If you want to save time, here are a few that stuck with me. There’s a link at the bottom for you to enjoy them all. -it’s worth it.

Find all 42 here

I was going to skip this last Critical Sun gig because I needed a day to get some writing done, both for this whole SXSW shindig and for some short stories and poems and new books and such. There’s always writing to be done. It’s a solitary endeavor, of course, this thing of writing, so after a week at SXSW I needed a break from the over-stimulation, I needed some quiet, time alone at the hotel out by the pool with a beer and the laptop and the word, but then I got some news last night while a couple of us were drinking slightly warm Budweisers with a band from Denmark (Foreign Resort). It might have been a slip of the tongue, but it was some good news so I decided the quiet could wait, that I could do some writing at the gig before that news needed to be acted upon.

The gig is at a place called Hardtails about thirty minutes north of Austin. It’s a cool place with a large outdoor stage in back with enough room on the lawn for a few hundred people, maybe a 1000, an amphitheater almost, and the ground slopes down from the bar to the stage in the back of the lot. It’s easily the best venue these bands have played this week, and that makes me glad, of course, for the news I received last night, the news that is confirmed as the bands are setting up when Jason Lightfoot of Sightseer repeats the same. He comes up to me, “Hey, man, …” then says the same I heard last night. I’m sitting at the bar with a Blue Moon (What else?) typing away, taking notes on the day when he says it. I look at him. We both smile. “Thanks,” I say.

And my note taking ends there. The news is too good, and it gets me thinking about Critical Sun as a whole, not just the individual bands and their musicians and whatever my relationship is with them, but the whole of the bands, the group of them, us, and the word that comes to mind is community, not record label, community, much the same way a group of regulars at a bar will form a bond in and out of the bar, form a family of sorts, or maybe a gang, or better yet, especially down here in Austin for SXSW, a traveling circus or carnival, people living, working, supporting and entertaining, pushing each other to be better, accepting outsiders when the connection is right, when the need is right. They accept new bands, musicians, friends, girlfriends, and as it turns out, even writers.

And today, it begins with the Stacy Jones Band, a bluesy thing supported in community form by Critical Sun recording artist, Rob Marcus, on guitar, and Darrius Willrich, also a CS artist, on keyboards. And her form of blues is good. It does what blues should do, makes you feel, though not necessarily in the way that Bleeding Gums Murphy said the blues should (“The blues isn’t about feeling better. It’s about making other people feel worse…”). Stacy’s blues is lively thing, it moves. It’s great beer drinking, outdoor venue in Austin, Texas music. In the Critical Sun Traveling Circus she is, say, the woman who dances atop a galloping horse, twisting and turning and even falling when need be, when it’s part of the show.

Then, Darrius Willrich plays a solo set much like he had a few days ago. He is the tight rope walker, soulful R&B smooth and easy high above the audience. He’s is followed by Rob Marcus who, again in traveling circus form, is helped by Furniture Girls bassist, Jim Watkins, Sightseer’s Jason Welling on keys and fiddle, and Stacy Jones Band’s Rick Bowen on drums. And Ms. Jones even gets up to trade some great riffing on the harmonica with Welling’s keyboard solos. All too wonderful. Delightful. Rob Marcus in this troupe is the … the hardest for me to figure so I think. I order Blue Moon. I think about the woman who will pick me up at the airport Tuesday night, and it comes to me. Rob is the Ferris Wheel of this carnival. It may be a bit mellow, may not move at great speed, but there’s still a thrill to it. The music is understated, leaves me feeling relaxed, makes me want to hold hands with Her.

There’s the poppy, driving punk of In Cahoots (writing here), the strongman of this carnival plowing straight ahead through the audience, the cello laden grooves of Seeing Blind (writing to come), the trapeze artists with movements that jump from handle to handle trailing cello notes that rock left and right like Jessica Kitzman does as she plays the cello but that always catch the bar. Interesting stuff, but I do find myself wanting a bit more cello in the mix, not the band’s fault though.

