EIC and Design Editor Eduard Abayev
Writing Staff
Jude Noel Austin Naamani Corey Burks Aleix K Basie Campbell Cory Cory
Promotional Team
Madelynn Erbe Peyton Crenshaw
front cover by Ashlynn Barker art by Tib
METAL MONDAYS HIGHLANDS TAPROOM 1056 Bardstown road Free 1 :00pm 21+
LOOKS LIKE SOMEONES GOT A CASE OF THE MONDAYS Live Bands Kick It off
Your Playlist Keeps It Going
SHAKING by Amanda Grabowski
The Black Sail Part I By Yoko Molotov a Black Fligkt of swollen tonsil busy convincin’ the demon to leave the throat failing of the Black Halo corrupt the world of hot neon lines pickin’ up Discardin’ the ones I don’t need weaving a poem with Black Hands a nest someone has opened The Black Sail and spilled the dye The sky a closed mouth Black Damp lungs heavy to hang found sorrow in short hand some sad Morse code bury the Black Book and the Black Box place all my words down with me in the final Black Room an itch that’s made it’s home so deep a fungal sternum cut and a cough, a metronome shrinking from the SHOUT of the Black Sail started on the rim of madness Open Like third kingdom’s gills sail Flight and Halo All Black as shadow laid To defeat Two days at White Sea Let my words Let ‘em shine
art by Yoko Molotov
Something You Said, Part I By Lucy Deguerre Something you said Made me wish For all the time We’ve missed. Driving in the middle of The road in the middle of The night I remember Your soft smile and The deep, rich brown Of your eyes That could light the way For a hundred miles. If I could go back To those moments For one time only, I would Open myself up deep down To the bare bone And say: Please wait here I have gone To get help— Gone to become Strong like a mountain, Deep like the ocean or A beautiful garden of flowers For you.
by
SOMEHOW
Jonathan
Harland
SOME art
by
WAY
Jillian
and
Michael
On Wednesdays, my first outreach stop was Gospel Memorial Soup Kitchen, the best free food in Long Beach. Gospel was a favorite of mine due to two factors: Gospel’s soup kitchen was run by the stoic and no nonsense Mother Allen and Gospel was next to Poly High, alma mater of one Calvin Cordozar Broadus Jr. The soup kitchen started with some preaching and a hymn. Next the staff called me up to say a few words to the collected homeless about my agency’s Veterans programs and then they brought out the food. As I finished up my spiel, I recognized a Veteran at one of the front tables: a short, wiry Marine with a shaved head, dressed in a dirty white sweatshirt and jeans. A 6 year old girl with braids sat next to him. The week before, I had made an appointment for him to be screened at a welfare to work program. The Veteran had been extremely excited, but that was last week. After a short prayer, the Vet and the little girl were served first and the little girl delicately, carefully ate her lasagna. Before I left the serving room, I tapped the Vet on the shoulder: “Hey, can you come talk to me when you’re done eating?”
He nodded shortly and I walked out into the hall. I scuffled over to the glass doors of the sanctuary and checked out the drum set near the lectern. Then I leaned back on a communion table pushed against the wall to wait. After a few minutes, the Vet emerged unsteadily from the serving room and headed towards me. “So what happened Monday?” I asked pleasantly though I already had a pretty good idea. He glared at me. “You lied to me about that place,” he declared. “What do you mean?” “You didn’t tell me I had to be clean to go in there. They piss tested me and I was dirty.” “I did tell you they were going to test you. Remember? You have to be 90 days clean.” He stared blankly at me. “You were dirty, huh?” “You’re damn right I was. I wouldn’t have been if you had told me.” He looked down at the ground and shook his head. I knew I had told him the right information, but if he needed to blame me, I was fine with it. “Yeah, sorry about that,” I conceded. The Vet snapped his head up and stared at me hard. “And those people over there better watch it.” His voice rose in volume. “They shouldn’t treat people like that. Look down on them.” “What happened at the screening?” “I just told you what happened and they need to watch out,” he gestured wildly and yelled. “You can’t treat people like that. Like they’re nothing.” “I wasn’t there,” I said evenly, “but we don’t look down on you. We’re trying to help you.” “How is it helping me to leave me on the street?” The Vet leaned over me and put his face closer to mine. He reeked of alcohol. “I came in there for help!” The little girl with braids wandered out of the serving room and made her way to the Vet’s side. “They better watch out cause people ain’t gonna take that.” He continued at a high volume and repeated many of the same phrases. As he yelled at me, the little girl tugged on his hand, leaning all of her weight towards the serving room. This was getting bad. I decided to stand up to my full height and back him off. As I soon as I stood up, he quickly took a step back and stopped yelling.”Look, I don’t know what happened Monday, but I told you they were going to drop you,” I stated. “What did they say you should do now?” “They said I should go to V...VVsomething.” “VVRC,” I finished for him. It was the VA’s drug and alcohol treatment program, formerly known as K2 due to its location in the hospital. “But I’m not going to the VA Hospital,” the Vet said with certainty, “I’ve already been to K2 this year. I can’t go back. They don’t do shit anyway.” Before, I didn’t know how complex and complicated the work was, how byzantine and loaded. It looked simple. He wanted help. I wanted to help him. The Vet let the girl pull him back into the serving room. I walked to the doorway and watched her lead him back to their table. She put his fork back his hand and watched him until he started to eat.
