 Souled American @ Empty Bottle, Chicago, USA I hadn't ever heard of Souled American (no doubt due to my chronic "No
Depression"-caused depression) before going to see one of their assumedly rare
Chicago appearances. It was one of those things where you go because the people
you're hangin' with are going, which can sometimes be great, because you never know
what to expect. I surely didn't know what to expect, but similarly, I don't know quite
how to describe what it was like. The concert was one of the most baffling things I've
seen in awhile … just two guys, seated, with electric guitars and a ton of reverb,
playing super-slow, beautifully ugly country ballads while writhing like heavy metal
sidemen. It was insane. They played two sets, so I was there til like 2:30 in the
morning, and it just got more and more bizarre as the night wore on and the band got
drunker. One of the guys I was with said that they didn't sound anything like that on
record. It was fascinating and really cool. A bit grueling as the second set kept
stretching on, but not in a bad way. The sound was really weird … it was like
Cocteau Twins playing old Kentucky mountain ballads, and the guys were playing very
purposefully sloppy, throwing in all these ugly dissonances that somehow lent the
music a lot more weight than your typical roots-rock outfit. Truly, one of the
strangest shows I've ever seen. I actually would love to have a CD of their music, but
apparently their CDs aren't like how they played on Saturday. Still, if they ever come
'round again, I will probably go see 'em – if for no other reason than to see the looks
on people's faces while they are watching these guys who look like they belong in
Slayer playing this freaky (somewhat tongue-in-cheek) music.
Many members of the audience seemed to "get it" – I didn't, but I liked it
anyway. The opening band played some good Kentucky mountain bluegrass, very
traditional, just guitar, fiddle, banjo, and singin'. A couple of the members of that
band joined Souled American during that second set (very damn late at night), at
which point it really seemed as though I were watching a rehearsal. Very strange.
The crowd thinned out a lot as it got later, but I stuck it out. It was kind of like having
way, way, way too much of a pretty good thing, like when I was in grade school and
tried to break the world record for number of consecutive Ding-Dongs a person can
eat without drinking anything or shitting their pants. Unfortunately I lost on the
second count, but most underwear is easily cleaned with even the most common
household laundry detergent and/or one's little brother's tongue.
Review by Bryna Heavy-Flow |