A firecracker personified, Jessica Hernandez (and her Deltas, respectively) embodies the grit, the groove, and the gloriously kaleidoscopic rock nuances that Detroit is best known for. Their notable Gogol Bordello-esque flamboyance and unapologetically cool gypsy-punk vibe has shaped the radius of the Detroit rock radar for the past few years both growing and refining along the way. Returning with their first single since 2014, “Hot Damn” is spicy, seductive and demanding. Aggressive fuzz-filled guitar and drums that err on the punk side of the spectrum pair well with the passionately temperate rabbit hole free fall that is “Hot Damn.” Hernandez’s vibrant vibrato seems inhuman, like a bird putting a fork in an electrical outlet. It shakes, rattles and yet pulls back effectively to remind the listener that Hernandez’s specialty is her range as much as it is her ability to control the vocal chaos. “I can be your baby / I know that I seem crazy” Hernandez howls, summoning what can only be imagined as a lover on all fours, Hernandez tugging the leash upward. Even if the single isn’t intended to be as in-your-face and commanding as it sounds, it elicits a volcanic disturbance that is as much of a choose-your-own-adventure as it is an unhinged anthem for the thick skinned and love craving masses.
[fusion_builder_container hundred_percent=”yes” overflow=”visible”][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”]Artwork was created by sculptor Clinton Snider and visual artist Tony Katai with help from Playground Detroit.
Multi-instrumentalist Alex Kaye and vocalist Lianna Vanicelli are Valley Hush, Detroit’s celestial pop duo whose flirtatious macabre swells in their latest single “Iris.” For a song that encapuslates escapism without sounding recklessness, “Iris” is a seamlessly produced mélange of jutting synths, animated chiming, and cosmic vocals that what at times feels like a marriage between Bollywood and Portishead on amphetamines.
“Iris” is a tempestuous seduction of straight lines and blurred edges that challenge the traditional trajectory of a sexy pop song. If rolling your hips in slow motion had a soundtrack, this would be it. In its provocation, “Iris” never feels cheap or expected. The track exudes an aural illusion of time being rewound and fast forwarded simultaneously, and reveals glimpses of the complete real-time picture, reminding us that the beauty of the track is in its visual symphony. Paired with the imaginative orchestration, Vanicelli’s voice quivers with a spacial lucidity through the airy phrasing of the lyrics: “I know that it can be hard to wake up/sometimes the nights are moving slow/you think you’re dying alone /and I know how the highs get low.”
There is never a moment in “Iris” that feels nostalgic. This comes as a compliment. Valley Hush found a space between the present and future, crafting a sensual purgatory that is as sincere as it is politely hedonistic.
Considering that Playing Detroit is still in its infancy at just four months old, it’s no surprise that there are a slew of notable releases I missed out on this year. While compiling my Best Of list, I found it only fair to do my research and revisit the women (and their male counterparts, respectively) who made 2015 one of Detroit’s most memorable music years to date. Here are five releases from the past year that slipped under my radar but stopped me in my tracks.
Probably my favorite local punk trio, Pretty Ghouls, taps into classic punk elements without sounding like a carbon copy of yesteryear. Their energy is unmatched and their EP Dead At The Dandy Club (released in June) is an unapologetic six minutes of angst-y bliss.
Adam Michael Lee Padden and Zee Bricker are Tart. Aptly named, Tart’s July 2015 release, These Are Not Love Songs tempts 70’s L.A. new wave with bursts of Bjork worthy howling and manages to be both cathartic yet danceable.
Cactus Demos is a conversational collection of tracks that feel like a poignant post-one night stand breakfast tied with an email entitled “I Think We Should Talk.” Best Exes channels Jonathon Richman’s banter-y cadence. It feels familiar and sometimes sad, but they found a perfect formula to provoke a sense of comfort throughout. Cactus Demos is a hug, but one with pats, not rubs.
Lianna Vanicelli and Alex Kaye make up Valley Hush. Their June 2015 release, Don’t Wait, is a vast and colorful EP that could be the love child of St. Vincent and Karen O. Vanicelli’s vocals are impressive not only in regards to range, but in its evocation. The orchestration sometimes sounds like a video game under water. Don’t Wait is from another planet and undoubtedly one of the most thoughtfully produced releases this year.
Garage punk trio Prude Boys (Sadie Slam, Caroline Myrick, and Quennton Thornbury) fuses Joan Jett with The Ramones with Hunx and His Punx to make a frantically catchy cocktail on their debut EP Family Style Glamour. It’s punk you can do the mashed potato to while still feeling enough rage to break something (which you’ll clean up, of course).