SLAVES TO THE DEATH GOD by Taylor White
When we first arrive to the First Glass Box, we are greeted and welcomed. They call us brothers and sisters. There is much chattering and rubbing as we acquaint ourselves with our new home. Those Who Were Already Here watch us as we climb the tubes and hang from the fenced ceiling. We explore the place we come to know as the First Glass Box. They watch us, and mutter amongst themselves amusedly, and smile to us as if they know secrets. And we ask “Why do we amuse you so? Should we not explore our new home?” And they reply “This is not your home. You will learn.” The First Glass Box is small. There are many of us here, but we like to stay close to each other. Food is plentiful: sweet, moist, and delicious. When we ask where the orange food comes from, Those Who Were Already Here point to the sky and say “They are gifts. You will learn.” Our conditions are foul. The glass floor is stained with our filth: droppings, sheddings, discarded parts. There is no soft earth or wet mud. No green plants. But there are no predators here. No killers, parasites, or diseases. No rains to drown us or thunder to disturb our sleep. The sights, sounds, and smells of the natural world are nowhere to be found. Beyond the glass box, we can only glimpse a strange world of color and shape beyond comprehension. Those Who Were Already Here tell us mysterious stories of one or two who have escaped into that strange place. “Where do they go? What have they found?” And they tell us “They never come back.” We ask “Why would anyone want to escape? We have food and safety and community.” They say “Everyone leaves the First Glass Box. Either on your own, or when you are chosen.” When the fenced ceiling is removed, it is time for some of us to leave. The tubes we crawl on and rest inside and lifted up, high out of the First Glass Box and into the great beyond. The lifting is indiscriminate. If you are on the tube, you go. Sometimes, Those Who Were Already Here are taken, and they say to us “More of you will come, and you will already be here.” The tube returns, but it is empty. Those who rode it are gone forever. We get used to life inside the First Glass Box. Orange food is left for us, with no effort on our part. The fence is lifted and those on the tube go on to greater mysteries. Sometimes they sit on the tube and wait, ready to leave. And sometimes they are simply caught unaware. Their eyes are full of unknown terror as the tube takes them away. The rest of the time we eat and sleep and copulate and enjoy ourselves. We are fat, dirty, and happy. Soon, there are only a few of us left. No one remembers Those Who Were Already Here. They are gone, as are many of those who arrived with us. Now, we have that honor, to answer the questions of the new ones. We welcome them and watch them play and explore and we mutter amongst ourselves at their innocence. We tell them of the tubes, the orange food, and the strange space beyond. One day, I was on the tube as it ascended from the First Glass Box. It was my time to leave! I was chosen for great glories beyond the box! I had never felt such elation. There was no terror in my heart; I was riding the wind. The trip was short. It ended with not a soft landing, but a vigorous shaking of the tube. We were thrown from it, dropping and landing into a bed of hot sand. Above us burned twin suns, the smaller burning a bright white and the other a soft yellow. Their heat was comforting and invigorating. The sand stretched out before us in all directions.At one end, a pool of fresh water.At the end, a massive clay cave.A fallen tree lay between the two as if a bridge. At the very edge of the sands, we saw the colors and shapes of deep space. From around the clay cave came a face: two bright eyes colored with brutal intelligence, and a severe, stoic mouth. The face sat atop a body covered with hard scales and spines, carried on massive legs. The creature kicked up sand as it lumbered towards us. Its mouth opened, revealing a sopping wet pink tongue and beyond that, terrifying levels of unknown darkness. The First Glass Box was ours. We had security and peace. The Second Glass Box was not a place of glorious mystery, but of constant terror and death. It was the domain of the Tyrant-Faced Death God. The Tyrant welcomed us to the Second Glass Box by chasing us down and eating us. One after another, that ghastly
