Archive for December, 2006

Forward Russia, Nomathmatics @ Record Bar 12-8-06

December 9, 2006

Forward Russia and Snowden? Sounds good. Not too familiar…but sounds good. Not much else going on in KC. So with my trusty Kitka, we dive into a potential scene, with a big appetite for action, rock & roll, fashion, boys, and anything else interesting. My list also includes alcohol, but not to the utmost extreme.

After we, and a few other friends met at La Bodega for their 1/2 price happy hour (a food and sangria ecstaticasm), we eventually made our way to The Record Bar. My $8 cash was still $2 short of getting me in the door, so thankfully, Kitka spotted me. We weren’t prepared for that steep of a cover. Well, it was expected to be a good show, and what else was there to do? Might as well walk in.

So immediately I ran into a sort-of friend, a Russian guy playing the Elvis pinball machine. (Note: a man who plays pinball has a head start on my heart.) I updated him on our mutual friend’s recent move to Chicago…and it was off to the bar.

Today I’ve switched to Jim Beam. I guess it’s less sweet than Jack Daniels. And it’s rougher taste is more like the whiskey-soaked cherries at Dave’s Stagecoach. Taste the memory of a bomb…so I got a Jim & Coke. Shouldn’t I stay away from Jim? That’s kinda what my grandpa died of, when my dad was still a child.

Anyway, it was only 10pm (a Friday), and we just caught the last two songs from Snowden. They were good but were far from hypnotizing.

After their set ended, Kitka’s sister finally made it to the RecBar, after driving an hour with her boyfriend. They were there for Snowden. It’s not their fault they missed them; who starts a Friday show that early? Then Mr. Boston walked up and eagerly talked to Kitka but seemed offended by my presence for some reason. He was also disappointed about missing Snowden. I guess there was another band before them that we had all missed. So what was that $10 for? Some band I’d never heard, and a couple of dj’s? You can’t trip on this town without spilling a drink on a dj. They’re mostly good, but they’re quite common.

Kitka, her sister and boyfriend and I got a table for the Forward Russia set. According to the Pitch, this was a top 40 band in Britain. I’d heard of them a few times but had never heard them. Was this going to be the UK version of BRMC? I had no idea what to expect.

There were four members, dressed in matching i! white t-shirts. The drummer was a girl, which is nice to see. The bass player could’ve passed for that former Panda who’s now in Flee the Scene. The guitar player looked like a chubby version of midtown Derek. The small lead singer with rockstar unwashed hair really did do the rockstar thing. They announced themselves to a murmuring, not-too-dense crowd.

The first song exploded. The genre is whatever that trend stuff is now. The disco groove post-punk, post-post-punk stuff. I’d be bored with it if that damn disco groove weren’t so much fun, and if Forward Russia didn’t rock so damn hard. Man, they put on a show. In that first song, the singer jumped off the stage and onto the bar, nearly swinging from one of the lights (I thought it would break). Lots of that falsetto yodeling screaming stuff. Very British. But he was very good at it. The whole band was tight, polished, and high-voltage, despite the fact that their egos were probably demolished for playing such a small place with a nearly indifferent crowd.

As the show went on, the singer kept alternating between walking around the place with a cocksure rushing energy and turning his back on us to get a catharsis from playing the synth. He even went out the door at one point, and the mic wasn’t even cordless. Usually that cord was wrapped around his neck. When he fell onto a speaker, nearly hitting the front of his neck on the edge of the stage, the rest of the band didn’t flinch. And he sang right through it.

Towards the end of their set, the singer announced, “We’re gonna play a song you might not know now.” And the guitarist added, “Ha! Unlike the rest of them!” So they had a sense of humor (humour? sorry) and rocked it without the need for a stadium’s reply.

Well done, Forward Russia.

Afterwards, I got sucked into the dance party who goes by the name Nomathmatics. Was good, and I danced even though I was one of very few out there…and lots of the remaining audience seemed to be bored and watching us. Mr. Boston did his thing. He loves to dance; maybe our communal dancing made things a little friendlier between us? His twin, the noname Nomathmatics guy kept giving me and Kitka pit-bys. Pheremone-bys. Instead of a drive-by with bullets, he’d swoop a lanky arm over our heads, brushing his pits on the crown of our heads. I requested Peaches so he put it in the lineup, but we left–almost an hour after we started–before it came on. Sorry, but I can only take so much dancing.

Goodnight, dears.