I arrived at Gabe’s almost an hour early, so I had plenty of time to take in the pre-show scenery. A combination of pink, green, and blue LED lights lit up the stage against the otherwise dark background.

Maret’s show was preceded by an eerie selection of techno music. The sinister-sounding scrapes, heavy bass, and garbled vocals nearly scared me out of the upcoming performance. But as Maret’s show drew closer, the music mellowed ever so slightly, easing my nerves.

To my surprise, at 8:59 p.m. Maret stepped out from right behind me and made her way to the stage. I didn’t realize that the person having a casual conversation with the man behind me was the artist that I had come to watch and review.

The blue light faded so Maret was surrounded only by pink and green. Her shirt had intricate geometric patterns, and her laptop was adorned with a butterfly sticker and another sticker that read: “You don’t hate Mondays, you hate capitalism.”

As soon as Maret began performing, any pre-show fears I had were immediately calmed. The winding synths were very pleasing to the ear, and the music pulled me into a trance.

Maret seemed like she was in a trance of her own, as she bobbed her head back and forth to her own sounds, working to find the right vibe. Watching her turn various dials on her synthesizer was like seeing a perfectionist at work. She made small, delicate movements focused on her craft.

In fact, instead of feeling like I was watching Maret perform for a crowd, I felt like the crowd was simply watching Maret in her own private creative space. The upper level of Gabe’s was transformed into a techno music studio within just a few minutes of Maret taking the stage.

Even if Maret didn’t seem to notice the crowd in front of her, the crowd responded well to her set. She effortlessly commanded everyone’s attention as the music swirled around us, causing some to sway their bodies or nod their head in response.

The bright, upbeat sounds eventually transitioned into a darker interlude, where the various sounds were centered by a heartbeat-like rhythm. Heavy bass shook the walls and floor, and mysterious rustling notes created a sort of sound tornado.

Maret then transitioned out of this interlude into a new, upbeat sound reminiscent of the beginning of her set. The transition out of the darkness was as smooth as the transition into it. She played with volume, at one point dipping the music low enough to hear the hum of the crowd. Someone took this moment to let out an encouraging “Whoop!”

Maret ended her show just as casually as she had started it. The crowd applauded enthusiastically, deeming her performance a rousing success.

I was so impressed by Maret’s set that I decided to purchase a copy of her 2018 project, “No More Running,” on CD. I left Gabe’s feeling like I had just discovered something very special.

The post Eve Maret captivates Gabe’s on night one of Iowa City’s “Witching Hour” festival appeared first on KRUI Radio.

Contrary to a traditional performance, vacant auditorium seats were silent spectators to the real audience onstage. The stage became filled with audience members—participants and yogis game for a unique hour of meditation. 

As the lights dimmed, a local yoga instructor addressed an eager group: “If you’re someone who usually closes your eyes during yoga, maybe keep your eyes half-closed and let some of the visuals in.” The visuals in question were trippy animations with a cast of rich, colorful characters. Each participant had front row viewing to mind-bending graphics that experimented with movement, shapes, and visually stunning color schemes.

The audience members lunged in unison, hands reaching towards castles, constellations, and clouds. The visuals crafted a narrative surrounding the relationship of a horse and a small child as well as three half-otherworldly, half-human figures manipulating elements of water, fire, and earth. It is nearly impossible to fully make sense of the projections, but, ultimately, trying to interpret the dream-like storytelling would take away from the wonder it is meant to create, fully in line with the yoga mentality. As cities were rapidly built up, only to crumble to ash onscreen, the yogis rose to Mountain Pose and fell to Downward Dog.

The visual landscape was artfully complemented by the ambiance provided by Naioti and Steir as they stoically control the atmosphere of the space standing at their respective synthesizers. The audio rose and fell with waves of abstract synth tones and wordless vocalizations, along with brief spurts of sounds reminiscent of rainfall and chirping crickets. Both artists felt like they were in conversation with each other as the audio became progressively more layered, providing a calm and meditative space. Halfway through the event, Naioti quietly picked up a guitar, incorporating sporadic bursts of strumming that added additional texture to the audio tapestry the pair have weaved. The guitar is then passed off to Stier, adding contributions to the ongoing musical tone—the audience member truly felt as if they were witnessing the duo in their offbeat laboratory, experimenting and building off of their findings. 