pink tongue snatched us up and threw us into the gaping maw. I saw my friends crushed by that gate, while the eyes, unblinking, searched for more: two instruments of destruction working in tandem without registering any feeling or hesitation. The Tyrant’s actions were direct, measured, and precise. He devoured us simply by choice and not by sustained effort. He was pure and unwavering, driven by the callous indifference of eternal hunger. Finally, the Tyrant was done. He climbed and perched on the fallen tree, basking in the glow of the twin suns. Though his eyes found us in our hiding spots, and saw us desperately banging on the invisible walls between sand and space, he ignored us. Was it that he was satisfied, or was it merely that forcing us to watch and wait and contemplate our position fed him in another way? Was it not enough to commit our bodies to darkness that the Tyrant needed our despair as well? The few of us who remained found a high place inside the fallen tree, crevices where the Tyrant could not reach. There were more of us in that place, hiding, waiting. I recognized some of them from the First Glass Box. They had no answers now. There was nothing left to learn. Clean water and leafy greens were left out for the Tyrant. Gifts from above. If we stayed inside the fallen tree, we would have starved. So when the suns were out and the Death God slumbered, we stole from him.We ate his greens and drank his water. There was more than even the Death God could eat, so he would never notice the tiny bits that we took. In the pale night, we sat in the fallen tree and we chattered. We wondered on the purpose for it all. Did we only exist to be killed by the Tyrant. Did the Tyrant exist only to kill us? Were there other glass boxes? Perhaps a line of them, each with a new experience waiting for us. Perhaps this was only a great test, and those who lasted long enough, or displayed a certain trait we could not know of now, would be taken and given over to even greater mysteries. One in the back of the crevice spoke up. He had been to the outside. The space beyond the Glass Boxes. His eyes were wretched and his voice was brittle. He said there were beings even more terrible than the Tyrant-Faced Death God. Towering entities the size of whole worlds. He spoke of strangeness and horrors in the space beyond. “There is nothing waiting us out there but death. It is best to be caught and returned to the Second Glass Box. It is not a place meant for us, but for greater beings of vast and deep intellects, who manipulate worlds as if they were toys.” When we last saw the Beyonder, as we called him, he was perched on top of the Tyrant, picking at the spines while singing songs of madness without end. Some of us evaded the Tyrant time and again. Most of us were eaten. Gobbled, crushed, and swallowed. When the tube returned, it shook more of us into the sand. Those of us hiding in the fallen tree could do nothing but watch as the newcomers scattered before the unstoppable Tyrant. When they discovered our hiding place, they crammed it to capacity. It was a cycle, and it never ended. I thought of my lazy days in the First Glass Box, content to let the days never end. Ignorant of the secrets the universe had yet to reveal to me. The end came to us when the fallen tree was rattled. As I fell and hit the hot sand again, I thought back to the tube. The tube that was supposed to carry me to glory. I looked up to the sky, and beyond the twin burning suns, I saw the eyes of ancient beings. They shook us into the mouth of their slave, and I could do nothing but laugh. “The Pizza by Mathias
Boy” Davey
LIFE ON LESBIAN ISLAND:
Songs
by Laurel Dixon
about
Pablo
art
Neruda by
COCOONITUDE
