “1000 Variations on the Same Song” appeared first on KRUI Radio.

Assisting him on drums was Jack Chaffer from full body 2, the band he’d been touring with. Rows and rows of bright lights were flickering faster, making letters and shapes. Somewhere a machine spurted out smoke, before the bell like synths of “Livin’ Loose”, off his album Slide, started the show. It all felt immense. Enormous now, the sound was all around us and everyone was moving as the beat pulsed. Clanton wailed out “If you don’t hurt me I won’t hurt you back/Don’t want to lose you.”

We had then entered into timelessness, a wild feeling that happens when a show becomes more than a show and becomes everything, all that’s important is in the moment. No outside world, only the here-and-now in the crowd. You can’t process thought. An overwrought emotion akin to ecstasy as you’re squeezed against some raving fan screaming in your ear, skin against skin, sweat from shoving and jumping. Lasers.

A new song, I don’t remember which one, maybe the title track off his latest album, Ooh Rap I Ya, moved us into a more trance like atmosphere with its juvenile enthusiasm. 3D models of abstract blobs of color, yellow, orange, neon greens and wobbling blues, were on the TV sets while Clanton was throwing himself upon the towers before descending into the audience. Some people were standing still and hitting a vape in a small circle. Clanton grabbed water bottles, opened and flung them at the crowd. It was all so wet. Lots of sensation. I think I hugged him at one point. 

“Justify Your Life”, “Make It Forever”, “Punching Down”, all bangers. Absolute anthems. Clanton’s discography contains a clear eyed understanding of nostalgia, the misty undercurrents of memory and how it can layer and change, even in the span of a song. Nostalgia itself should be true. An intimate remembrance hyper-specific to one’s sense of self and lived experience. Recalling childish terrors, diving in the deep of what comes at night before the onslaught of sleep and dream. What a life can hold. We all exist in specific contexts.

Nostalgia currently in the cultural landscape is more a means to capitalize on itself for the sake of escapism, profit, and product rather than a pure memory that can sometimes come to you. Nostalgia now is a constant regurgitation of defunct memory until nothing means anything anymore and you find yourself existing in a present already bogged down with the past. We are consistently told to remember when. To wallow in it when times were better and more free, and when we weren’t burdened by the world. 

Nostalgia. It’s all artifice, but that’s what makes it alluring. The genre where Clanton first established himself, vaporwave, is essentially predicated upon creating false nostalgia. There, accelerated hyper-capitalist renderings of modern life are meshed with contemporary internet aesthetics, all while reworking ’80s and ’90s music for a total tranced out experience. It’s a genre filled with ghosts. Clanton’s image isn’t pure. The flashing lights became emojis, old PlayStation logos, you might have seen some scatterings of Neon Genesis Evangelion and other anime flash briefly on the many TVs. Clanton has crafted his stage persona to encapsulate the terminally online, future sound of music, combining Internet aesthetics and production with glittering pop-hooks reminiscent of the Backstreet Boys and Seal. However, it’s his sheer earnestness and sincerity that cuts through all the artifice to get at real vulnerable emotion. 

It’s easy to grow disillusioned on the Internet. Like Sisyphus, we’re bound to doom scrolling: you will hit the wall and you will hit the vape. Most of his music is focused on looking back on the past. Ooh Rap I Ya’s lead single, which served as the show closer, is literally called “I Been Young”. With this though, both Clanton’s musical talent and ferocity for live stage shows can only ground you in an unadulterated present. Yeah I raved, and it felt good. Writing this now, I can’t shake a small frustration with not being able to fully articulate how alive a show can make you feel, the physicality and passion provided by the spectacle. I took two low quality photos of the show. Looking back, mean nothing to me now. I have similar photos from when I saw Clanton months ago in Madison.

The post Mission Creek: George Clanton and When You Have a Déjà Vu of a Déjà Vu of a Déjà Vu… appeared first on KRUI Radio.

Within the line though were many dressed to their best for what was dubbed “Screamo Prom” by those in the community. Attire included the attempted elegance of high school formal wear combined with darker aesthetic elements fitting the genre of screamo. In this line, and in the days preceding, the local scene was bustling in anticipation. 

