Wearing a translucent white gown and intriguing jewelry, with two feathers facing horizontally on both sides of her nose, she resembled a glowing white cross, an angel, or a ghost. The draping fabric moved as gracefully as she did, slowly crossing the stage, moving up and down the stairs between the rows of seats, while she made intimate eye contact with each viewer. After each song though, she would return barefoot to her looping pedal, where she would craft the next one from scratch.

Hatis Noit brings a performance to the Mission Creek Festival that is steeped in her own, rich diverse experiences. These experiences include hearing Gregorian chants, along with the ones of Buddhist monks in Nepal. All these sounds inspired her music which aims to connect the natural aspects of the universe with the spirituality that can be found in humanity. The critically acclaimed Aura is the epitome of this concept, and she shared the experience of crafting these sounds with Iowa City.   

She shows the power and versatility of vocals in “Jomon”, looping an intense, heartbeat like burst of air to give a consistent drum sound. Her voice is full and strong, making for an invigorating sound throughout. The transition to “Angelus Novus”, however, brought the audience to an entirely timeless holy place, with those sounds reminiscent of Gregorian chants, whispers of prayers, and the humming of monks.

As she neared the end of her performance, Hatis Noit described the inspiration for “Inori” as the widespread, collective pain from the 2011 Tohoku earthquake and tsunami. In this song, she introduced her recording of the ocean near the Fukushima power plant, the only element of pre-recorded audio throughout the concert, and the only non-vocal sounds. She lamented those lost and those who longed to go back home, before transforming these powerful emotions into ever more powerful vocals. Her closing song, “Sir Etok”, meaning ‘the end of the Earth’, brought a feeling of being lost deep in nature among far stronger forces. Her loud cries, filled with an intense collective emotion, faded into silence, and she smiled to thank the audience.

Following the performance, she stood by her merchandise table to talk to those who wished to speak with her. When asked which song on the album was her favorite, she appeared surprised, as if she had never considered it. Her answer was both the opening and closing tracks of Aura, but it raises the question of what criteria could possibly be used to rank such abstract expressions of deep emotion.

The post Mission Creek: Hatis Noit’s Heavenly Aura appeared first on KRUI Radio.

On a chilly Monday night, a crowd of around 30 people assembled at Trumpet Blossom Café for an evening show. The show was assembled as a feature of the ongoing Feed Me Weird Things program; A series of events organized to bring in eccentric and abnormal performing acts to the live scene of Iowa City, whilst promoting and boosting local artists.

Early arrivals to the quaint cafe, typically closed on Mondays, were greeted by the scene of Tengger eating dinner in front of the stage. Opening act Birdlabs, an Iowa City via Chicago electronic beatsmith, charmed the audience with tasteful selections from their repertoire of releases. They saved the best for last with a blissful ambient loop and then a bouncy house bop to top off the set.

Image via Evan Raefield

Tengger, the headlining artist of the night, is a Pan-Asian trio/traveling family of musicians, currently touring North America in support of their latest self-titled release. Hailing from South Korea, they offer a transformative blend of ambient, drone, progressive electronic, and gospelesque vocals, creating a subtle but transcendental experience as the notes grow and change before the audience’s very ears.

As they began their set, the very venue around us felt as though it was expanding as their tonal bliss filled the room, as Itta flexed her vocals’ delicate but glorious reverberation. I cannot speak for everyone in the room, but I can absolutely say that the gossamer chorus over the ever-present warm hum of the synthetic soundscape turned my mind to concepts of grandeur. Electronic elements like minimalist drones and downtempo bleep-bloops combined with the inherent humanity of such instruments as the harmonium, bells, and vocals.

Image via Anika Maculangan

About midway through the set, the group played a composition of the youngest member Raai’s creation. Written during the COVID years, when the family was fractured by Marquido’s return to Japan, Raai wrote the song in order to express the feelings he was experiencing at the time. The emotion put into the song was tangible, to say the least. During the song, Raai and Itta came down from the stage with bells, went to each individual member of the audience, and played them over their heads. It was as though I could feel my connection to everyone in the room, and appreciated them thoroughly.

Faith is a hard thing to come by in these seemingly ever-dimming days. We had each come into the night unsure, and had come to find that for just a moment, we were in the right place at the right time, in the company of good people. Maybe that is faith enough. After the show, they immediately headed to their merch table at the back of the room, and personally thanked every audience member who came by. I did not hesitate in buying a CD and thanking each of them for one of the most special live experiences I’ve ever had. If the primary goal of art is to move its audience, then I would say Tengger is one of the most successful artists operating today.