The first thing that’s good to know about my partner—let’s call him Writer Boyfriend—is his fraction set. He’s of course a very complex human being, etc etc, but for the purpose of this post we’re going to pretend you can actually make people look like math problems. Writer Boyfriend is generally 1/3 Adult-like and Responsible, 1/3 Lovable Oddball, and 1/3 Aloof and Mysterious. Writer Boyfriend is also spontaneously good at things. If you’ve ever loved someone like this, you know how magical and annoying it is. For instance, you’ll be talking about some social issue of the day with another roommate, and Writer Boyfriend will wander into the room and make that one point that you were trying so hard to articulate. And he will say it perfectly, and you will be so grateful someone said it and yet so annoyed that it wasn’t you, and all of these feelings will fight inside you like hormonal jellyfish until you end up inappropriately hugging him. No one will understand what’s happening. You were just talking about your newest Senator, for god’s sake. His latest burst of spontaneous awesome comes on a Thursday night while I’m playing guitar. I always play guitar when I’m sad, for two simple reasons: the first being that my guitar playing is so hideously bad that people will come see what animal they think that I am killing, and then I can maneuver them into talking to me and cheering me up. The second reason is that playing guitar takes so much of my attention that I forget to be sad. So both my roommate Red and Writer Boyfriend are lured into my cheer-up trap, and they wince through one
TOBACCOMAGAZINE.BANDCAMP.COM TOBACCOMAGAZINE.BANDCAMP.COM
verse of what might be “Rocky Mountain High” before Writer Boyfriend commandeers the guitar and quietly starts playing. Notes wash through the air, wiping away whatever horror had occurred earlier. “You play guitar?” I say dumbly. Of course he plays guitar. He also cooks and gives admirable back massages; why the hell wouldn’t he play guitar? Not for the first time in our relationship, I wonder what Writer Boyfriend sees in me: my main contributions to our romance thus far have been burnt sandwiches, unevenly chopped fruit and bouts of melancholy. If I developed a dating resume, it would be a half-page and mainly include sentiments like: “I have nice hair” and “I will write you bad love poems that I will never, ever show you, and then refuse to tell you how I feel.” I decided a long time ago to bluff my way through situations where the other person isn’t aware of my flaws. If handsome writer man wanted to sit on my bed and play nineties indie hits, then I wasn’t going to point out that I could burn water and made guitar chords sound like cats in heat. I leaned back on my bed and prepared to be wooed by “Manta Ray” and maybe a few bars of “Turn it On.” Instead I noticed a strange gleam enter Writer Boyfriend’s and Red’s eyes. I leaned closer; they both smelled faintly of Miller High Life. “Red, get me a book off the bookshelf,” Writer Boyfriend said. “Have you all been drinking?” I asked over the hum of acoustic chords. With or without the aid of alcohol, I often came home to bizarre scenes, like Red and Writer Boyfriend hitting each other with empty cardboard boxes and shrieking or experimenting with drinking shots of bourbon mixed with milk. The most memorable of these episodes was where they spoke in Slavic accents for an entire evening and would only carry on conversations about goats, dowries, and “The Great Fire.” A few of my red bandanas may or may not have ended up tied around their heads, kerchief-style. I suspected I was about to witness something similar. “I’m going to write a song for you,” Writer Boyfriend declared. Red showed Writer Boyfriend the book that he had fetched for him. It was a book of poems by Pablo Neruda. “Perfect,” said Writer Boyfriend. He started to strum. I almost wish I could I could directly transcribe for you the song that followed. Slightly tipsy Writer Boyfriend wrote me an entire song about how Pablo Neruda was an unhinged kidnapper. There were subplots. There was clear character development. At one point, Maya Angelou inexplicably showed up, as well as a brave orphan boy. My protests over his and Red’s rowdy singing were in vain: “Guys, he was a Chilean poet.” “My favorite poet, actually.” “No one EVER called him ‘Neruda the Brutal.” “HE WAS NOT NOTED FOR CARRYING A MEAT CLEAVER.” It’s never, ever, ever boring—I’ll give him that.