-Glab

Image via Paul Botch

Psyop

February 2nd saw the arrival of the eagerly anticipated Screamo Prom, the first proper Iowa City hardcore show of the year. The opening band, local hardcore juggernauts Psyop, were incredibly fitting and, furthermore, representative of the scene, sound, and DIY sensibilities of the Iowa City World City mantra.  

Fronted by prolific local artist and musician Dolly Sperry, they delivered a powerful set rife with rage and passion. Without hesitancy, the set whipped the crowd into an inescapable rolling flurry. It set the stage for what proved to be a legendary night full of talented musicians. Psyop kicked down the door, and everybody else filed in. 

-Joan Priester

Image via John Glab

Aseethe

Swathed in the reds and blues of stage light, Aseethe began their set sending a single dense note into the crowd at Gabe’s who were already itching for a mosh. Diverging from the night’s up-tempo punk, they delivered a change of pace to the lineup with their slow and droning doom metal. Sludgy notes formed into motifs, repeating themselves while overlaying new sounds and vocals into a mesmerizing pattern.  

As the only band of the night using a synth, an uncommon choice for doom metal, they built in an electric effect into their sound. The underlaying synth bled together their layers of sound, distorting the air into a dense mist of pure noise that seeped across the room. Repetitive sounds continued building, bending, and bleeding together into a hypnotic rhythm. One of my favorites of the night for their unique heavy style, Aseethe brought a dense metallic performance to the show’s lineup, generating a droning fog to drag a crowd into their doom. 

-Pauly

Image via Sam Hammond

Bootcamp

Bootcamp’s set was marked by a sharp increase in stagediving, and the like. The chaos seems to have only incentivized the crowd. During the set, not only were there stagedivers, but there were also crawlers, flippers, and even several cases of audience members remaining on stage and singing with Bootcamp’s vocalist. All of it together made for a vivid, lively, and positively unique experience for those in attendance. With this fervor in activity from the audience, the band took it in stride. Their set was fantastic, none of the members, at least outwardly, phased by the happenings of the raucous crowd.  

The band, particularly the guitarist and vocalist, blended a sense of early rock joy into their hardcore musical stylings, jumping and dancing as if it were the ‘60s. The music, too, was on point. The drummer was a particular highlight, while all three of the other members of Bootcamp performed excellently throughout their set. Perhaps the most important gauge of a good set to me is how much fun the band was clearly having. The grinning smiles on the vocalist’s and guitarist’s faces were clear indications of that. 

-Harry Epstein

Image via Sam Hammond

Your Arms Are My Cocoon

Someone said, “Hey, can I borrow your vape?” during a brief reprieve of silence in the beginning of Your Arms Are My Cocoon’s set at Screamo Prom. As the stage was awash in pink light, everyone crowded towards the front to get closer to Your Arms Are My Cocoon’s lead, Tyler Odom. They were dressed in prom attire and wearing a bunny cap that obscured their eyes (sadly not a Gummo reference, I asked them. Rather it’s a natural acknowledgement of their love of caring for bunnies in their off time).  

Through a flurry of unreleased songs and cuts from their 2020 self-titled EP, YAAMC managed to bring their unique blend of rage and melancholy. Their genre clash of bedroom pop and traditional screamo singing bled through into a uniquely cathartic set. Their control of the crowd had people kicking and screaming one moment, then slowly swaying together the next. People weren’t just screaming just to scream, rather screaming lyrics along with the band.  

Emotions were in the air. If there’s one thing I remember about this show, it’s the swiftness between trying not to collapse under the weight of the crowd pushing towards the stage, then holding hands with my friends as the band broke into a ballad, with everyone collectively stopping for a second. 

-Benjamin Romero

Image via John Glab

Frail Body

Before this night, I’d never properly listened to Frail Body. I’d heard a few songs back in October, sitting in the front of my friend’s car, which was filled with a strange sense of high energy delirium I have only really felt while driving home from shows. I barely remembered how they sounded. However, I could almost remember the way my chest ached, and how my peripheral was filled with aviation obstructions and headlights. I remember how tired I was, and how I didn’t care.   