Image via Casper Bakker

“If I shall ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph- ‘THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD WAS MUSIC'” – Kurt Vonnegut

The post Birdlabs and Tengger Bewitch and Transfix appeared first on KRUI Radio.

Marisa Anderson, originally from Portland, Oregon, opened the night with songs about the American frontier. She focused specifically on the beautiful, unique swaths of canvas in the sky that blankets those landscapes. She played songs about love, and about death. Anderson laced the performance with themes of spirituality and natural wonder. She picked at the notes on her overdriven telecaster, and they resonated like images of a lonely traveler, accompanied only by the surrounding scenery. 

Godspeed You! Black Emperor opened with a droning buzz from their amplifiers, with three stark spotlights shining onto the audience. Eight members stood onstage, including founding members Efrim Menuck, Mike Moya and Mauro Pezzente playing guitars and bass. They were accompanied by vast arrays of percussion and violin.  

The band began with “Job’s Lament,” and “First of the Last Glaciers.” The latter progressed from light ambient sounds to a series of cascading scales from the basses. Then the music dropped into punches of long, played out notes, in a grand psychedelic climax. Behind them, a projection of birds soared lonely in the sky, overlayed with film of a smoking crashing plane. The images symbolized the music’s continuous rising and falling. 

The psychedelic theme continued through the ringing euphonious guitars in “Bosses Hang.” The song then transitioned into a fantastical ambient track, characterized by squeaking violin. The ambience built itself up into a wall of sound and tremolos before crumbling down with a force that shook the ground, ringing out until the reverberations simmered down.  

During this, images of a post-industrial wasteland were projected on the screen. Later this was contrasted by images of hands digging through rich fertile dirt. The grainy, black and white film projections define a Godspeed You! Black Emperor show. The projections have an ambient feel that matches the music, but they also serve a greater purpose.

The images act as lyrics for a band that typically has none, other than some vocal samples which were absent that night. The films played can give the songs a meaning for the listener to latch onto. It creates a captivating audio and visual experience, which fit very well inside the vaudeville era Englert Theatre. 

The band ended with “East Hastings,” which opened with a lonely desolate guitar riff, underlaid by rolling waves of noise. A piano chop broke through the noise, and a violin echoed the guitar’s bleak riff. Images of political violence played overhead, then quickly switched to pictures of orange, fiery burning towns.

The music transitioned to a frantic, blistering pace, with rapid drums and guitars roaring out like a blade shredding through the air. The song then cooled in a singular, fizzled out drone, much like how the show began. The band members then left the stage one by one. 

Godspeed You! Black Emperor’s music is available on streaming services. You can follow the rest of their tour here.

Full Setlist: 

Hope Drone 

Job’s Lament 

First of the Last Glaciers 

Bosses Hang 

Cliffs Gaze 

Moya  

East Hastings 

The post Godspeed You! Black Emperor hold a vintage theatrical experience at the Englert appeared first on KRUI Radio.

But what about a Mayan flute? Drawing a blank, huh?

Mexican-American DJ and producer DEBIT conjures up more than just music in her new album, “The Long Count.” Using obscure sonic material (archival recordings of ancient Mayan flutes, for example), DEBIT explores the sounds within sound.

The album’s eighth track, “4th Day,” is free of melody, beat, motif, and virtually any other musical component that one might expect. Casual listeners and audiophiles alike are forced to make sense of something different. Easy listening? Not at all. The experience requires feeling, not just active/passive listening.

Her newest work departs from 2018’s electronica-driven “Animus”, her debut effort, but they share much of the same DNA. From the beginning, DEBIT has strived to avoid repetitive tropes and canned sounds, instead finding unique sources of inspiration. In a recent article, The Guardian deemed her music “deliciously strange.”

Her polymorphous, soundscape, and ambient work challenges many Western music concepts. While you could compare her to some well-known ambient artists, like U2 or Moby, DEBIT occupies a liminal space that’s all her own.

DEBIT has DJ’ed across North & South America since 2010. She has appeared at Ghetto Gothic, MIXPAK, and performed with Kode9, ARCA, Nick Hook, Jubilee, and more. Join her at the James Theater in Iowa City at 7:30 p.m., Sept. 17.

The post Witching Hour Preview: DEBIT’s liminal sound appeared first on KRUI Radio.