And Furniture Girls, electro rock, quite heavy at times, who are easily one of the better bands in Seattle now. I don’t care what any other press says or who gets played on KEXP or asked to play the “official” Seattle SXSW show case. FG rocks. Seattle, and thereby the country as a whole, needs to take notice. Within the Critical Sun circus, they are the big cats, the tigers and lions with singer Stacey Meyer whipping things into shape, SMACK, her head in mouth of lion, forcing tigers to jump through rings of fire. It’s quite the powerful thing as she belts, nearly screaming, over the largeness of lions and tigers playing those heavy chords, F# to C, F# to C, F# to C, “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming for you baby!” It trails out and “baby” is said all by itself without losing any power, kind of like the roar of a lion. Nice. They’re recording now so hopefully the tune will be available soon.

Then Sightseer comes on (same recommendation as Furniture Girls as far as bands in Seattle these days), and yes, I’m biased. I’ve written about Sightseer more than a few times, played two shows filling in on bass for them, and as their set winds down, a bucket list item of mine is checked. It’s the news from earlier. Singer P.A. Mathison speaks into the microphone, speaks far too kindly of me, “We have world famous author, Dave O’Leary, here so we’d like to have him come up and play a number with us.” Me, I get to play at SXSW when I thought I’d just come to write and drink and live a little. Again, community. They have a new bass player who fits very well into the mold of the band, but they still see fit to ask me up knowing it’d mean a big deal to me. And it does. We play “When the Levee Breaks” and all is right in the universe, or at least my universe. There are very few things that compete with rocking on stage. I dare say it’s even better than sex. And Sightseer, how do they fit into this whole carnival thing? They play the tunes that summon the cobra, mellow the cobra, so that the rest of us may dare touch it on the back of the head.

The Januariez close out the night. The have a bluesy punk kind of groove thing that I dig, and I keep meaning to write more about them, but for now I’ll say that they’re worth a listen. They’re worth a trip to the local pub for cheap beers and moving bodies and rhythms that shake things, whatever those things may be. They are the clowns for red hair but also for fun factor.

It’s a community, a carnival, a family. They’ve taken me in but ask me for nothing. I give these words, these recommendations, because I want to. There are plenty of great bands in Seattle not on the Critical Sun label, but none with this kind of traveling circus vibe in which when band does well, many others will, in which they all support one another, befriend, maybe even love, in which after shows, they, we, end up as a whole out by the hotel pool at midnight with acoustic guitars singing Sightseer’s “Red Eye Haze” and taming the cobras amongst ourselves and knowing in the vibe of the moment that something will happen with one of these bands, maybe many. So you should see them now. They’ll welcome you, and if you can hold down a decent Led Zepplin bass groove, they might just have you up on stage once in a while.

So what am I in this carnival? Part fortune teller, part beaded lady, the oddball in that small tent off to the side who keeps saying things, writing things, and so who may one day get things right.

SXSW 2012 over and out.

Dave

Stacy Jones Band
Darrius Willrich
Rob Marcus
In Cahoots
Seeing Blind
Furniture Girls
Sightseer
The Januariez
Critical Sun

After Julia’s set, we hug, shake hands, say goodbye, “See you back in Seattle,” and then I wander 6th street, and again, there is so much happening here, too much aural and visual stimuli. There is a metal band head banging and busking on the street, a full band too. They have powered gear and are very good musicians, one guy holding down riffs on the guitar and keyboard at the same time without hardly seeming to realize he’s doing such. He might as well be getting a manicure for the effort he’s putting in, the ease with which he plays some difficult stuff. There’s a most excellent funk band playing in one bar, a big woman with a big voice and bass grooves to match. I don’t know which bar, though. There are so many bars on these streets, and I don’t have my notebook out. Another guy hands me a CD, “What’s this?” I ask. “Free rock,” he answers. I take it and move on. There’s a band marching down the street in makeup and costumes to promote their show later this evening, a kind of carnival rock, one of the woman in the group with her face painted red and white and shorts so short there is little left to imagine. Again, I don’t catch the band’s name. It’s the spectacle that intrigues me. There’s another poppy group playing on a street corner with a sizable crowd around gathered around them. Some clap along, others drop money into the open guitar cases. I make mental note of the name but forget it as soon as I walk away, me, the one who usually takes notes and notes and notes takes nothing today because I just want to experience it all. And most of this is on the street. I’m not even venturing into one of the hundreds of bars. Sensory overload.

