In which I Attend the Forward Music Fest, Day 1

fig.1: Screamin’ Cyn Cyn and the Pons tear it up at the Majestic Theatre So here i am, blogging for VITAL Source for some reason. Because, hey, i sure don’t do enough blogging elsewhere. Nothing like spreading yourself too thin, right? Look, i won’t lie—I’m not here to be entertaining, and I’m not here to inform. I’m here because Matt Wild told me that blogging for VITAL nets you crazy mad tail.* For my first Cultural Zero assignment, i was sent by my benevolent overlords to Madison for the first ever Forward Music Fest. A crapload of venues hosting an assload of bands for what amounted to be a shitload of bargains ($25 general admission pass plus a $10 VIP guaranteed access pass to the High Noon Saloon on Saturday night for the mighty and reunited KILLDOZER? Sign me the hizell up). Note: by “was sent by my benevolent overlords,” i mean that i said, “well, benevolent overlords, i bought a pass for this thing like two weeks ago; i suppose i could write it up for you guys.” So off i was, driving toward South Central Wisconsin (yo) in my badass Kia Optima blasting the Albini re-recording of Cheap Trick’s In Color, which knocks the original on its ass, in case you were wondering. Upon my arrival i was immediately hit with a dilemma, as often happens at a music festival of this magnitude–do i head to the Frequency to see my pals the Skintones? It turns out the answer was “no,” because i was instructed by the internet to be sure i did not miss Israel’s road warriors Monotonix, who are gaining a reputation as one of the best live bands anywhere. So it was off to the Majestic Theatre with me. The less said about the first band i saw at the Majestic, High Places, the less entertaining this entry will be, so let me consult the notes i wrote myself in my phone (take a notepad to a show? When i can send myself text messages? I am the future of music journalism!). Let’s see, what did i send myself…ah yes: “High Places: two white douchebags from New York sing over their half-assed cover of the Akira soundtrack.” Seriously, it’s a rule these days: when two people set up some boxes of noisemakers, call themselves a “band,” and then say they’re from NYC, you’re pretty much guaranteed some sort of “arty” self-indulgent bullshit which automatically commands respect simply because it’s from New York City. Sorry, i don’t buy salsa made in New York City, and i don’t buy artsy duos not named “Suicide” from there either…especially when one of them is dancing around like goddamn Robin Goodfellow playing a few electric drum pads and a woodblock. Gah. Let’s consult my phone again: “The high point of the set was when Shane from Cyn Cyn patted my ass and said ‘good hustle.'” fig.2: Make sure that woodblock is properly miked, asshole “Cyn Cyn” would be Screamin’ Cyn […]