WHO
IS
FAMILY
DOG?
als), Blake (guitar and voc (guiter Hun Greg (bass) , (drums) Nick and tar),
ev by Eduard Abay
HOW DOG
DID COME
Y FAMIBLE? TO
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ANY G OOD D OG ST ORI
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ANY BUM
R OR BIG TOUO G PLANS C MIN
ALUP?
right recording are fall We / release rd. ha now, fall u yo for ng mi co ur to
WHAT ARE SOME INFLUENCES FOR YOU GUYS? Arthur Reed,
Russell, Lou and TodayShits.
CHECK OUT FAMILY DOG AT FAMILY-DOG.BANDCAMP.COM
WHO ARE SOME OF YOUR FAVORITE LOCAL MUSICIANS? We’re feelin’ Ted Tyro those bouncy bass lin and Twin Limb are in acc es, diance with the sort of ormusic we love, and White Rea per you know. We saw LoL o and the Dirty Pillows at and they played a sweet Decca set.
VITAL INFO Big ups to the do, one world,uno munpeace.
WHO
IS
VEGAN
DEATH?
. Ben, Joe and John Its Aaron, Vegan
IS IT THE NAME AN ANTI-VEGAN STAT ENT OR A JUST KEEPIN’ EMIT REAL?
Possibly anti-vegan, dunno though. I guess VegI an Life would’ve been too positive.
HOW DID VEGAN DEATH BEGI N?
We started in Korea a couple Seoul, South mostly 4 tracki years ago, ing some shows ng and playthere. People didn’t really li at all, but when ke it there ed to Lexington we relocatmore receptive. people were and Ross from Ho Then, James helped us put p Hop Records out our LP.
R FAOF YOU E M O S IANS? WHO AREE LOCAL MUSIC or eat f ur VORIT g y all n m
by Eduard Abayev
t re ngto s jusow. Lexi, The El s i y k g c n l n u u i t a P Th Ken right Dr. Hair ing music ns like rner and and putt een u a sici es, MA T creating ! I’ve b rom sinorall been pe stuff stuff f ns, have eally do of great Delorea ack out r ng a lot tely too, band Bl ad! heari ville la and that super r Louis Weirdo radise… a Rude of P s d r i B
ANY BUM PBLIG TOUR OR ANS CO MING UALP? Our new reco rd, Baby
Green, is ju coming out on st of vinyl and Hop Hop. We did a bunch it wi ll be av iTunes any day. It’s al ailable on able on Bandca so streamhoping to hi mp. As for tour, we’re some midwest t Louisville soon and shows should follow.
NFLUSOME IDEATH? E R A N WHAT OR VEGA ENCES F -
sur ely our Definit gs, living in roundin nd Lexington. Seoul a e all that We lov and twee shit s l a c k e rc k w h e n t o o . I from ba hat definite. think tmes through o c ly
CHECK OUT VEGAN DEATH AT VEGANDEATH.BANDCAMP.COM
by Eduard Abay ev
HOW LONG HAV YOU BEEN MAKING EMUSI C?
GS INFLUWHAT OTHER THIN TE MUSIC? EA CR U YO W HO ENCE
I st from arted pla didn’tprobably ying the 14 -y make guitar I st r-o m so ita’rted recoy own musld, but I ic rdi s been probanbg in colluntil ege ly 5-6 years.,
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DO YOU ENJOY PLAYING YOUR MUSIC LIVE? play music I love and want to making my d rte sta I live. But when ays come alw ing own music, record d time converthar had I so first, into what’s ing what I recorded songs as my g yin Pla heard live. s does ing ord rec they are from the the same ate cre ly ari ess nec not w and match vibe for a live sho g. For inson the the image of guitar with stance, loud electric g note and lon a in rd cho n ope big never get rs ake spe g zin bass buz live. As n tha ing ord better in rec n Flowika Afr a result, my song, 15 mins live ng bei up ed end er, ed version even though the rec.ord ping the Kee min 3 is less than song same vibe and image of the ortant to me. at live show is impto make songs t wan I e Next tim recording! not ce, cti during my pra
art by
Masaaki Sasaki
WHAT KIND OF MUSIC DO YO U LISTEN TO AND HOW DOES IT INFL UENCE YOUR MUSIC? I like when music starts creating something like a big invisible fragile soap bubble filled with some kind of dense air. The bubble starts enfolding you and your surroundings in it. The bigger the bubble is, the more you get into the world of music, a lot of love is given to it as well as fear. It is also very scary in a way. It is fragile and it may break and disappear so easily. I like any kinds of music related to kids, too. I want to make music that reminds me of a memorable experience in my youth, but not in a nostalgic way. Recently I listened to the album, Cartola by Cartola, and kept repeating over and over. I like music that grabs and pulls the collar of my shirts. Every note of the acoustic guitar and his voice on the album goes straight to my heart!
