Review and photos by Walker Price.
There’s not much to say about the Breeders that the entire alternative scene of the early 2000s hasn’t already. Formed from Kim Deal’s hasty and not-so-slightly acrimonious departure from Pixies, the Breeders surfaced fully formed from the ruin she left behind her. Raised in a Pixies-loving household (save for my mother, who infamously fell asleep in the midst of one of their sets and has yet to live it down), the Breeders have always been similarly crucial to my upbringing. When I was 13, I listened to “Divine Hammer” and “Drivin’ on 9” so much that every time I listened to Last Splash for the next eighteen months I would simply have to skip both tracks because I was sick of them. Then I remembered they’re two of the greatest songs ever written, and neither is even the best song on Last Splash. Rhode Island’s Belly is a band that occupies a similar niche in musically history – and my own; “Feed the Tree” was the first song I ever learned on bass. There exists even more of a throughline between the bands, though. While markedly distinct bands, the Breeders and Belly share some intangible quality that cannot but urge one to draw lines across them both. The reason behind this is certainly multifold, but the easiest answer is that Belly’s mastermind Tanya Donnelly (far more amicably than the aforementioned exodus), departed the Breeders after providing lead guitar for their first full-length, 1990’s Pod, and their first EP, 1992’s Safari. Belly emerged from the ever-machinating split skull of the Breeders, leaving a wound gauzed by Deal’s own sister, Kelly. But let’s be clear: just as Pavement is certainly not a Silver Jews side project, Belly is in no way an exercise in moonlighting by the Breeders.
Propulsive and atmospheric, the aura that surrounds Belly’s slice of alt-pop persists beyond the two-inch tape and throughout their live performance. Tanya Donelly is unassuming, wielding a mustard-yellow Gibson SG and allowing her extant words (and her bassist) do much of the talking, Donelly only deigns to speak a handful of times, giving each one a fair bit of heft. Belly has (clearly) reunited since their 1996 breakup but only one full length, 2018’s Dove, has made it out past the turn of the century. Their set spans this three-decade, gap-filled catalogue with ease, making it clear that, while obviously older, Belly’s approach to making music hasn’t really changed that much. The very qualities that make 1993’s Star and 96’s King stellar – Donelly’s incredible songwriting skill, the band’s unmistakable quality to make one instrument sound like six and vice versa, among others – are present on the songs the band plays from Dove. There is no disrupting force that makes an audience member sigh with disappointment at a 90s band playing a new song. It’s like they never left. The only real sign that we as an audience have (unfortunately) not been placed in a chilly autumn evening in 1995 Providence is bassist Gail Greenwood’s frequent self-effacing quips about how long the band’s been around (“I just got told I’ve still got it, which is just about the best compliment you can get at this age”). Greenwood also offers some more important context: the onset of this tour, Last Splash’s 30th anniversary, was the first time the two bands had shared a bill. The band ends with “Slow Dog,” a song upon which my father and I agree is yet another contender for the greatest song of all time. See through skin. The type of skin you can see through. I mean come on.
By the time the outline of the Breeders settles into five discernible shapes holding five discernible instruments, what also dawns upon the crowd is that Kim Deal has before her a pair of microphones. The purpose of the second one becomes clear after the band opens with “New Year” as she leans in to bark a distorted and facetious quadruplet of “checks’”– a harbinger of the iconic “Cannonball” and an implicit confirmation that we are, in fact, about to bear witness to the entirety of Last Splash. Throughout the album’s live runtime, one cannot help but be struck by how well these songs, and their progenitors, have aged, and the impact playing songs for thirty years has on a band.