Eventually, it is too much so I do what any Seattleite would do, I dive into a grande drip in a Starbucks where I finally take notes and check bus schedules so I can catch up with Sightseer and Furniture Girls at Club 1808. I opt for a cab and meet them in front of the bar where there is discussion of whether to do the gig or not. The neighborhood is a bit run down and the club every bit a dive, and as if to emphasize the point, I’m not there five minutes before all manner of cop cars appear with sirens blaring and lights blazing as they speed around the corner and stop only a half block or so behind the club in the residential neighborhood. I count six squad cars. Then there’s a firetruck, then an ambulance, and finally, a cop on a motorcycle. Not sure why he’s bringing up the rear, but with all the cars and engines and paramedics he hardly seems needed. We’re not sure what happened, but some are convinced not to do the show. There’s more milling about, one more cop car goes whizzing by, more discussion, some jokes about the BBQ place up the street whose slogan is, “You Don’t Need Teeth To Eat My Beef.” Finally though, it’s decided. Rock and Roll will triumph. The gig will be played.

And it is done in the punk rock manner. The room is a square wooden box of an abandoned restaurant with terrible acoustics and a marginal sound system. So the bands turn it up a little louder and play a little faster. The sound is mush, but the energy is good as Sightseer, in the manner of the new Sheriff of Rock Ridge, “Excuse me while I whip this out,” pulls out the Black Crows “My Morning Song” and rips it, and those playing pool in the other room come in to take notice of a great band making the most of a marginal situation. Furniture Girls does the same and closes with “Too Drunk to Fuck” and musicians fall about and drums are knocked over and arms and cheers in the audience are raised. I’m a little reminded of the scene in The Blues Brothers where the band plays at Bob’s Country Bunker and pulls out whatever variety of cover is needed to survive the night.

Afterward, we head north quickly back to the safety of the hotel stopping to get beer along the way. It’s another gig at SXSW, another night shot in the ass, but in a good way, like a vaccination. After all, it’s a gig, and the gig is the thing, the reason we’re all here miles and miles from home, some of us playing, others writing, others helping and selling merchandise, but all of us living for the music in the moment, and wondering if someone died just up the street.

Dave

Wake up at 8:10, and I just know it. No laptop. My heart sinks. I look under the hotel bed, in the bathroom, under the bed again, out by the pool, in the van, in the lobby, under the bed one more time. Nothing. I remember having a brief conversation with a woman last night at Opal Divine’s since she was reading some Bukowski, and I had just lost some Bukowski. I’ve been losing things down here, you see. First, there was the phone I left in the back of a taxi. The cab driver brought it back but before giving it to me, he just looked at me, spread his arms, gave me that look that said he’d gone out of his way to bring it back to me. What could I do? I needed the phone so I gave him $20.00 and said thanks. Then there was the Bukowski book, You Get So Alone at Times That It Just Makes Sense. I bought it years ago. It traveled with me to Korea and Japan and Bali, had pages dog earred, had receipts in there from bars and coffee shops during all that span of time, but now it’s somewhere in Austin where I am not..