WHAT KIND OF INSTRUMENTS OR SOUNDS DO YOU LIKE USING MOST? HAVE YOU DO LOCAL VORITE
FAANY ARTISTS?
list. I wish There are too many to the m since I of all t lis I could these see I ds ban like most of I like all days, which is great. stuff and the Sophomore Loungeut Tropical abo g hin ryt love eve e New MothTrash. I always like, and Dream er Nature, Softchequ elf and ksh Boo el. Whe or Col Eye great nd sou ays alw a D’Arkestr and y env I e. liv m when I see the ple that have am attracted to peohav e. Authensomething I don’t ites me. exc ays alw d ban tic full al in ion dit tra ing I like someth ist, I like style. As for solo art and JonaDane Waters, Jay Jayle, rn a lot lea and e lov I d. than Woo by Dougtar gui ic from the electr more I lot a las Lucas. There areI listened to ly ent Rec t. lis can tly liked her Cher Von and instan Astro Black at n Ver stuff. I saw and was nig Records the other t tohtcheck out wan I t. bea pretty badly! Opposable Thumbs pretty
WERE YOU RN IN JAPAN DO YOU EVERBO ? FEEL HOME SICK?
I would say whatever sounds good to me on any kind of instruments I own. I think the sounds are very relative and variant to composition and combination of themselves. I have to try and see if the idea can work every time. It always takes time. Most of the times it does not work. I struggle to find a proper instrumentation. There is an image I want to create on a song and I think about what instruments or sounds I own or have. The result would be the middle point between the actual environment (or equipment) around me and my image in the head. That doesn’t necessarily mean that I am not satisfied with the results. Rather I honestly enjoy its fluidity and sensitivity of sounds and things, and which makes somewhat music even more realistic and fresh to me. I recently realized that maybe what kind of music I will make is already determined when I buy an instrument or by what instruments I have, but at the same time I am also free to make whatever music I want to. I want to use my voice more in the future!
Yes, I was bo rn in the ci Tokyo) in Ch ty of spent 7 year iba prefecture, andFunabashi (a suburban s then th ere and then moved to west city very close to and lived th moved backI to er si e un of Tokyo and ti l since Chib a 19. Since I ttle countrde moved twicli y town in Ch “hometown,”a is close to Tokyo, e wh iba en I was a kid I never had conversationso I envy people who sa and also th e fe el in . y g I used to miss “my hometown that but at some ” certain thin d mean it duI have a point, I star gs such as an still miss ho ring the te d no fo od missing them d hot spring buildings, cr t springs). Now I tmi anymore soan ow ss me de the scenery how (though s, d tiny houses das, and such I in , Ja tr . pa ai I am so n n stations, ch as many my apartment ppy that I ca shrines, tesu in Louisvilha n mp he le my little ni ar cicadas in s, cicale. I also mi ece, Rina, wh the backyard o is in the ss my family and frie nds especial of picture of Pa ly n! track cove r photo.
NFO VITAL relIeas ed 7-inch
vinyl single, I just ords, Modern Rec ck available at Astro Blao Guestroom Records als d (an Cult Records, ine (www.sasmusoon) locally, and onl check them out! ase Ple m) sic.bandcamp.co
CHECK OUT SHUTARO AT SASMUSIC.BANDCAMP.COM
FOR PERFORMERS, WORKSHOPS, AND MORE
LOUISVILLEOUTSKIRTSFESTIVAL.COM
E
M
WHAT ARE SOME GOALS WITH OUTSKIRTS, AND WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE THE COMMUNITY TO LEARN FROM IT? WERE THERE ANY FESTS YOU LOOKED TO SPIRATION OR FOR
OTHER AS INIDEAS?