The first half of my conversation with Natasha Beste of moody electro-pop duo Odd Hours is instantly dedicated to playing six degrees of separation between the two of us until we are able to piece our social puzzle together, realizing that we run in the same circles and are friends with the same people and both conclude that Detroit is a lot like high school.
“In Detroit, it’s really easy to make things happen if you are really motivated and dedicated. If you are snotty or mean or not serious about what you’re doing, it will get around fast,” Beste says. “I’m lucky to have met and become friends with people that make doing this fun, it never feels like work.”
This non-work-work Beste is referring to is Odd Hours latest EP noreprinphrine + dopamine, an assertive and pouty collection of songs that are as glittery as they are confrontational. Beste’s attention to duality, both in her personal life and in her Odd Hours world (she is also a teacher and video artist) resonates as a playful game of tug-of-war sonically. Beste describes the toggling of themes as a “constant up and down.” From asking for what you want and ending up bored by the instant gratification to feeling left out or misunderstood yet worthy enough to exert power, Odd Hours challenges themselves by provoking a polarizing experience. As it turns out, this very balancing act of various selves and influences resulted in what Beste considers to be the truest version of what they’ve been trying to accomplish since they formed. “I think with artists there are things that come out of you naturally. And for me things were coming out of me that weren’t matching what I was listening to, or what we were making,” Beste explains. “We’ve been morphing and changing our sound and we finally feel comfortable in our skin. We want to keep going with how we sound now.”
Odd Hours have been making noise around the city for five years. Beste and her collaborator and Hours guitarist, Timothy Jagielo, assembled after exhausting previous projects, wanting to expand beyond their old work and Detroit city limits. “I was in a lot of different bands before I met Tim but after a while I really wanted to do something that would allow me to be loud and raunchy,” Beste says “We were both in a place where we wanted to start something new.” With additions bassist, Clint Stuart, and drummer Randy Hanley Jr, each track on noreprinphrine + dopamine is a banger in its own right, successfullyandcollectivelyfulfilling Beste’s aforementioned desires of sounding loud and raunchy while remaining a compelling and polished production. When asked about the possibility of a full length release, Beste is uncertain, but unwavering in her convictions towards quality vs. quantity. “It’s the way that my brain works. My whole life of music I’ve really stuck with EPs. I’m not saying we would never release an LP. Everything that needed to be said was said within these songs.” she explains. “It could be the next thing we do, but it has to feel right.”
The accompanying video for their first single “SWTS” is a true testament to Odd Hours theatrics; a great introduction to their provocative landscape, their lust filled, odd world. Full of if-David Lynch-cast-Lindsey Lohan-in-a-music-video vibes (Beste laughs excitedly at this comparison) aligns with the estranged bossiness of the song where Beste howls: “I thought someone told me / Like Christmas / I would get to make a wish list,” a vulnerable plea paralleled with warbled rock vocals, a sensibility carried throughout the EP.
By the end of our chat we realize we share a friend in noreprinphrine + dopamine producer Jon Zott and that we were both on set for Tunde Olaniran’s video earlier this year and it is with this strange connectivity that we are able to commiserate over the special brand of small world-ness Detroit offers. I finish by apologizing for referring to her music as bratty, though meant as a compliment as it’s a trait I regard as honest and unapologetic, to which she assures me is a perfectly apt description. “It’s funny because my boyfriend Kevin (and partner in Gold House Media) as well as my guitarist Tim and Tunde all call me a brat because I get what I want. But I have a vision,” Beste explains. “I am always three steps ahead.”
Detroit is a perplexing musical playground. From the greats of Motown all the way down to (like, rock bottom level down) king of the trailer park Kid Rock and his pasty, ornery 8 Mile loving opposition, Eminem to minimalistic power duo, The White Stripes and that guy selling a surprisingly fire rap demo in the gas station parking lot, the fabric of Detroit’s musical reputation is eclectic and strange; a fitting categorization. But what often gets overlooked is Detroit’s unbreakable continuing history of women in music. While compiling this list of friends, virtual unknowns, and local legends, I found I was overcoming my own poorly formed belief that Detroit was deficient in powerful female influence. Detroit is ferociously defined by the voice, talent, and unwavering sense of “Yeah, I got this” best demonstrated by these babes. The collection of women below share in their uncompromisingly daring expressions of self which in turn is a reflection of Detroit’s maverick spirit.
Jax Anderson, lead queen, is a powerhouse. Unsigned rockers, Flint Eastwood are on to something. Slinking rock-revivalist vibes tinged with Sleater-Kinney moments and vocal ferociousness that could give Alison Mosshart a run for her money, Flint Eastwood makes The Black Keys sound like watered down elementary school karaoke.