And now this morning it’s the laptop which means the laptop case too, which means my phone charger as well. My phone has a battery life of about an hour at most when it gets any use other than simply being on so it looks like I’ll soon be completely off the grid, back to the old days when I carried the Bukowski book to Japan in 1998 and spent a day and a night in Osaka’s Kansai airport because I’d planned badly with regards to money. That was a good day though, a quiet day. I went to the top of the parking garage, looked out over the water surrounding the airport (It’s on an island in Osaka Bay) and read some of Buk’s poems and spent a day in contemplation as the planes landed and took off and landed and took off with all those people in them going places and coming home while I read verse to the sound of the waves.

“…I walked off
toward the
clubhouse, it looked
like a damned good
card
that
day.

all i had to do
was
be there.”

So here in Austin, I am bookless and laptopless and powerless it seems. I text the woman who will pick me up from the airport, “If my phone dies, see you Tuesday … happy early St. Patrick’s Day ” And then I grab a pen and some paper and head to the official Seattle SXSW Showcase. I’d heard it had been billed as the only all Seattle thing happening down here, and that, of course, wasn’t true because of all these Critical Sun shows I’ve been going to. Still, I want to catch the Young Evils and ask them about playing a show with me for a reading I want to do for my book in April so I hop on the bus and head downtown checking my phone too frequently for messages that don’t come and watching the battery power indicator grow less and less.

The Seattle SXSW event is at a place called the Palm Door, and when I arrive Fly Moon Royalty is playing but the sound system is having issues, and the vocal mics don’t work. It takes away from the performance, for sure, but Adra Boo has a powerful voice, and she projects pretty well considering the situation. They get through their set of eletronic soul, or maybe soulful hip hop, and I write in my notebook that they’d be a good fit to gig with Darrius Willrich, maybe mix and match some of the Critical Sun things with some of the other stuff happening in Seattle.

After some technical difficulties, a band called Don’t Talk to the Cops comes on. Even though I write about music in Seattle and do get out and about to music clubs a fair bit, I’ve never heard of them. That’s good though, means there’s a ton of stuff happening in Seattle so it’s good to come all the way to Austin to see a Seattle band I know nothing about. They say they’re trying to do some dance kind of punk or punk dancing infused with pop and hip hop and all manner of things, but they just don’t do it for me. There is energy in some of the beats but the vocals and raps on the whole leave me flat, unmoved, so I go out to the patio to wait for the Young Evils set.

Out there, I see Mackenzie and Troy from the band, and we talk briefly about the show I want to do with them, and things are tentatively confirmed. They go on then with some of their pre-show needs, and I, of course, check my phone for a message. It’s there.

“Let the phone die and have fun. Looking forward to seeing you when you get back Tuesday ”

She’s right, and so I do. The Young Evils play. I have fun. They’re a good band so I stop checking the phone, and the vocals get me. They understand melody and hook. They pull me in so I sing along to the ones I know and text back just before the phone dies, “See you Tuesday.”

She’s picking me up from the airport, and all I have to do is be there.

The day begins, as many such band days do, with the wonder of how to fit all the people and all the gear into one van. There are musicians and girlfriends and friends and guitar techs and even a writer along for the trip, and there are all manner of instruments and rack cases full of cables and extension cords and extra sets of guitar strings and, of course, merchandise, CDs, stickers and tee shirts, some specific to a band, some to the whole Critical Sun 2012 event. We all stand around the van. It can’t be done. Some of us are going to have to bus it to the first show, the first of two shows on our second day here.

The venue is Kick Butt Coffee where there is another Critical Sun showcase so we pile in the van as many as can fit and while the rest take the bus Stacey from the Furniture Girls states calmly from the back of the van, “This amp will sound better since I’m straddling on the way to the show.” There are nods of agreement. One can’t argue such a thing. The amp probably would sound better after rubbing along a woman’s private parts. Rock and Roll.