Our goals have remained the same since the inception of Outskirts. We want to showcase music being made by women here in Louisville and elsewhere in a way that let’s the audience see that “women’s music” isn’t a genre. Women are active in all the different styles of music and we want to show as many of those styles as possible. The main reason we’d like to showcase these musicians is to inspire women and girls by providing them with opportunities to see other women play music. Ultimately, we hope this festival helps create a more inclusive climate for all musicians.
It was important to us that we include lots of local bands, so that was our first guideline. We also looked to fests like Ladyfest and She Shreds shows for inspiration. We modeled our Rockshops after the Rock Camp for Girls.
ARE THERE ANY PERFORMERS OR WORKSHOPS YOU’RE PARTICULARLY STOKED FOR?
WHAT ARE SOME UNIQUE CHALLENGES THAT COME WITH PUTTING TOGETHER SOMETHING LIKE OUTSKIRTS?
We are very excited about all the acts, and we have a couple of unannounced performers that we can’t wait to share. There’s also a lot of excitement regarding Outskirts Rockshops for Girls, the two day music workshops for girls 10-18. A great group of Louisville musicians are creating the curriculum that will be used to instruct girls in forming their own bands and creating a song to perform.
We’ve had to learn a lot about working with agents to book nationally touring bands. That’s been a real learning experience, and luckily we’ve had Joel to help us. He’s got a strong background as a show promoter. Otherwise, a great lesson we’ve learned is that if you put yourself and your ideas out there and ask the community for help, the response can be overwhelmingly positive. So many individuals, organizations and businesses have been so responsive and helpful. It’s really been an amazing experience so far!
THE COMMUNITY SUPPORT FOR OUTSKIRTS SEEMS EXTREMELY WARM. HOW CAN SOMEONE GET INVOLVED? People have been really interested! To get involved, just email us at outskirtslouisville@ gmail.com and we’ll be in touch with volunteer opportunities.
WHEN
AND
WHERE
IS
IT?
Outskirts begins October 10th and runs through October 12th. We’ll be working with The New Vintage, The Cure Lounge, Dreamland and one more venue TBA at a later time.
ALBUM REVIEWS
ALBUM REVIEWS
ALBUM REVIEWS
ALBUM REVIEWS
Sonder Valley by Ant Elope ant-elope.bandcamp.com I was too hard on this guy when I reviewed his Hey! Get Yer Heads Outta the Clouds! EP, perhaps. On Sonder Valley he offers up three songs, one with a backing track done by someone else. ‘Daydreamer’, the ‘stolen’ track, is the EP’s bounciest and lightest and helps drive what Ant Elope does well on the other two songs: make short, sad dance tracks you can’t really dance to. That may sound back-handed, but it’s not meant to. The shorter run times makes this easier to get into than Clouds!’ tendency to push songs past the four minute mark and the title track flirts with gothic beauty better than anything else he’s done. This is music to light up alone to - just enough sulking and ornamentation to soothe your inner depressed child. - Aleix Kite
The Narrative by Shadowpact littleheart.bigcartel.com Louisvillian wordsmiths Modern Marvill and Sleye Kooper team up with beatmaker Artemis the Archer to make Shadowpact, a rap group with solid hip-hop IQ and a bit of nerd flair. For The Narrative, Shadowpact brought on Louisville producer Dr Dundiff to assist on the beats to great effect. The beats on this album are largely sample based, from what I can tell, but the flips are so well done that they feel brand new. They’re dynamic, interesting, and always mixed to perfectly interact with the movement of the emcees on the track. The raps are super solid and I always enjoyed them (except “Darwin never gave me a weakness” come on man, that’s not how evolution works at all.) These guys really know how to craft a song, and the album is just long enough to be satisfying without getting boring. The features are solid. Overall this album is super enjoyable, a great first album, and I’m excited for more. - Corey Burks
Aggressive
Menace
by
Solenodon