Married electro punk duo ADULT. fronted by Nicola Kuperus and Adam Lee Miller, is Detroit’s answer to Devo, Romeo Void, and Wall of Voodoo without ever feeling like an imitation. First assembled in 1998, ADULT. is an obscure and active staple and in many ways a pioneer in the formation of Detroit’s current synth punk scene.
Formed in 1997 by Amy Gore, The Gore Gore Girls are one of the cities most influential psych-punk bands. Fittingly named after a 70’s splatter flick, The Gore Gore Girls have toured as support to The Cramps and have played festivals with The Stooges, The Strokes, and The Zombies. Over the course of ten years and three albums, they’ve managed to maintain their psychedelic, raised-from-the-dead sound that continue to set the stage for some of the other ladies on this list.
4. SUZI QUATRO “IF YOU CAN’T GIVE ME LOVE”
https://youtu.be/L0uWVw4aBxY
Detroit’s under credited queen of rock is as much of an influence today as she was when she hit the scene back in 1972. Although not the first of her kind, Quatro paved the way for girls who could hang with the boys by crafting a subdued androgynous persona on stage and a roaring rock sound behind the mic. Considered one of the first female bassists to break through in the boys game of rock n’ roll, Quatro remains one of Detroit’s baddest women of rock.
Singer Rachelle Baker and producer Nick Marrow make up Little Animal, a dreamy duo responsible for the sexiest music in town. Smoothly assembled, celestial textured electronic beats that could be easily be the love child of Erykah Badu and Bjork.
Ruth Synowiec fronts Mexican Knives, a buzzy, lo-fi blues rock band with biting bass lines and pulsing surf punk undertones. Alongside guitarist Zach Weedon and drummer Blair Wills, Synowiec vocals are a perfect counterpart to their Brian Jonestown Massacre tendencies. She may have told The Detroit Metro Times last year that she “has no idea what she’s doing” although endearing, it’s clear that she’s wrong.
Asia Mock, Sarah Stawski, and T.J Grech are Pretty Ghouls, an angsty, raw nerve punk trio that is undoubtedly one of the hardest, fuzziest newcomers to come out of Detroit in recent years. Unapologetic, Pretty Ghouls channel Detroit god Iggy Pop through their own “fuck you” filter, which makes sense considering Mock told Detroit’s Metro Times in 2012 that she wants to be the first, black female Iggy Pop. “I just want to scream in people’s faces and maybe get to rub my vagina on something in public.”
Jessica Hernandez is a Detroit darling to the max. One of our cities most beloved female acts, Hernandez (and The Deltas, respectively) have birthed their own breed of soul/pop that is as sugary as it sexy. Colorfully confident arrangements paired with Hernandez’s signature saccharine vulnerability makes for some of Detroit’s grooviest pop.
9. CHEERLEADER “QUENCHED”
Flint-based Cheerleader, comprised of Nisa, Polly, and Ashley, is a muddy, gritty Nirvana-demo sounding trio who unabashedly thrash lyrics like “Little boys with big dicks/we need a cure for it” over messily effective compositions. Although Cheerleader doesn’t have a large collection of songs, they are a defiant presence in the Michigan underground.
10. EL DEE “HEAVEN HELP ME”
Lauren Deming, or El Dee, leads a group of friends/musicians into a jazzy throwback dreamscape all her own. Rich and pure, Deming’s vocals are breathy, yet challenging. Without a rigid commitment to an era niche, El Dee manages to fuse Gershwin-esque standards with contemporary arrangement not unlike Amy Winehouse or Jon Brion, with avoiding sounding like a “fusion” artist.
Introducing a new column that takes us inside the Detroit music scene – AF
[fusion_builder_container hundred_percent=”yes” overflow=”visible”][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”]Cover photo for Some Kind of Distortion courtesy of Christina Anderson
A lot can happen in five years. Sean Lynch of Milford-based dream pop, post-punk trio, 800beloved, agrees with me. Five years ago I met Lynch, per my request as both a fan and as a writer, to chat about Everything Purple, the band’s dreamy follow-up to 2009’s Jesus and Mary Chain-esque debut Bouquet just before dissolving their relationship with their label, which lead to a three year hiatus. At the time, Lynch was still posing as a funeral director with a focus on restorative cosmetology, a profession that occupied over a decade of his life, and one that infiltrated 800beloved’s subject matter and undoubtedly crafted their signature staticky-concrete-macabre aesthetic.