We get to Kick Butt and are saddened at the first discovery. Their coffee does not, in fact, kick butt. Maybe that’s the Seattle Coffee Snob in me, but it’s lacking and that’s the truth of it. Thankfully, they have other reasonably priced options like Blue Moon for $4.50 so we power up on those and let the fun begin whereby Bubba from the Furniture Girls prompts the masses for a “Critical Sun FLASH MOB! Kick Butt Coffee 5775 Airport blvd 78701 Austin TX Pants optional!” and where, thankfully, all pants remained on as Alejandro Garcia played a beautiful and heartfelt solo set to start things off. I believe he regularly plays with Vancouver-based No Rey, but as the rest of the group couldn’t make it he came down on his own to represent. And he did it well, so I have to give props to Stacey after the set. “That amp does sound great.”

She laughs. “Damn straight!”

I leave Kick Butt after that to meet the friend of a friend and to get a little quiet. With a whole week of music, quiet time comes at a premium, but after a good few hours (and one most excellent Chocolate Martini in the bar at the IPic Gold Class Cinema), I catch up with the Critical Sun folks downtown at Opal Divine’s where there’s a very cool patio stage with a view, and where Fox and the Law is opening the show. They aren’t a Critical Sun band, but they are from Seattle, and I once wrote about them, “They’re good for a high energy rock show and worth keeping an eye on to see which way they go.” (Thanks to them for using that quote on their Facebook page) That was two years ago when they were just getting started, and seeing them here in Austin, they’ve come a long way. They’ve matured, solidified, become a good punkish, garagey rock band. I should probably catch a full set back in Seattle.

When Fox and the Law is done, I sit with Stacey, her girlfriend, and couple of their friends, both women, and the women from Seeing Blind, Melissa and Jessika, and while I try to eat nachos the conversation somehow gets around to the topic of girls and their first periods. Darrius Willrich steps up to the stage for his set of soulful jazzy numbers, and the women at my table begin speaking of their first times, their ages back then, the lack of information from their parents, help from the mother, the surprise and horror of it and its first color. Their is laughter. “I know. I know,” is repeated often. Stacey looks at me, “Dave, you’re not gonna think that amp sounds good anymore, are you?”

I look up at Darrius. He’s singing a song called Whatchagonnado and is in the main part of the chorus, “Whatchagonnado, Whatchagonnado, Whatchagonnado?” His brand of soul reminds me of my days in Detroit when I was a line cook in a gourmet burger place. I was the only white guy in the kitchen and so had no control over the radio and wound up listening to very similar stuff while I flipped burgers and cooked fries, and the rest of the cooks grooved and sang about loving a woman or losing a woman or needing a woman. And they could all sing well. I can imagine all of them now singing and spinning and digging this tune while making salads and teriyaki chicken and fried fish, “Whatchagonnado, Whatchagonnado, Whatchagonnado, Dave?” They often added my name at the end of such phrases before bursting into laughter. “Whatchagonnado, Dave?” I hope they get a chance to hear Darrius sometime. They’d like his music for sure.

I look at Stacey, “Quite the contrary,” I say, “The amp sounds even better.”

Dave

So this place is nuts. There is music seemingly every ten feet down the street, in bars, on corners, in the back of vans, in coffee shops, guitar stores, restsaurants, any place you can imagine. It’s nothing short of awesome.

So we were at the Jackalope last night for the Critical Sun showcase, and as there was free beer, things were going well. The music was sounding good for two reasons. One because it was good. I admit that I’m biased. I like these bands (if you hadn’t already guessed) and second, the music was good because of the free beer, of course. It puts an ease in the mind of the musician and the listener. People came in and out of the bar, and they grooved and bobbed their heads and smiled big when the bartender said, “Yeah, that’s free.” They invariably looked to the stage in that moment as if the band then playing was responsible for the free beer. They were receptive to the music, gave a discerning look and a nod of approval, pulled up seats and stayed for a while.