Right before Frail Body went onstage, I also found myself very tired. Each set had been fantastic, but by round five I found myself so drained that I didn’t know what to do with myself.  I was sitting outside of Gabriel’s, watching whisps of cigarette smoke blow in the breeze and wondering how on earth I was going to be able to stay awake long enough to cover this show. A blare of sound check echoed around the garden, and it was time for me to head inside.   

Frail Body woke me up from a trance. I was swept into the pit by dense instrumentation and exposing vocals, letting the piercing waves swallow me whole. Just as this noise began to consume me, the sun broke through, melting all over. The music was tragic but hopeful. You’re falling on the ground, but you’re facing up towards the light. Triumphant bell tones and misty, dark melodies soundtracked this collapse, and blanketed the crowd. It became too much to kick and scream. My feet began to move differently, loosening without the pressure. Flinging myself across a sea of figures, I was ready for the tragedy to not hurt so much anymore. <3

-Casper Bakker

Image via John Glab

In Loving Memory

It had been a tumultuous night already, with each consecutive artist seeming to only amplify the already electric energy of the house. However, by the time 9:30 PM rolled around, the night had taken its toll. Many held towards the back, taking a breather and getting their energy back, that is, until the set began.  

In Loving Memory is one of Iowa’s finest in terms of musical artists. Seamlessly bridging the gaps between the similar but distinct fields of emo, screamo, and emoviolence, they rose to prominence around the turn of the century. Both during their short reign, and in the time since garnering a cult following, their no-holds-barred screaming delivery that doesn’t compromise a millimeter of intricately crafted riffage, has built an immensely exciting aura. The result is a galvanizing, high-tension experience. Look no further than the effect on the crowd that night.  

In mere minutes the general atmosphere turned on a dime from black-and-blue exhaustion to a surging, explosive mosh pit. While their set was brief by most standards, clocking in at about a half hour, those who have listened to their music before know that is more than enough time for them to deliver a potent combination of musical punches, and the band proved it. While bands that reunite after almost two decades often lack the consistency, energy, and hunger that fans often crave from their original work, In Loving Memory proved to be a welcome exception to such expectations. Their stage presence alone was enough to demolish any such thoughts, as they flew about the stage and even into the crowd.

In an emotional address after the set, the band thanked everyone for showing up and convincing the band to return from the grave, as many of them never anticipated to return to the project. They were met with deafening cheers and demands for an encore as they came together and embraced. It perfectly concluded the night dubbed Screamo Prom, which at its core, centered around community, support, and love for the scene. 

-Evan Raefield

The post Screamo Prom 2K24 at Gabe’s appeared first on KRUI Radio.

The plot is relatively simple. In the vast emptiness of the French Alps, novelist Sandra Voyter (Sandra Hüller) is under suspicion after her husband was found, by their visually impaired son (Milo Machado Graner), dead after falling from the attic of their house, with his blood spattered all over the snow. Due to the inconclusive autopsy, it is unknown whether or not he committed suicide or was pushed. Charting the nightmarish, year-long court procedure coming immediately after the discovery, Sandra must prove her innocence, as she was the only one in the house at the time when it happened, and she was his wife.

Anatomy of a Fall operates on a multitude of levels, as a courtroom procedural, a thriller, a divorce drama, a ghost story, and it is due to these multitudes that Anatomy evades heavy handed melodrama to firmly place itself in cold realism, moving at a glacial pace before it burns and reopens the wound. Unlike the more recent divorce drama Marriage Story, whose emotional pyrotechnics were parodied and memed to death across the internet, Anatomy never allows its emotional ambition to be easily dismissed. It’s an exhausting film. Lasting 151 minutes, the film is an open casket for the central relationship. We see it all, the contempt and angst in this dead marriage.