carpathiancassettes.bandcamp.com There’s something about runaway instrumentation and shakey rhythms that almost fall apart that Alex G can’t help but traffic in. His album Frequency Bands is like sticking your finger in light socket on coke sometimes. His Solenodon projects continues to reign things in, this time working with several producers. Notice how the woozy keyboard carpet that ‘Malaprop’ lies in carries into the violin laden ‘Empress of the Sun’ and then becomes Blade Runner. The peak of ‘Salt Creek Mesa Summit’’s second chorus is puncuated with brief drums and heavier distortion. Tracks like ‘Punch Cutting’ maintain a power-trio romp that shows how subtle the line between folk and barn burner can be. That part where ‘Concrete’ gets all #candycoreorwhatever on you. That couplet in ‘Menace’ (you’ll know which one). It’s an album that plays up, and with, Alex’s strengths. It’s also his strongest set of songs to boot, making the move to more inviting production all the more wlecome. - Aleix Kite
7 song Demo by No Witness nowitnesshc.bandcamp.com Caterwauling and songs that are pockets of heavy riffage, stoner-rock slow/nightmare fast drum crashes and DUN DUN DUNNN guitars. It’s nothing you haven’t heard before. But that’s not why you’re here. You’re here for raw energy audio-violence and No Witness delivers. Opener ‘Dope Dealer’ stacks everything this band does into two mintues of kick ass morphing sludge. Only to follow it with the :04 ‘No Help’ and a barrage of thrash explosions that never need to be longer than :57. Fuck that. Also, can you say no to the ‘powerviolence’ genre tag? No. No you can’t. - Aleix Kite
War
On
Pleasure
by
J.
Marinelli
jmarinelli.bandcamp.com J. Marinelli is a one-man punk machine, fresh into a 10” release among a plethora of lo-fi punk in a town that craves the carefree and DIY. The title track and “Do You Believe In Energy?” have a simplsstic charm ala the Ramones while songs like “Hey Lock Haven” and “Picasso Vs. Lester Bangs” burst with a loose melodic, the latter being what could best be described as “banjo-punk”. Despite the pleasantness it’s got a good bit of dirt that’ll keep the listener’s ears just a bit tense. – Cory Cory
Known for their relentless output, the Eviction Records collective’s Harpy is known for her power and noise. NOT THIS TIME THO. On Bad Bird, the ceaseless drilling and shouting fall way to the sounds of a really sad girl making reflective 4 am sadsongs.“Let it be Known I Hate Everyone”, and I’m Hard to Live With” are just as earnest and open as the titles suggest. Despite the candidness of it all, the trademark banshee howls still show up, and is over all still a very experimental work. Get your CD-R today. - Eduard Abayev
Scream In Your Eyes by Dirty Bitch dirtybitch.bandcamp.com Dirty Bitch is a little duo with an emphasis on bleakness and the opening foul howls of “That Girl Gone” with a bleary acoustic sets a generally neurotic tone. Three songs of dreary darkness and raw, acoustic gloom stripped down compared to previous efforts being stark rock n’ roll. “Walk in The Park” eerily reminds me of Ween’s take on “Cold Blows The Wind” but rather than a song of mourning it evokes a song of murderous thought, a twisted parallel. If you’re up for a quick bite of blunt acoustic tales of demise and dismay this will satiate your appetite. - Cory Cory
ALBUM REVIEWS
Bad Bird by Harpy evictionrecords.bandcamp.com
ALBUM REVIEWS
The
ALBUM REVIEWS
The first time I saw Louisville’s own The Foxery, they played a wonderfully sad cover of “Where Have You Been?” by Manchester Orchestra in the Walnut Street Baptist basement. They were super into it and emotional and I was 16 and it was really cool. Since then they’ve only been on an upward trajectory, playing in the company of truly amazing bands such as Coping and Murder by Death and releasing a fantastic full length. The Foxery plays a poppy, epic brand of emo rock reminiscent of The Devil and God… era Brand New mixed with Catch For Us the Foxes era mewithoutYou. Their major label debut Unless develops over the course of the album from a meditation on the dark and difficult emotions we face to a triumphant victory over the despair those emotions can bring when left to fester. The polish and songcraft on this album is awesome and it’d probably be worth it to pick up the vinyl, because that album cover is seriously bad ass. - Corey Burks
ALBUM REVIEWS
Unless by The Foxery spartanrecords.bandcamp.com
words and by Aleix
art Kite
tobaccomagazine.net
“TV Head” by Tib