My Journalism Professor Made Me Do It.

Monday, October 3, 2011

ZLAM DUNK with SUMMER PEOPLE and HOTCHACHA - 10.3 @ O'Brien's Pub

Before I explain anything about this show, I need to explain how we (my friend Sam and I) actually ended up at a dirty pub, the only females at the bar, at one in the morning on a Sunday night.

Because we are typical college students (21, so there is no shame), the two of us raged Saturday night. On our way to get some late-night pizza, we see some dudes hopping out of a creepy-ass child-abductor van with a trailer attached to the back. Naturally, I got excited and called them out for being in a band, which, through further interrogation, they explained was called Zlam Dunk and described it as a "punk dance" ensemble (that's a new one).

Think of the exact midway between CSTVT (formerly Castevet) and D.Z. Deathrays.

Anyway, we told them we'd be at their show the next night. Not surprisingly, they didn't believe us. We show up around 8, as the pub's website said that the show would start at that time. But no, Zlam Dunk don't even go on until 11. In my panic with all of my homework assignments running through my mind, I ask Sam what we should do. We couldn't leave -- the guys in the band had already seen us and were impressed that we actually showed. So Sam's solution?

"I think we're gonna have to rage through this one."

With HotChaCha opening, a bare-all blonde chick from Eastern Europe pounds out a punktastic garage band set. Shortly after, Summer People did basically the same -- though I'll be honest, without nearly as much heart.

Let me tell you. If your audience consists of about 10 people INCLUDING the other bands you're on tour with, you better play your fucking heart out. Because if you can't do it for 10, you won't make it to do it for 10,000. Ever.

Anyway, Zlam Dunk pretty much blew my mind. Maybe it was because I had no expectations about the show. Maybe it was because they literally blew out my ear drums. Or maybe it was just the beer. But there are certain chord progressions that make your heart sink because they're so sad and beautiful, and when they're played on top of the puntastic-garage-band-finesse that I was talking about earlier, the sounds creates a power that takes a hold of you (again, it could have just been the beer).

As the 5 guys crammed on a tiny stage framed by Christmas lights, their bassist strummed chords with a pick, their lead singer had crazylegs as he slammed himself against the stage and pounded a tambourine against the overhead speakers, they screamed over some insane kind of music that might not be considered "dance punk" but I'm at a loss for words of what genre it could have been otherwise.

Fast sets, empty venues, beer and chill bands who find humor in the fact that they're playing to anything but a sold-out show. Without any expectations and without a gameplan, that's all that makes for a kickass night.

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