This is credit not only to Triet’s precise direction, but also to Sandra Hüller’s quietly devastating performance. It’s a truly lived-in portrayal of a woman usurped by grief, trying to refute the public perception of herself as a monster, and a murderer. It is in her best moments where she is at once both vulnerable yet restrained, where we can tell she’s truthful, yet still an enigma. In each instance where more damning evidence is revealed, we devilishly want to keep poking and prodding deeper, unfurling all the messy details trapped inside her. The film understands our want, and our need for a salacious story.

Triet seems to take the perspective of a documenter in Anatomy of a Fall, and it’s clear about halfway through what Sandra is and is-not guilty of, yet Triet never wants us to be complicit in our opinions. At one point in the film, some talk show hosts liken Sandra’s court case to her novels, and gleefully contemplate the possibility of life imitating art. It seems like Triet wants to reprimand us for our need to distance ourselves from tragedy with tabloid gossip and quick spectacle, in order to try and deal with the bleak truth waiting for us at the end of it all.

‘Anatomy of a Fall’ is currently playing at FilmScene in Iowa City, as of November 4th, 2023.

The 500 Club seeks to provide concise film reviews and criticism at around a cool 500 words for your viewing pleasure.

The post The 500 Club: Justine Triet’s “Anatomy of a Fall” appeared first on KRUI Radio.

Mission Creek so far had been a blur. On Thursday through Friday I was bemoaning a late essay I had to write. I stayed up all night with no sleep, then I’m jumping erratically as Sudan Archives sings “I just wanna have my titties out,” while screaming until I can’t speak without sounding like an anti-smoking ad. Snail Mail was okay – not really my scene – but shoutout to all the shaggy mullet girlies living it up. On Saturday, I ran around Iowa City, at book fairs and in back alleys, until I showed up to the venue, jaywalking.

My legs are sore and there’s a sheen of sweat on me. TEKE::TEKE are about to perform and they’re the last act of the festival. The room is almost empty at 10:37, then it’s suddenly packed with everyone from boater-hat-wearing, craft-beer-drinking hipsters to scene kids with anachronistic appearances, looking for a fight. As the band starts plugging in their instruments, we all collectively move up to the front. Multi-colored lights shine brightly onstage.

Most people have no clue about the band they’re about to see perform. The ensemble band based out of Montreal start playing “Kala Kala”, the cinematic opener to their debut album “Shirushi”. Lead singer Maya Kuroki strikes a dramatic pose while waiting for her cue to start roaring out the song’s lyrics. In an instant, the song sparks into an energetic tidal wave of percussion, guitar, flute and Kuroki’s vocals. Now, the audience understands that there’s a special, incandescent quality to what’s transpiring before them.

People respond immediately, going from just bobbing their heads to shaking and shoving while the song builds into a torrential breakdown. A screeching sound flows into the next song, the nocturnal surf-rock infused “Yoru Ni”. Then the song ends. The lead guitarist meekly says, “Hello Iowa City, we’re TEKE::TEKE from Montreal, we’re so excited to be here.” In response to this, I hear a girl drunkenly slur out a “fuck yeah,” while the band continues its explosively energetic set.

If you were to encapsulate the entirety of TEKE::TEKE’s performance, it would be a show of precise chaos. While the crowd shrieked and moshed to Japanese lyrics that they couldn’t understand, the band never lost its flamboyant flow of rhythm. They delivered a sonic knockout, again and again, after each song. At the forefront of the performance was Kuroki, who belted out each lyric with a fierce theatricality. Kuroki sometimes hit a gong or cowbell to break into dance alongside flutist Yuki Isami, who was dressed in a white flapper dress and go-go boots. Besides the vocal performance, there was wild percussion, forceful guitars, and a fluttering flute. Plus a trombone that switched to a bagpipe for a few songs then back to a trombone. Few bands can claim this much variety and instrumental talent.

At one point the band asked, “Does anyone here know TEKE::TEKE?” There were a couple whoops in the crowd. I screamed (I fell in love with “Shirushi” in December 2021), but it was a rare moment in the show when most of the audience stood still. But if you didn’t know the songs at all, it didn’t matter. Everyone connected and joined TEKE::TEKE’s wild song.

