Wings over the Asphalt: Space City Swarm and Dang
Upon finishing yet another numbing decade beset by corporate rock (this time under the aegis of unwashed, sullen, whiny dilettantes posing as unwashed, sullen, whiny latchkey kids), one truth is again driven home: rock and roll is a live exchange, a live experience. When it's good, it makes a lot of life's more mundane aspects tolerable, and when it's great, well, it's a communal rush. Swarm of Angels wove themselves from the threads of past Houston musical collaborations and are now pursuing that very thing.
Responsible for the noise are Ralf Armin (bass), Matt Frey (drums), Erika Thrasher (rhythm guitar), Domokos Benzcedi (feather axe), Elke Pallenberg (sax), and Nikki Texas (vox).
They kicked off summer with a short tour, and played shows as far westward as San Francisco before heading back home for dates at Sixth Ward showcase Fire Station # 3, as well as the brand-new Axiom. The mission statement for today, then, is spreading the word.
In February the band collected James Sralla and headed into Houston's Static House studios. The resultant EP, PLESSURE, offers a taste of the nascent sound. It's a whipping, whirring sound-plane that gets its hooks in slowly and deeply.
The title track makes the band's sonic case, to wit: if you can't convey your message with 1:47 of toms, snares, and barking whoops, maybe you should reconsider your career field. The band's not here for a lot of navel-gazing. In-floo-ential Bay Area jazz critic Ralph Gleason once described the Jefferson Airplane as playing "... with all the delicacy and finesse of a mule team kicking down a picket fence." That's sorta the thing here; to move past the dead weight, plug in, play the damn show and have some fun.
Maybe--maybe-- if James Chance and The Contortions and Dayton's late lamented Brainiac found themselves in a triple-canopy jungle, beset by hungry and pissed headhunters, and wanted a last hurrah, you'd get a result like "1000Aires." Pallenberg's sax drives the thing wildly home.
If the band just wanted to front you, they blew it with "Medea." Too honest. More great sax. Plangent. This ain't about being a come-on. Too real. Too good. Is this a single yet? Why the hell not? Trac four, "Flag Wavers," combines hypnotic, wind-tunnel vocals with so much fuzz you'll think you've blown your bass cones. It's Throbbing Gristle channeled. It's an insistent melodic germ-- pop for the collective unconscious. Hey, they'll even make you mentally name-check the storied Velvets (with the crucial distinction being that SOA doesn't suck).
So that's it. Turn the car around.
Don't miss the Swarm.
-- Dave Bottoms
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