I was writing of course, anchored at the end of the bar with a good view of the bands and the patrons discovering the freeness of the beer. Stacey, the lead singer of the Furniture Girls came over and said hi, noticed me on the laptop and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not looking.” She’s good that way, understands not to peek at a work in progress. “Let me know when it’s done.”

“I will.”

The guitar player from Sightseer, Jason, came over, “I didn’t know you’re hiding over here writing away.”

“I am.”

“Let me know you post something.”

“I will.”

Both bands went on, and they both ripped it. They are both deserving of so much more attention than they currently get, and that’s one of the reasons I do what I do. I write about some bands again and again because they’re good. They should be heard. They should be playing the Showbox rather than the White Rabbit or the High Dive or the Shanty Tavern. As a kind of critic, I don’t mind saying again and again, “Check these guys out. Listen to this band.” Why wouldn’t I? If I like something, I’ll make it known.

Christina from In Cahoots came over, “Hi, Dave, good to see you. Thanks for coming down.”

The Januariez as a band saw me typing away at my corner of the bar, came over, “Hey, what’s up? Good to see you!”

“Likewise. I’ll get something written about you one of these days.”

“No worries,” Janie said, “We know you will sometime.”

“Good set by the way.” And it was. Listen to their rhythms. They have a good groove. Give them a second guitar player, and they’ll kick it I’m sure.

When the Jackalope was done, I wandered. I found an Irish Pub with no music which was a blessing, one for the Irish, and one for the no music, the quiet. I spoke to the Irish owner, James (I think), spoke of visiting Killarny. He laughed, “Killarny? Ha … I went there when I was in school for a trip.” I offered to plug the bar for a free shirt. He laughed at that too, “Ha! Free?” So I wound up buying a shirt for myself and one for her, the woman who drove me to the airport. It made me smile to look forward to going home, back to Seattle. It was the first day of SXSW, and I was already looking forward to going home.

Later, I was wandering the streets. I paused on a corner, looked in a window and saw a familiar face. I went in the restaurant to the table, “Hi, Dave.” She stood up, gave me a hug. It was Jamie, the singer for Witchburn, another Seattle favorite.

“I didn’t know you guys are here.”

“We are.”

“When are you playing?”

“Saturday.”

“Send me the info.”

“I will.” It was Jacy, the bass player. “What’s your email?” I gave it to him. “Done. We’ll see you Saturday.”

“Indeed.”

So I went back on the street, looked around, wondered which way to go, who to call or text, walked this way and that way in and among all the music, the marching bands, the African bands, the rock bands, the alt-country stuff, the sidewalk drummers, and then I heard my name.

“Dave.”

I like this place, so much music, so many people, and yet, I can’t seem to turn around and not know someone. And that speaks well for what’s happening in Seattle right now. Somehow I had inserted myself into this wonderful scene back home, and somehow been accepted in it, and somehow, the entire scene was here in Austin. I should have come here years ago, but I’m glad I didn’t. I needed to come here through Seattle, with Seattle, and hopefully along the way we’ll make a difference, a splash, and go home with stories to tell of the time we went to Austin, the time when there was nothing but music.

The voice was Jason again from Sightseer. “We thought we lost you.”

“Not a chance.”

Dave

Her is head on my chest, her left arm across my body, and the sound of her breathing is musical. It’s the first time we’ve spent the night together. I look around her room at the dresser, the closet door half open, the previous night’s glasses of Merlot, both still half-full, on the night stand next to the clock, the opened condom wrapper on the floor.

“What time is it?” she asks.

“5:30. I should leave soon since I have a plane to catch.”

“Damn. I forgot you’re going to South by Southwest … bastard.” She smiles, lifts her head up.

“That I am.”

“What, a bastard?”

“Funny … South by Southwest.”

“You want some coffee?”

“Please.”