After the show I was able to talk to a few members of the band (guitarists Hidetaka Yoneyama and Serge Nakauchi Pelletier, bassist Miska Stein and drummer Samuel Woywitka). Though I was discombobulated, I managed to get a few impromptu questions in. One of my questions was about the band’s eclectic sound. How did their musical blend of various genres and inspirations come together? Another question was about their global perspective. As a Canadian band performing in Japanese styles, specifically eleki, and the language as well, how does that affect how people perceive their work?

Paraphrasing Stein’s response: “Yeah, of course there’s always the presence of the West, or white people, as we’re from Montreal, so you can’t really escape that… but we focus mostly on Japanese lyrics and styles, so there’s that clash kind of… lots of theatricality, and that has a lot to do with Maya, as she has a theatre and arts background.”

“We started out as a tribute band to Takeshi Terauchi, there were just a few of us, and we were just instrumental at that point, but when Maya got on board we started creating our own songs, own music. Most of our band is Japanese, and that also ties into like ‘appropriation’ or just taking inspiration from different cultures because we all have different backgrounds and approaches, so that blending of styles really makes itself known in our work… and you’ll definitely hear that on the new record.” Stein is talking about their forthcoming sophomore LP, “Hagata”, which will release in June. 

Other members said that it was great to see how the audience reacted to their performance. They claimed it was one of the best shows they’d played in a while. I also asked them about their cover of Unwound’s post-hardcore song “Corpse Pose”. Yoneyama and Nakauchi Pelletier talked about how they had just come from playing with Unwound in New York and Philadelphia, saying they were “great guys, really phenomenal to work with.”

“What’s the name of the radio station you’re from again?” Asks Woywitka.

“It’s called KRUI 89.7, yeah we have a website and everything,” I say.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I see you guys play shit from us as well as other projects I’m in. I see you guys all the time on my monthly log reports.” 

The true highlight of the set was towards the end, when the band played their ecstatic song “Barbara”. The song built in noise and energy to an eager audience who was ready to give itself completely to TEKE::TEKE. At this point I was directly in front of the stage. I was fully engrossed in the moment, but for a few seconds, I looked back at the crowd. All I could see was a swarm of raging limbs and bodies all flowing to the music. A paralyzing, exciting sight, until a body crashed into me, and I snapped back to reality to regain my footing.

Each second that passed, the crowd moved faster and harder to the music, until the song ended. After their closing song “Meikyu,” TEKE::TEKE thanked the crowd and started packing up their instruments. Still ecstatic, the crowd started chanting for an encore.

In shows I’ve seen, artists usually tease an encore for vanity, as a way for the audience to cheer their name some more, when all along they’ve planned to play for longer anyways. But in this case, TEKE::TEKE seemed genuinely stunned at the buzzing reaction to their set. In response to this outpouring of love and excitement for the band, they set their instruments back up. The band played an instrumental melody as an epitaph to Mission Creek, while Kuroki danced and shimmed on the side.

After the band truly finished, people kept talking about how great and unexpected the band had been. I remember walking over to John, as we’d been in proximity to each other throughout the show, and saying, “Shit was so good, I think I might buy a t-shirt.”

“What?” He said, as our ears were basically blasted to oblivion at this point.

“I said that the show was so good it makes me want to buy a t-shirt.”

The post “Does anyone here know TEKE::TEKE?” Mission Creek’s closing act appeared first on KRUI Radio.

TEKE::TEKE plays primarily alternative rock music, taking heavy inspiration from psychedelia and Japanese eleki music – surf rock originating in Japan during the 60s and 70s. Aesthetically, the band expresses itself through kaleidoscopic, pop-art visuals as seen through their music videos. Through combining both Eastern and Western influences, the band’s music takes on a unique cinematic quality. The band roars with originality, as seen in their debut 2018 EP “Jikaku” and their 2021 album “Shirushi”, which was longlisted for the Polaris Music Prize. “Shirushi” contains a fierce cinematic quality – as if it were the score of a Western taking place in a water park – filled with riotous, psychedelic instrumentation and forceful vocals that fill the balladry and drama of the project.