Loopable Experience

Story’s blips and tones usher you forth upon entry. It feels like a post-show vibe session with a group of tech-heads taking turns sharing tunes. Each speaker displays sounds you swear you recognize while simultaneously feeling fresh and exciting. The installation is a cacophony of smaller songs easing in and out as one edge of the 8-sided circle. At times it is a communication between two sounds. Other times it is a duet between you and a single emitted noise. And further into the experience, it becomes a dance between you and other spectators as you weave in and out of the physical boundaries of the environment.

Though the audio of the sound installation does indeed loop (I was told the album consisted of about an hour of looped audio), the placement of the spectator changes these loops for each listening session. I first found myself wandering around the space, wanting to experience every position or perspective I could think of to fully understand the piece. I stood next to active speakers, listening to sheets of metal produce horn-like washes. I tuned into speakers not playing any noise at times for a bubble of calm between two whirs of electronica. I crouched and laid down to get a sense of the verticality of auditory sensation. I stood outside the ring of speakers to observe the blending of lights and colors along the walls. I played with shadows. I sat and watched how other spectators were interacting and responding with the piece.

I noticed other listeners who couldn’t sit still. Folks who gravitated towards a specific corner of the stage. The occasional glance and whispers of contact. These loops of interaction I found embedded within the soundstage as well as the physical environment of the install. Audio feedback, bleeps, and bloops all shaped the peppered pulsing of the beat over washes of sound. Springs of textured tones influenced feedback between spectators as their bodies created washes of color. I felt the need to close my eyes at points and just experience the piece with my body. Allowing legs, feet, arms, shoulders, head to all follow along with the rhythms. You name it, it grooved. And as soon as Elbow 1 entered the stage, you know my elbow felt the need to respond.

I was also surprised by how much info a merch table can give you about an artist. Maybe the groovy album art resonates with your aesthetic; Perhaps past collabs with audio authors you’ve been listening to for years; or the staff helping run the merch. I commend everyone who had a hand in helping put this installation together and for how welcoming and informative the merch lobby came to be. It acted as a fantastic introductory space not only to the exhibit but as a fun info booth regarding the legacy of Story. I, as a relative newcomer to the world of Story, greatly appreciate this inclusion of clearly passionate staff. Bravo good chaps!

Reflections

I was also able to sit in on the discussion and reflection panel Friday evening (led by the lovely Lauren Lessing) which provided insight into Story’s workflow and intentions. Being that this was paying clear homage to the late Dieter Moebius, it drew sound recordings directly from his backlog. Story explained how he placed himself in the ‘Moebius Mindset’ through converging unorthodox sounds or unremarkable noises with underlying rhythmic beats. How unorthodox and unremarkable you ask? There was a playful anecdote regarding Moebi arriving at Story’s house many moons ago to record a squeaky door for a piece. This became a melodic aspect of an album which a listener later experienced as a soothing saxophone. What was once simple foley now paints melodic symphonies and interesting tonalities, a splendid capture of Moebius’ thought process.

When asked how he reads an audience, Story said he rarely gets the opportunity to witness live interactions with his pieces. The majority of his previous audience engagements were from folks explaining how their relationship with a piece had changed over time. His work is a literal auditory amalgamation of loops as well as a cycle of listener perception as they re-experience it. It is a piece changed by outside experiences and perspective. Story has become increasingly aware of this symbiotic relationship between listener and source media, articulating how particular emotional textures resonate with different folks at specific moments in their life. The idea of sound developing new meanings throughout an individual’s life creates a fascinating, dynamic, and living relationship with loopable media.

When prompted on his typical workflow and how the pandemic has changed the process, Tim said he’s been privileged in that regard. Most of his time spent noodling and crafting sounds is usually been in isolation. Sending files back and forth every so often for collabs when not in-person has been something he’s done for a while. He’s cognizant of how ambient music doesn’t necessarily rely on live audience engagement. This has allowed him to continue working in a very similar fashion, sometimes spending months on individual works to get the feel just right. One thing that drives Tim is his personal interest in the piece and whether it can hold his interest for more than a few days. As for what’s next in Tim’s Story, readers and listeners should gear up for an upcoming piano collab with Roedelius.

You can find Tim’s music over on his site!

The post Moebius Strips and Subsequent Reflections appeared first on KRUI Radio.