The album weaves through the intricacies of radio hits and, in Deal’s own words, ‘the weird ones.’ Trading blows between foundational alternative rock and quavering bombast – often contained in a single track. The Breeders have always winded down an untraceable road, playing heavily into the conventions of their prescribed genre even while shirking them, or even turning them directly on their heads. The ambience present on Last Splash, both live and recorded, is not treated as an afterthought, nor a gimmick to shroud the songs in intrigue, but rather its own element. Songs like “Roi,” its reprise, and ‘Flipside’ make space for Deal’s vocals to act as a secondary element at best, both emphasizing the gravity of the few sung words and allowing the instrumentals to amble without the pressure of an impending solo. You can hear, as Kim Deal explains from stage exactly what it is that you’re hearing, the recorded running of her sister’s sewing machine, brought to San Francisco for use in spare time during Last Splash’s recording process. Deal cedes vocal duties once, to her sister, for what may be the album’s best song, “I Just Want to Get Along.” Then comes arguably the most off-kilter contender for that same title, ‘Mad Lucas,’ whose use of vibrato once again proves valuable that second microphone. The Deal sisters, bearing fraternal Stratocasters, shoot back and forth at each other into microphones across the stage like Abbott and Costello for gay people and their parents alike until right before the album comes to a close. Then we are told that the album is going to end, the band is going to take a short break, and then they’re going to play some more songs. You can hear screams erupt from the crowd (specifically my position in the crowd) as, after this break, Deal informs the uninformed that she did, in fact, “use to play in a band called the Pixies” before assuming bass duties for the first and last time in the evening to play her departure’s catalyzing song “Gigantic.” It was, in fact, gigantic for me, having seen Pixies (sans Deal), once before and bemoaning the song’s absence in their setlist.
It is later into the lengthy second portion of the Breeder’s time onstage that yet another return to a former band was brought about as Donelly is ushered back to once again supplement the Breeders. While, as made clear by the existence of this touring party, there appears no bad blood between the two, Deal seems to be, for the first time that evening, performing. She makes a concerted effort to make it to the mic to greet Donelly, which she does again to bid her farewell, facing the crowd rather than her purported interlocutor. The chemistry is undeniable once the music starts, launching into a Beatles cover before giving way to “When I Was a Painter,” one of Doe’s standouts and an urgent reminder that Donelly did, in fact, use to play in a band called the Breeders.
Feature Finds: Your New Favorite Fall Album (Ratboys — The Window)
Something about the start of fall calls for music made in the midwest. The angst inherent to chilly mornings and dwindling hours of daylight feels perfectly represented by classic midwest bands like or Slow Pulp. Ratboys, based out of Chicago, carry on this legacy with their latest album The Window, which was released in August of this year and is one of the newest additions to the KALX music library. This forty-seven minute work with songs about breakups, unrequited love, and confessing feelings to a best friend perfectly captures the mood of what can feel like the most bleak season.
The Window marks Ratboy’s fifth album. Musically, it ranges from straightforward indie rock anthems to country-infused ballads. What feels most impressive about this body of work is that each song feels unique in style and tone while the album itself feels cohesive. This range is immediately evident when juxtaposing the first two tracks on The Window. “Making Noise for the Ones You Love” is a guitar-driven rock track about trying (and failing) to get over an ex. The second track, “Morning Zoo” is pure country. Singer Julia Steiner trades her usual emo-infused voice for a more country twang. While these two songs are stylistically quite different, they convey similar themes. On “Making Noise” Steiner proclaims, “I turn up my favorite songs, wishing I could call you up, but I’m not gonna think about that now.” On “Morning Zoo” she asks, “how long does it take to find the peace that I want? And how long must I wait to decide that it’s over?” Both songs process feelings of loss and struggling to move forward without feeling repetitive or over done.
While Ratboys deal with heavy themes on this album, they have lighter tracks as well. The fourth and fifth songs on the album “Crossed that Line” and “It’s Alive!” are both tongue-in-cheek power pop songs that would fit in with the likes of Olivia Rodrigo. They bring a much-needed levity. Musically, they differ from the other songs because they are much shorter in length, coming in at two minutes and three minutes and thirty seconds, respectively. Much of the forty-seven minutes of The Window is taken by complex bridges and epic guitar solos. While these aspects are impressive and interesting, the power-pop tracks are refreshing because they are constructed so differently from the rest of the album. They don’t feel out of place, however, because they still convey the trademark angst seen across every song.