TEKE::TEKE has an upcoming album, “Hagata”, on June 9th, featuring the recently released singles “Gotoku Lemon” and “Garakuta”. Other notable singles from the band also include “Kala Kala,” “Barbara”, and a cover of Unwound’s “Corpse Pose”. TEKE::TEKE will perform at 10:45 p.m. Saturday, the final act of the festival.

The post Mission Creek Preview: TEKE::TEKE appeared first on KRUI Radio.

It’s that one traditional holiday that your parents always want to celebrate, so you do it to appease them. Plus, since it’s a national holiday, there’s no work or school. An aura of leisure is in the autumnal air, as it gets colder and colder.

But there’s a constant reminder that Christmas is right around the corner. In the moment, it feels like Thanksgiving is pushed to the side, antiquated almost. Even at the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade, everyone wants to see Santa, not some C-list star sing their latest pop song.

So in honor of this lax holiday that comes and goes quickly like the leaves, KRUI has compiled a playlist filled with songs of thanks, emotional conflict, idleness, community, family, and food. A reminder to allow for moments of connection and joy, and to reflect on the year so far as well. Enjoy the bird and happy holidays.

The post Thanksgiving at KRUI appeared first on KRUI Radio.

Upon my arrival, I heard a booming noise upstairs. The sound check was strong enough to make the stairs shake. It sounded like what you’d hear if you’re some Berghain hopeful, standing in line for like 5 hours, only to be rejected by the bouncer for looking like a poorly-dressed poser.

What you’re left with is the throbbing techno spilling out into the open air. The sound brings a foreboding feeling of exhaustion, a hint of the wild experience ahead. This aggressive thudding from above informed me that these performances wouldn’t be demure in sound or scope. There would be no lullabies, only night terrors.

The Feed Me Weird Things listening series, who sponsored the FEaST festival, brought three extreme voices together for one night: Masma Dream World, Joe Rainey, and Duma. It was a trio that celebrated otherness in music. If there’s one word to describe each act succinctly, it would be loud. Noise loud enough to give you tinnitus, to make your blood pulse faster.

The artists gave performances rooted in unique cultural practices that informed their abrasive, individualistic sounds. When the show started, I was curling up underneath an air dryer, trying not to die of temperature exposure. When I exited the bathroom, someone wrapped in a yellow shawl jumped off the stage, which was now soaked in red light. Surprise, I actually died and this is the obituary I wrote from hell.

In what appeared to be a cleansing rite, the figure visited each corner of the room with lithe but warning movements. I soon learned that this figure was Masma Dream World.

Masma Dream World

Masma Dream World, or Devi Mambouka, resides in a unique place culturally as an African immigrant from the Bronx with ethnic roots in both Gabon and Singapore. Within this exchange of multi-ethnic identities, a new voice is found.

This voice is a variety of spiritual practices, such as Reiki, that culminate in a performance akin to a sacred ritual. Throughout their set, a spectacle comparable to Diamanda Galás emerged. Hissing, screaming, and singing worked against each other to channel a greater force into Iowa City. With ferocity in their eyes, the music shook the floor as they entered a state of what appeared to be religious ecstasy. Mambouka fell to the floor mid-performance, convulsing .

The emotionally dynamic set closed with a stellar finale. A drum was introduced, used, and attacked while a chanting backing track clashed with Mambouka’s own vocals. The space became anxious and enrapturing, like some ancient god’s wrath.

When the performance ended, Mambouka snapped back into normal consciousness like nothing had happened. The seemingly wild, uncoordinated performance now looked all the more impressive, with an extreme level of commitment to one’s art.

Mambouka explained afterwards that these means of practice and performance can help channel and find individual magic within themselves. This magic enables them to process pain and trauma in a meaningful way.

Through this showcase, Mambouka accomplishes that goal. Even though the music itself is austere and in some ways esoteric, Masma Dream World allows emotion to spring forth like light against shadow. 

Joe Rainey 

Imagine traditional, vocable, indigenous powwow music. Now imagine that powwow music set to rapid-fire, experimental electronic music. Enter Joe Rainey and his producer, Andrew Broder of Fog.