The Discovery

I noticed it back in 2018 when I accidentally pressed on the wrong recommended video while playing the board game Sorry! with my friend while music played through my earbuds. Very suddenly, Japanese singing disrupted the brief silence as I was placing down my piece. The 80s Japanese song “Plastic Love” by Mariya Takeuchi was playing ten times louder than the previous song. It startled me to the point of accidentally launching my piece across the room. But beyond scaring me and making me do a walk of shame to my piece, I felt intrigued. I noticed how all the recommended songs were other unfamiliar tracks in different languages and from different time periods. And so throughout the board game night, I kept playing the songs recommended from that point forward. At least until we fell asleep around five in the morning listening to Ryo Fukui’s album Scenery.

Years later, I spend my nights listening to music to keep myself sane while doing classwork. One night I noticed the familiar sight of the woman in the thumbnail of “Plastic Love” in my recommended videos. I was transported back to a few summers ago when I was playing Sorry! And as I expected, many more old Japanese songs were being recommended to me now. I decided to click on another song and I just kept going from there, clicking onto the next unrecognizable song. Eventually, the recommendations were many old ambience and old jazz albums. And going further changed it to soul and early electronic music from the 70s.

The Beauty

There are a few commonalities between these songs. They almost all work nicely as background music to help set a relaxing mood. They also evoke a nostalgic feeling, even if I wasn’t born when it was released. Many creators on YouTube apply these songs to fantasies or memories. For example, it is popular to play city pop songs alongside clips from anime of previous decades. What really appeals to me is knowing I’m not listening alone as I read the comments on these songs. The YouTube algorithm has created a space for thousands of users of all backgrounds to relax and self reflect together. And with that, it creates something that can be quite beautiful to read through.

There is a lot of gold you can dig up if scroll through the many comments. I’ve seen vivid fiction and poetry, greetings left by people from around the world, and many stories of the past. Stories of unrequited love, deceased family members, or specific moments that stuck with someone for no particular reason. Reading these comments quickly became a way for me to calm down and reflect on things. So the next time you see an unrecognizable song in your recommendations, I recommend checking it out! And for those interested, I’ve included a link to a playlist of the songs I came across while writing this.

The post My Experiences With “YouTube-Core” appeared first on KRUI Radio.

This relationship is particularly apparent with GAS, the German’s most influential alias to date (of which there are too many to count). After a flurry of four notable album releases at the end of the 20th century, the entity seemingly ceased its public existence, spare a handful of singles for compilations on his founded label, Cologne-based Kompakt. Through its releases over twenty-plus years, Voigt’s modus operandi has been readily apparent, albeit indirectly. Artists often marry his trademark 4/4 drum beat and transparent melodicism with tasteful restraint.

The same could hardly be said for the tempering of any collective anticipation ahead of GAS’ audiovisual performance at the Art Institute of Chicago, a fitting venue for the only Midwest stop on Voigt’s first US tour in 9 years. Less than twelve months removed from his stunning comeback Narkopop, an ambitious concept album recreating the hallucinogenic wanderings through the forests in adolescence, the conspicuous lack of detail surrounding the show left much to the imagination. By the time that his all-black silhouette emerged from the periphery of the auditorium, the surrealism of Voigt’s presence and artform merged into one, leaving only the spectacle of his remarkable talent.

What followed was equal parts magisterial and difficult to comprehend. Narkopop played without a single utterance coming from the stage, nor a pause in the billowing swells of its ten sections. From the onset, the chromatic spread behind Voigt’s setup shifted and morphed into an arboreal masterpiece; each song grew out of indistinguishable colors and shapes into stooping branches and vivid flora. Meanwhile, the soundscapes crafted from a combination of synthesizer, programming module, and a Macbook left a figurative cloud stretching outward toward the audience, helped along by the ingeniously streamlined delivery of its low-end rhythm section.

With each seamless transition from track to track, a panning backdrop helped communicate the music’s awareness and sense of space: where one track’s flats and sharps created a sense of claustrophobia, the next hovered lightly in luminous delight. Further, the rotating color palette of a deciduous canopy pushed forward with an ever-present kick drum, prevented the possibility of the movement becoming stagnant.

In part due to its visionary composition, and in part due to favorable acoustics and sound engineering, momentum permeated the space from the front row to the top balcony. Elusiveness, whether by curiosity or impending doom, was a constant force for the entirety of the show’s eighty-odd minutes.

The physical experience of GAS’ return was both contiguous with and distinct from what can easily be considered an immaculate electronic recording. Layers and subtleties within the record appeared in starkness and grandeur; allusions to the natural world were domineering and imperious in their stature alongside the twists and turns of veering projections.