Fast forward to today. I find myself at Bronx Bar in Detroit sitting across from Lynch, considered now to be one of my best friends and most faithful musical allies, to discuss a different type of undertaking, the release of 800beloved’s long awaited third record, Some Kind of Distortion. “We Beyonce’d that shit,” Lynch says in reference to the unannounced, overnight drop of the album on August 3rd. “I guess this is us going back to true left of the dial punk rock D.I.Y. We didn’t promote this record even though it was finished a year ago. It just felt like the season perfectly lined up and there was a storm that night.” This speaks true to Lynch’s creative sensibility, to trust intuition as means of honing in on emotive moments rather than popular opportunity, which explains 800’s quiet notoriety. “800beloved has become very niche-y, which is good,” Lynch explains. “We are truly comfortable narrowing the scope and not being a solicitation or a buzz band.”
For a three piece (currently composed of Anastasiya Metesheva on bass, Ben Collins on drums, and Lynch on vocals, guitar and production, respectively) 800beloved’s sound achieves a shimmering fullness that is as methodical as it is nostalgic. Some Kind of Distortion abandons traditional verse, chorus, verse, and is almost entirely devoid of hooks, a distortion in its own right. Distortion is a record with a pulse of throbbing warped sounds, and although difficult to identify, it still manages convulse with familiarity – from the warbled, zombie surf rock tones in “Die Slow,” to the droning, buzzy vocals on “Cicadas” that lends itself to sounding like an aural illusion to the soft and swelling opening instrumental track “0930131103.” “This is our attempt at psychedelic dream pop. We are playing back to our roots while exploring things we’ve never introduced to our audience through our particular filter,” says Lynch. “It’s a record that is sort of introverted and juvenile. It’s almost concept-less, in a way.”
I tell Lynch that the latest record is much less “death-y” than his previous, a statement he agrees with. “Enduring Black” (appropriately inspired by a CoverGirl cosmetic name found in the embalming room at his last funeral gig) is the shortest song on the album, clocking in just under three minutes. Even so, Lynch manages to write what feels like an obituary to his direct involvement with death work by means of his simplistic and clever lyrical prowess: ‘When I lose this black suit/I hope I forget/ what this all looks like in the end/I’d rather get distracted/by the liner ’round your eyes/Enduring Black/after all this time.’ “The song is sort of my sign off as a funeral director, an admission that I wanted more. It was my attempt to part with it, intellectually,” Lynch says. The album’s title track opens with a haunted crooning, “Time why are you so cruel/when I had all these ideas for you” and paints the glimmering sense of teenage suburbia while the song plays out like an invitation to a dystopian after party. “It’s addressing modern day distractions, but the jam seems like it’s out of a John Hughes film,” Lynch details. He is reminded, excitedly, of his inspiration behind tracking the song in post. “When you and our friends threw my birthday party at the roller rink, I just kept thinking of the stoner-y Dazed and Confused vibe of rollerskating. End of summer, stale burnt grass. That’s what I’ve tried to capture with this record.”
800beloved (which, if you haven’t figured it out by now is in fact a phone number) are not strangers to strong visual imageries that require, for those curious enough, further explanation though never deviating from disarming the audience. “The cover art is a lift from our friend’s Instagram. When I saw the photo I immediately sensed the vibe of the album which leaves this stained cafeteria feeling.” Lynch is wistful when he says this, and it is with this very passion in which he describes the synchronistic way in which the photo encapsulates the album and the band’s willingness to artfully displace themselves by releasing Distortion completely independently, that I am reminded of his affinity for detail both visually and sonically (and the palpable electricity he exudes when the two are perfectly wed). “When you work with a label and they tell you one thing and it doesn’t happen, it feels like a hula dance. A hula hoop doesn’t belong in a tree. I love the connotation of displacement of an object.”
So, yes. We were right. A lot can change in five years. Although 800beloved has remained uncompromising in vision, they continue to evolve. They’re still the band you have to seek to find or will possibly trip over. We conclude our interview (during which I’m not sure I ever even posed a question, a stark contrast to my pages of meticulous, shaky fangirl notes from five years ago) and venture out for a late night dinner where we take turns laughing, commiserating, and stealing french fries and onion rings off of each other’s respective plates. We eventually part ways at the gig van, aptly named “the space station” where Sean lends me an Alesis processor and the road worn, black electric Epiphone used on Bouquet, their first album and my summer soundtrack for heartbreak the year of its release. It’s a poetic transfer between friends; words for words, music for music, fried food for fried food. It isn’t until after I’m nestled into my apartment later that night with these symbolic musical tools far too advanced for my two- month- old fascination that Sean texts me, “I can’t wait to hear your distortions.” A perfectly apropos end to the night. I put my phone down and make some ugly, screechy guitar sounds and am suddenly warmed and buzzed by my own contortions as I dreamt of roller skates, longing for a summer that may or may not have happened yet.