This avant-garde fusion of music, both of past and present, results in a sound that, truly, you have never heard before. Rainey’s vocals acted as sort of a battalion strike against the percussion and synths provided by Broder. A mix of repeating analog tape recordings of past powwows and vocal splice added an imposing history to the performance. It created a musical collage of both time and emotion, set at breakneck speed.

Such a singular combination of genre seems like an impenetrable listening experience. But Rainey came off as unpretentious in his red Vans. He used his performance as an interlocutor for the rich heritage of Native music combined with industrial, innovative production, while not losing his cultural footing.

Rainey’s vocals were complemented by Broder, who moved wildly in an MF Doom tee, working with his electronic setup. He scratched his turntable and hit a synth board to Rainey’s ever-changing analog, while the lights flashed and flared blue and pink.

The audience seemed wildly intrigued but at the same time unsure of what was happening. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about how to respond to this music. Like do I move? Do I do a little dance? The first thought that came to my head was that one video of that random dude at a Merzbow concert brushing his teeth. However, to conceive of this music as something thought of, rather than felt, would be missing the point.

Once I let go of trying to process Rainey’s music by comparing it to a hegemonic notion of traditional music, his ethos of clashing time and culture slowly flourished in my mind. Things felt comprehensible, if only for a moment.

Rainey’s performance came as a vivid blur that left a distinct impression of his musical identity. With Broder’s help, Rainey radically reconfigured that identity into a transcendent sound like no other.

Duma

The night closed with Nairobi’s own Duma, a Kenyan noise-metal group that produces abrasive, grindcore music. They’re a duo composed of Martin Khanja (stage name Lord Spike Heart), and Sam Karugu. Both artists are willing to push music to its breaking point and trample on its shattered body.

The audience at Gabe’s that night was extremely varied, but skewed towards an older crowd. Gauging the crowd’s reaction was difficult. They were mostly taken aback, or intrigued, or a combination of both. The handler’s reactions where hilarious; imagine total annoyance and confusion.

Even though the audience, with their craft beers in hand, could get past the spiritual neurosis of the first two acts, Duma was about to throw them for a massive loop. The night was full of experimental, abrasive music, but somehow Duma immediately established itself as the loudest, like a predator claiming its territory.

The duo began their set with Karugu in a white balaclava and Khanja in devil-hooded leather jacket. The stage lights became epileptic with rhythmic ramming of what could be conga drums. Sound filled the room like deafening machine guns firing, with shrills of guitar tearing through the speakers.

Frenetic energy was all around, exemplified by the headbangers who came to the front and started moving with Khanja as he screamed and sang their hellish songs. They filled the stage with their presence, and Khanja’s movements were straight out of a horror movie, carnal and charged, slow and fast. Duma acted as the harbingers of chaos while the pulsating lights created a hallucinatory atmosphere. Maybe Duma is the 5th horseman of the apocalypse.

I remember turning around and seeing an uncomfortable man’s face. He looked twisted, as trying to fight against Duma’s sonic path of destruction in that moment was like fighting madness itself. My head spun and my body moved unintentionally, trying to find its way in this new, distorted world. I could only clench my fist and beat it against the nightmarish entity inhabiting the stage. A drunken man smelling of weed-gummies shouted and threw his body back and forth to the music.

The set stopped after a ravaging 30-40 minutes. It took a while to readjust to reality, like being pulled out of a raging vortex. After congratulating Duma, I managed to get a quick word in.

To paraphrase, Duma spoke of the incredible work that this festival seeks to promote, by letting performers from all around the globe showcase their work. After crossing oceans, mountains, and too many farms, they were ecstatic to play Iowa a second time: the home of Slipknot. Duma was grateful to showcase the emerging creativity coming from the Kenyan metal scene right now. 

That’s what I gained through this show and festival: a diverse roster of artists coming together to showcase their unique talents and perspectives, broadening both cultural and sonic landscapes. I ended the night by listening to some of each acts’ songs while walking home, eating pizza in the freezing rain. 

The post Call this TERROR: A Night with Masma Dream World, Joe Rainey, and Duma appeared first on KRUI Radio.