In the wake of the set’s final moments, the room exuded tangible nostalgia of the halcyon days from which Voigt’s inspiration was derived. As the final, kaleidoscopic visuals transformed, three letters emerged: G-A-S. Almost painfully direct, and with a quick wave to the crowd, the darkly dressed figure was gone, but the eminence of his creation remained. His work a marvel, and his stature immeasurable.

Pre-order GAS’ Narkopop follow-up, Rausch, out May 18th, and available for pre-order here. Get discounts on Torrid.com.

The post The Pulse: An Evening with GAS at the Art Institute of Chicago appeared first on KRUI Radio.

I attended the concert with my aunt and uncle. They specifically drove to Iowa City from around forty-five minutes away just to see S. Carey live again. The way they talked about hearing his music was contagious. I was giddy for the concert to begin.

S. Carey is a musician from Wisconsin trained in jazz originally. His vocals on his three full-length albums (“All We Grow”, Range of Light” and Hundred Acres”) are smooth and impactful.

He’s worked with other acts such as Bon Iver, Sufjan Stevens, and The Tallest Man on Earth throughout his career, but is now focused on his solo career.

When we arrived at The Mill, the venue was full of people waiting for the first opener, Extravision. It was even more packed when the second opener, Gordi, came on stage.

By the time Gordi’s set was finished, The Mill’s bar was packed, the booths were filled, and the floor was covered with people sitting, looking up at the stage.

There was a gigantic variety of people there. Those of all ages seemed to be very enthusiastic about seeing him perform.

The energy in the room noticeably changed when S. Carey took the stage. The venue was loud and buzzing with conversation before, but their voices all dropped.

While I’d heard a few of S. Carey’s songs in the past, I knew that the full immersion of hearing them live would be much better. I was completely right.

S. Carey makes driving music. It feels so innately connected to the earth, and nothing made this clearer to me than his performance of “True North”. It was so light, but it filled up the room. It echoed around the audience, bouncing around the walls.

It was also great to see S. Carey switch from instrument to instrument.

He was playing the guitar at one point but would move to the drums for the next song. He moved with his instruments with so much intention. It was so clear that he’d spent an abundance of time perfecting his songs.

Along with all of this, I got to see a pedal steel guitar be played live. The sound this instrument makes is one of my favorite sounds on earth, and I’m a sucker for any song featuring one.

S. Carey also suggested that they play a “tuning song”, and they chose “Sleep Walk” originally performed by Santo & Johnny. I guarantee you’ve heard it before, but not the way S. Carey played it. Hearing it live, in their specific style, was surreal.

If I had one critique for the show, it would only be that it ended far too soon. I was so wrapped up in what the music was telling me that when S. Carey thanked us for coming, I wasn’t prepared. I will be sure to look out for him the next time he’s near Iowa.

If you haven’t heard S. Carey’s music before, it’s the most soothing experience I’ve had the honor of having. Listen to their newest album, “Hundred Acres” below!

The post Mission Creek Festival: S. Carey @ The Mill 4/6/2018 appeared first on KRUI Radio.

Gaelynn Lea began the set with “Medley in D Major,” which is an amalgam of all the traditional fiddle tunes she knows that are in the key of D Major. Since she uses a loop pedal, Gaelynn was able to combine and layer all of these tunes together to create a harmonic wall of sound that was truly beautiful.

She followed that up with the first tune she ever wrote, “Watch the World Unfold,” which is about wishing we knew what was coming down the pike, but we never know until we get there. She asks us, what makes us think we have a right to know what will be? What makes us so special? The song was haunting, beautiful, and vivid.

Gaelynn Lea followed that tune up with “Swallowtail Jig,” which is an Irish folk song. She told us that many traditional fiddle tunes have been passed down for hundreds of years, without even having been written down: they were just passed on from one person to another directly. “Swallowtail Jig” appears in the film Titanic, when Rose and Jack dance together with all the poor people.

Next, she played another original of hers, “Let It Go,” which is not from the film Frozen. She wrote that tune before Frozen came out. This song is from when she was in the band Murder of Crows (with whom she still occasionally collaborates).

Next, Gaelynn Lea performed an arrangement of “Boys of Bluehill,” which is on her new EP, The Songs We Sing Along the Way. Her arrangement created a warm, ambient soundscape but was nevertheless very dancy.

Next Gaelynn Lea performed the song with which she won NPR’s Tiny Desk Contest, “Some Day We’ll Linger in the Sun,” a very deep song about how love can be beautiful even when difficult. Gaelynn Lea wrote this song after a medical emergency that made her stay in the hospital for some time. Her husband stayed with her every night, and this song is about their love and going through this difficult time together. I’m pretty sure it was in a harmonic minor key. It had a longing to it, but the harmonies also created a strong sense of peace.