She gets up still naked and leaves the bedroom while I lay and stretch so in the spaciousness of her king size bed. It’s true, that bit about me going to Austin for SXSW. I’ll be staying with, hanging out with, watching and listening to a few Seattle bands on the indie Seattle-based label, Critical Sun. They’ll have four or five gigs over the course of the week (details here), the most promising of which apprears to be the March 14th show at the Jackalope where there will be seven bands (Furniture Girls, Sightseer, In Cahoots and more) and, from what I’m told, free beer. That bears repeating, FREE BEER. With 4271 (as of this writing) on the Facebook RSVP list, it looks like it’ll be a packed house, and certainly a good time.

SXSW is by all means the place for bands to be seen in the month of March, and it makes me wonder how many of these bands, if any, will make it, which of them will make any significant splash, and which will continue on, splash or not. Many of the best bands I’ve ever seen have been bands that never made it past being called “local”, bands that went unheard by the masses, bands who moved me in some way and so from my point, though never famous, they did make a splash in my life and the lives of a few other locals, bands like The Lollipop Factory from Columbus and Busker Soundcheck from Chicago, bands, sadly, that you’ve never heard but that I remember years and years later. That’s the great thing about SXSW, a national stage for local music, a chance to be heard.

She comes back into the room, hands me a cup of coffee, climbs into the bed resuming her previous position. I sip the coffee. It’s strong. She knows my tastes. “I’ll give you a ride to the airport,” she says, “if you promise to bring back stories and sunshine.”

Such a comment could almost make a man not want to go to Austin, could make a man want to do nothing but lie naked in bed sipping coffee and listening to the musical sound of breathing, but then, it makes me want to go even more, gives me something to look forward to, two things actually, all the music to be experienced in Austin, all those deserving but as yet unheard bands, and then afterward, the telling of those stories.

I get up and pop the Sightseer CD into the CD player, climb back into bed, into the same position again, and again, sip the coffee. The music starts, mixes with her breathing as I think of rides to the airport and spending a week buried in “local” music in Texas.

“This is good.”

Dave

Who: Critical Sun bands: Furniture Girls, Sightseer, In Cahoots, The Januariez, Darrius Willrich, Rob Marcus, Seeing Blind
Where: The Jackalope
When: Wednesday, March 14 12:00 – 6:00
Cost: Free, including beer!

List of Seattle bands at SXSW 2012

And the music is good. U2ish at times, even a little Radiohead like in the beat of Mares (my favorite EIE tune). They have energy, but they need space, a good mix, like Four Poses that rides a cool bass riff while guitars right and left do their thing. They spread it out rather than go over the top. And there’s a sweetness, even when they bring it up and rock. It’s partially Irene Barber’s voice. She sounds sweet even when she’s balls out screaming, and that’s one thing about them. They have an edge, but there’s always a soft spot, a tender spot, and they aim for it, and they usually get there.

Their new CD, Unnovae Nights, is being released today with a show at The Crocodile this evening (details below), a place where the mix is good and, I imagine, where the astral sounds of EIE will fill the space quite well.

Dave

Eighteen Individual Eyes: Facebook | Website

CD Release Show:

When: Thursday March 1st
Where: The Crocodile
Time: 8:00
Cost: $8.00

Furniture Girls be at the Sunset on Thursday, March 8 along with fellow Critical Sun bands Sightseer, In Cahoots, and The Januariez, and the same line up will be in Bremerten at the Hi-Fidelity the following night, March 9. Rumor has it that a Seattle Subsonic staffer will be filling in on bass for Sightseer for the Bremerten gig. The best way to verify the rumor, of course, is to head to Bremerten at the appointed time.

Dave

Don’t forget to Check out the full Critical Sun SXSW compilation.

Screenplay/Director/Producer: Andrew Birchall. 2012.

They’re going on tour starting March 8 and will end up down in Austin for SXSW where they hopefully can get a little bit of much deserved attention. And Julia has kindly agreed to join me on stage in the not too distant future, but more details on that to come.

Dave

Julia Massey: Website | Facebook