Naioti and Steir brought a delicate and creative partnership, fusing ambient and psychedelic elements from their collective musical experience. Hailing from Des Moines, Iowa, Ryan Stier provided vocals and instrumentation for folk-pop band The River Monks, indie rock group Annalibera and, most recently, psychedelic rock project Extravision. Naioti, a native of Fairfield, Iowa, released I’m On Your Side earlier this year—blending aspects of folk and electronic music with authentic, raw lyrics. Naioti also developed a 40-minute ambient music piece entitled Watery Grave that provides a general idea of the atmosphere created for the Dimensions experience. The album’s description astutely explains the power surrounding the transportive atmospheric music Naioti and Steir crafted during the yoga event, “Structure and familiarity lost ground to the abstract’s ability to express the things we experience but words fall short of describing.”

Indeed, no words were necessary here as the audio creation effectively filled the room, only accompanied by the exaggerated exhales and inhales from the crowd. The yoga instructor gently instructed the audience to stay meditative and guided the audience throughout.

Eventually, each participant finds themselves in Corpse Pose—fully lying down, eyes towards the ceiling—the auditorium lights slowly begin to rise while the final notes of synths are isolated, echoing and dying out. As the crowd slowly snaps out of their meditative daze, each member reluctantly starts gathering their belongings and rolling up their yoga mat. Someone enthusiastically exclaims, “This should be a thing all the time.” She receives warm indications of agreement, seemingly voicing the collective group’s opinion. The participants linger a while longer before they ultimately step out into the streets of Iowa City—chaotic in comparison to Naioti and Stier’s loving constructed world.

The post Dimensions @ Englert Theatre 11/2/19 appeared first on KRUI Radio.

A Walk Through Wondrous Bughouse

This lo-fi, noise-pop album created by Idaho native Trevor Powers is a note-packed compilation of eerie ambiguity and luminous nostalgia. Within its oscillating intonations, it creates a confusingly pleasant atmosphere of sound. Its atonal note pattern is matched with seemingly perfect psychedelic reverbs, which elevate its songs to a powerful euphoric experience.

The first track, “Through Mind and Back,” settles you deep into a world of unknowns. Powers alludes to a foreign, parallel realm where all previously held notions of modern sonic revelations are completely obsolete. He has created his own universe within this album, and this piece slowly gestures you into its grandiose landscape.

After being thrown into “Mute,” the listener begins to understand the vast phenomenal field Powers has built from the ground up. His echoic voice, nasally and child-like in nature, battles an evil construct, and his dualist mindset has nowhere to go but deeper into its own self-referential conscience. The album seems to open hidden doors and bring the listener somewhere completely new. “Attic Door” coincides with this idea as its waltz beat lulls the listener farther into Wondrous Bughouse. “You can trust me like you would trust your own brother. Maybe even better,” claims Powers.

“The Bath” opens with the sound of a microphone going underwater, continuing on with various sonar sounds. His words are lost in a sea of sound and you gently float to the unheard maniacal lyrics until smooth guitar riffs wash over the naturalistic soundscape and resolve into a dizzying tone, where the more audible, “Pelican Man” comes to light. This song, the most uplifting and progressive on the album, builds on itself until it erupts into an audacious statement of existence. It continues on in a downward spiral of repeating tones prior to the solidified structure of “Dropla.”

“You’ll never die,” repeats Powers, ingraining the nonsensical mantra until you believe him. His surrealist parables seem like fairy-tales, but they emit a sense of nostalgia and simultaneously break new ground. The dreamland continues through the scary mansion-horror sound of “Sleep Paralysis.” It eventually blends into a semi-sadistic lullaby- something of nightmares or drug-induced psychosis.

“Third Dystopia” sheds some light and allows you to climb back into the comfortable cradle of his harmonic melodies- something more reminiscent of his debut album Year of Hibernation. It aesthetically decays into the track “Raspberry Cake,” a sullen realization of the frailty within us all, but instead of whining, it celebrates the conceptual oneness and breaks down into an emotional triage of piano and live drums. The awesome melodies fade into the final track, “Daisyphobia,” an auditory experimental of grand illusion. The illusion seems endless until the recognition of Powers’s final melody rests with us in his infallible piano waltz.

Wondrous Bughouse holds your brain captive as it transforms highs into lows and recognizable sounds into sonic dissonance, while tackling stories of mortality and happiness. It takes the mind on a journey through the introspective experience of our own consciousness. The music is said to stem from the drawing on the cover and inside the album (they were taken from a psychiatric hospital), and translated into the beautifully convoluted sound heard on this dense, yet tranquilly congruent album.

Buy the full album here.

Check out Dropla here.

The post Album Review: Wondrous Bughouse by Youth Lagoon appeared first on KRUI Radio.