I'm with the Band (well, kinda)

Looking for Thursday night's recap?

Midpoint Music Festival, day two. Too much Moerlein + not enough sleep + frustrating day at work = cranky strung out Myo. I had hoped to have a few moments to start editing down last night's notes before I headed out for the evening, but it was not to be. And seeing as how most of the television shows I watch premiered this week, I had about five hours of various and sundry cop shows to wade through as well. (I foresee a lot of coffee in my future.)

I started my evening at Lava (yet again), drinking an overpriced watery Diet Coke and checking out Tristen Shields. CityBeat compared his music to Massive Attack meets Wilco meets Nick Drake, which seemed pretty accurate. (Poor Nick Drake. No one knew who he was for years, and now most people know him is "that guy who did that Volkswagen song.") My friend Jason was playing keyboards in this band, and Andrew from .andrew. was sitting in on guitar. (Apparently the Lava/Crush venues are home base for the Datawaslost collective this weekend.) I offered my congratulations to the band and picked up a copy of another sampler CD on my way out the door to 1120 for The Green Room's show at 10:00.

I wasn't really sure where 1120 was, to be honest. The map showed it near Barrel House, on the outskirts of the Main Street district. After wandering around like a complete moron for a few minutes, I asked the Barrel House doorman for directions. "Over there, " he pointed across the street to an unmarked brick building.

As I later found out, the two stages at 1120 were set up especially for the Midpoint Music Festival. (It looked like the building usually served as a practice space for bands.) The bar consisted of a hastily assembled assortment of wine, Jack Daniels coolers, and draft beer served from a cooler tap. (And for some reason, they were offering frozen margaritas. Seeing as how most bars I've frequented have considered blender drinks to be too much trouble, I was amused that this temporary setup had bothered to include them.)

Chris, the singer and bass player for The Green Room, was standing near the front door chatting with a few people, and it took him a few minutes of "who the hell are you, weird girl?" glances for him to recognize me. We walked over to the bar to get a beer as he told me that I was going to be surprised at how the band sounded. After seeing the band sporadically through lineup and style changes (with varying degrees of musical prowess - I actually watched the band break up onstange one night), I decided to withhold all comments until they actually played.

For the most part, the band sounded better than I've ever heard them play. They've become much more polished, and Chris has traded in the higher register whininess for a faux British sneer. As they headed into the 8 billionth version of "Winter of Discontent" that I've heard over the years, I noticed that they'd reworked it as well into a slower and more subdued song. This version fit the bitterness of the lyrics much more effectively.

Unfortuntely, the vast improvement of the band's sound was almost destroyed when Chris chastized the crowd in between songs, telling them to stop talking to their friends and move closer to the stage. (I later found out that the comment was directed specifically to one of his friends, but it still came off sounding kind of snotty, and it spoiled a bit of my goodwill towards the band. The fact that a small chunk of plaster got knocked loose from the ceiling midset and exploded as it landed in my lap didn't help matters any, either.)

After pelting the audience with 80s-styled mini buttons, Chris made a quick lap around the venue and ducked out to Rhinos for a drink. I hung back by the bar with his friend Joe (the one who'd been yelled at earlier) and waited for FLUTTR, the next band, to start.

FLUTTR turned out to be an Evanescence-type band from Boston with an electric cello and MIDI marimba, fronted by three cute goth girls. (Suddenly Joe seemed much more interested in the band once he saw the singer. Imagine that.) Unfortunately, the acoustics of the room were pretty awful, and most of the interesting parts of the music were drowned out by the guitar and drums. (I purchased their CD, and was quite glad that I did. They sounded 100% better on disc with proper mxing.) I made a mental note to recommend the band to Johnny B the next time I saw him, and headed over to Barrel House for the midnight set.

Barrel House was pretty packed, but I managed to find a seat at the end of the bar before the show started. I decided to get a pint of Red Legg Ale rather than a Moerlein for this portion of the evening, since drinking bottled beer in brewpubs is a crime against nature.

Noctaluca, compared to "Tim and Jeff Buckley, Radiohead, and Pink Floyd," turned out to be the most pleasant surprise of the evening. Where Stephanie's Id had made me want to listen to Fiona Apple's When the Pawn... last night, this band makes me want to go home, turn off all the lights, and listen to Jeff Buckley's Grace with the headphones on. Georgeous vocals, smooth and lush guitar. I rushed over to the merchandise booth in search of a CD. (Regrettably, nothing yet, but they're currently in the studio.) Jason Ludwig, the frontman for the band, had a solo recording available, and I purchased that as a consolation prize. (Good choice on my part. The album had been nominated for Album of the Year at this past year's Cincinnati Entertainment Awards and Jason had ended up winning Best Singer/Songwriter. See, sometimes I do have some good taste!)

I had really tried to plan to see bands that I'd not seen before (or in the case of The Green Room, not for a long while) this weekend, and with the exception of the 1:00 am slot, I'd managed to do so. The one "been there, done that" on my agenda was at RBC, and that spot belonged to Buckra. The dance floor in front of the stage was pretty packed, so I found a seat in the back where I could shake my booty on my bar stool and take notes at the same time.

(Editor's note: As I was browsing Buckra's website, I realized that the band was formed from the ashes of The Rottweilers, who were pretty ubiquitous on the local band scene back in the 90s. Duh. No wonder their groove had always sounded so familiar. I proceeded to smack myself in the head with my copy of "Bully Hater" for being so clueless.)

Somewhere during the chorus of "Shake Your Baby Fat," a large man with twelve inch Liberty spikes stuck a CD under my beer. "You looked like you needed a coaster, he explained with a smile. The CD turned out to be for Mary Ellis, the band who was closing the night at RBC on Saturday. After chatting for a few minutes with the spiky-haired fellow, who introduced himself as Eric, the drummer, I soon found myself adopted by Mike and Don, two other members of the band and one of the members' girlfriends. All of there were incredibly nice folks and, after bribing me with a few promotional buttons, convinced me that I should finish out my weekend by coming to see their band. Being a sucker for friendly people and free stuff, I agreed and headed for home, grabbing my free Buckra ringer T shirt as I left. (See what I mean about the free stuff?)

Another night under my belt. I couldn't wait for the fun to begin again the next night. Well, after some much needed sleep, that is....