Over the past decade Ratboys have perfected their sound, and every track on this album feels polished and tight. For many, the joy of music, especially indie rock, is its messiness. This means albums like The Window can run the risk of feeling contrived. However, any concerns about the band’s inauthenticity are washed away when listening to Steiner’s earnest voice and vulnerable lyrics. This comes through the most strongly on “I Want You (Fall 2010)”, a song about confessing love to a friend. Lyrics like “Burning all my blank CDs never meant so much to me, ‘Cause I got my mind running to you” feel like they could be plucked right from the depths of a diary entry. They also reflect a trend on the album, with lyrics that connect specific details to broader concepts. Everyone can relate to the feelings of a secret crush, but the line about burning CDs helps create specific imagery for the listener. This makes each song on the album feel not only relatable, but deeply personal.
Ratboys manage to juggle a variety of different genres and themes. They are clearly expert musicians, but they don’t sacrifice emotion for technique. An album like this with so much going on can easily feel disjointed or confused, but Ratboys tie everything together with their trademark midwestern angst. This album is perfect for any fans of bands like Hop Along and Remember Sports or anyone who is looking for an album to perfectly encapsulate the complicated emotions associated with the fall season.
Angel Olsen Delivers Spine-Chilling Vocals at the Regency
Review by Izzie Kim.
Angsty indie darling Angel Olsen took over the Regency Ballroom’s stage on Thursday, October 19th, absolutely enthralling her audience with her playful shifts in tone and mood. Performing with her six-piece “Big Band” which included a cellist and violinist, Olsen led with strong vocals and backed herself up on keyboard and on a vintage cream guitar that would have made Eric Clapton swoon.
Somewhat of a musical tease, Olsen made sure to keep the audience on their toes, switching from crooning with her aching husky voice to cracking jokes and squealing loudly in a shockingly high-pitched Southern accent. Olsen’s Missouri roots shone through her show, highlighted by her signature bouffant rivaling that of Priscilla Presley.
Olsen’s discography is earnest in a way that not many other artists are. My first introduction to the songstress was her demanding solicitation to “Shut Up, Kiss Me.” This song, which Olsen began the evening with, sums up a good portion of her music: begging for someone to become something substantial while also promising that she is something worth her lover being substantial for.
“Olsen’s discography is earnest in a way that not many other artists are.”
Listening to Angel Olsen perform is so much different than listening to her recorded work. I’ll admit when I first started listening to her songs on Spotify, I thought she had a sweet voice and added some of her slow songs like “Spring” to one of those classically humiliating for others to see but so important to your own personal development playlists titled something like “yearning”. Seeing her live, changed my perspective on her completely.
As it turns out, Olsen’s discography is not limited to just one single genre — it was a disservice to her work for me to think so. It might be hard to think of Olsen as capable of delivering a hard rock performance, but as if the universe was intent on proving me wrong, I recognized someone from my Buddhist Philosophy class clutching the barricade and headbanging along to some of her violently emotional anthems, including “Right Now” and “Go Home.”
Although the above incident definitely stood out, there was a surprising layer of calm that lingered throughout the crowd. It wasn’t like the night was low-energy or the audience was unappreciative — it was more like we were all held in a hypnotic trance, swaying gently to and fro to the cathartic hymns of a songstress with nothing to lose and everything to give. I even caught myself closing my eyes at some points — subconsciously trying to focus on the swells of the strings and the guttural shaking of Olsen’s heartbreak-y voice.
When I did dare to open my eyes, namely while taking photos of the singer, I was greeted with soft and evocative pink and melancholy blue spotlights centering on Olsen. While I could make a play on words about how the fluttering of Olsen’s gauzy white sleeves and the way the filtering light made her dress glow made it overwhelmingly obvious why the singer’s name is so fitting, I’ll spare you.
Throughout the concert, Olsen’s candid and heartfelt interactions with the audience added a layer of warmth and groundedness to the otherwise “out-of-this-world” performance. She shared the inspiration behind many of her songs, quipped about the weather like a true Bay Area local, and expressed her gratitude for the unwavering support of her fans.