Gaelynn then treated the audience to a preview of a song that will be on her next record, which she plans to release in 2018. The song is “Bound by a Thread,” and features a pizzicato rhythm with a legato lead. The song is very contemplative. The message is that we’ll see the fruits of our labor, maybe not now, maybe lifetimes ahead, if only love will be our guide.

Then she asked the crowd for help with another Murder of Crows song, “Birdsong.” She asked the audience to sing the lines, “Bird, why do you sing? Fate has clipped your wings,” while she sang and fiddled over the top. She played a few more traditional tunes arranged for solo violin with loop pedal. But Gaelynn Lea also played a cover of the Melvino Reynolds tune “Little Boxes,” which you might remember from the show Weeds, and a cover of the Pigface song “Point Blank.”

The second-to-last song was a spoken word poem of hers, “Breathe, You Are Alive,” which is also featured on The Songs We Sing Along the Way. She speaks over a pizzicato rhythm she has plucked. She reminds us that we make ourselves up, put ourselves out there, and we don’t really know how others are going to react to us. This was the second time I wept during the performance. She finished up with a Scottish farewell tune, “Parting Glass,” as a way to say thank you and good night. As usual, her fiddle chops were on point.

Gaelynn Lea plays music that heals the heart. It is deep, and seems to express a longing for something, a longing so profound we don’t even know what we are longing for. Yet the music is also joyous, uplifting and triumphant. There is no doubt about it: Gaelynn Lea sings with voices from the ages, and through her our ancestors speak to us. She blends the ancient and the contemporary seamlessly. She has tapped into something deep, universal, and ancient. She is a wonderful presence to be around, and I feel lucky to have seen her show.

The post Concert Review: Gaelynn Lea at the Mill 03/05/17 appeared first on KRUI Radio.

They began the night by saying that their set would be “ALL NEW MUSIC”. Which I thought was a very bold and creative move. I have been to many shows and that was the first time I have seen a band perform only new music. At the beginning of one of their songs Drew even stated “This song is so new that it doesn’t even have a name yet!”

This was all in typical Jack Lion fashion as they are known for sampling things on stage and making up new renditions to their songs on the fly. This creates a very spontaneous atmosphere and keeps the audience interested as every show is different than the last.

The one thing that was instantly obvious to me was how talented Brian, Drew and Justin all were on their instruments. They all seemed very comfortable on stage and were all quite engrossed in their instrument. I think this passion is what makes the trio work so well together and enables them to continue making new sounds.

Undoubtedly the most impressive factor about Jack Lion is their fusion of jazz and electronic. Two genres that could not be much more different from one another. Jazz is a genre rooted in improvisation and spontaneity while electronic is based on the ability to pinpoint and control every aspect of the song. Smith has described this process as “trying to marry two worlds even though they are very disparate.” The blend of these genres makes for an fascinating and inspiring sound and also brings out an interesting audience as there are fans from both sides of the spectrum.

I felt like the music of Jack Lion and the venue itself were made for each other. The combination of electronic and jazz music mixed with plenty of down tempo beats played off of the dark/grunge feel of the upstairs at Gabe’s perfectly (this may be bias as Gabe’s is one of my favorite venues). Not to mention the sparkling lights that cover the ceiling enhanced the atmospheric feel of Jack Lion’s sound.

Overall, this show was admittedly a difficult show to write about for several reasons. One, the whole set itself was about forty minutes long which didn’t leave me with an ample amount of content to cover. Two, all the songs were new and completely instrumental which made it a bit more difficult to discuss the content of the music. And three, the stage presence of the band was somewhat uneventful with minimal movement of the members and only a small amount of interaction with the crowd.

With all that being said I am incredibly happy I chose to review Jack Lion and looking back I would not have picked a different show if given the opportunity. The music they create is truly its own thing that does not to be combined with any extra factors to make for a moving show. I have never been to a show that is more, for lack of a better word, inspiring. Jack Lion demonstrates that the possibilities in music are only limited by you, arguably the most beautiful aspect of music. They are an incredible band to see live, and I encourage everyone to attend a Jack Lion show.

For more on Jack Lion check out their Soundcloud, Facebook and Twitter.

The post Witching Hour: Jack Lion @ Gabe’s 11/05/16 appeared first on KRUI Radio.