“I don’t see this as a job, I guess I’m jobless. Either way I’m just glad to be here with y’all,” Olsen said before jumping into another song. The feeling was evidently mutual, with many in the audience singing along through songs and screaming out recommendations for the solo part of the evening.
Angel Olsen’s performance at the Regency was a testament to her mastery of emotions and ability to captivate an audience with her powerful vocals. It had a little something for everyone, and as for myself, I walked away with quite a few new songs added to my Spotify likes.
A Night of Shoegaze: Slowdive at the Warfield
Review by Laila Karkori, photos by Sophia Risin.
On the night of October 12th in the dimly lit expanse of San Francisco’s Warfield, I watched crowds uniformly dressed in black converge, eagerly awaiting the arrival of shoegaze pioneers Slowdive. Their presence echoed the ambiance of Slowdive’s Souvlaki album cover, creating an atmosphere that felt like stepping into a real-life manifestation of the band’s iconic artwork. It was as if the crowd had mirrored the album’s enigmatic cover with their dark attire. I observed a mix of seasoned enthusiasts who likely followed Slowdive since their early days and younger generations who likely were drawn in by the band’s revival and the timeless allure of their sound. The generational diversity was a testament to Slowdive’s appeal, bridging the gap between eras and musical taste.
Slowdive were wrapping up a month-long U.S tour following the release of their 2023 album everything is alive, with San Francisco being one of the final stops. The floor was already packed as I walked in to watch the darkwave duo Drab Majesty take the stage. Although I could not see much of the stage from my point of view, the mix of their gothic sound and avant-garde fashion created a mesmerizing visual and auditory experience.
The anticipation in the room soon reached its peak as Slowdive emerged on the stage to the tune of Brian Eno’s “Deep Blue Day,” followed by a wave of applause and cheers. As a long-time Slowdive listener, this was a surreal moment; I never thought I would have the opportunity to see them perform live, so I cheered along with years of admiration and reverence on my mind. They began their set with “shanty,” showcasing their newest release, and the stage was lit with red beaming lights.
Throughout the night, the band effortlessly transitioned between their newer tracks and older classics, satisfying both longtime fans and newcomers alike. To my delight, they consecutively played four of my favorite songs “Sugar for the Pill,” “Slomo,” “Alison, and “When the Sun Hits”, creating an indescribable blend of nostalgia and beauty that I felt grateful to experience. “Slomo” in particular stole the show with the exquisite blend of Neil Halstead’s and Rachel Goswell’s vocals. A moment I looked forward to the most was hearing the lyrics “My love and I go it’s a curious woe / Like dreamers at dawn, awake but not yet” which beautifully filled the venue, blending seamlessly with the dreamy instrumentals. The setlist felt like a skillful selection with an array of songs that had universal appeal. Each person seemed to find joy in hearing at least one of their all-time favorites, their faces lighting up with recognition as the band moved from one cherished track to another.
Slowdive closed their set with their rendition of “Golden Hair” by Syd Barrett. The stage was flashing red, mirroring the intensity of the song as their final notes played throughout the venue. And just when it seemed like the night had reached its peak, Slowdive re-emerged onto the stage for their encore. They satisfied the audience’s desire for more by performing three more crowd favorites, “Dagger,” “the slab,” and “40 days.” The crowd stood in reverent applause as the band walked off to the tune of Brian Eno’s “An Ending”, bringing the show to a close the same way it had commenced. I was holistically impressed by Slowdive’s energy and seamless performance; they not only matched, but exceeded the sound of the recordings we all knew so well. I was left in awe of their skill and artistry.
Reluctant for the show to end, I slowly left the venue walking behind a group that seemed to share my sentiment, still singing lyrics from “40 Days” as they trailed off. I sent a melodramatic photo to my sister showing my mascara streaked face from (very nonchalantly) crying during every Souvlaki song. The show left an indelible impression on me, and it was clear from the faces of the people around me that they felt the same. I took the train home shuffling through their discography, feeling eager to see what creative brilliance Slowdive will bring next.