I caught local rockers The Gold Web at The Arcade Emporium, 1366 N. Milwaukee Ave., on Sept. 29—and got way more then I expected.
Calling themselves "Chicago's Glam Monstrosity" and with inspiration from stadium-blasting icons like KISS, these guys come off like a napalm blast of optimism and joy, but with a twist. The first attention-grabber is the "look," with lead vocalist/guitarist KING FWK dressed in a massive raven get-up and the other members sporting clingy muscle shirts, tights, glitter, green lip gloss and what looked like a full body gold metallic Afros. The other band members sport names like ST. SNAKE, GOLDILOX and DR. WEED—I swear I don't make this stuff up—but the real punch line is the music, which is a smart, infectious mix of bubble-gum pop, hard disco and Brian Eno.
Shorn of the visual fizz, The Gold Web's music is laced with plenty of subtle charms despite the art-rock trappings. ( A bottomless echo permeates everything, with lots of "whooshing" in the mix and, for some reason, lots of bird-chirping on the song intros. ) "Drones," for all the hollow-sounding diaphanous production, is really a gooey confection while the title track from the upcoming EP, Freaks, is one big swirly hallucination. If "Freaks" is the equal of a really large sonic Tastee-Freeze cone, then "Summertine" is a catchy fleeting elliptical slice of heady rapture.
If The Gold Web didn't offer such a rich and varied palate in its music, the temptation would be to take them at face value. Let loose onstage that night, with the participation of an unfortunate piñata and with oversized balloons and clouds of confetti filling the air it was undeniable that this group offers something unique, joyful, and childlike. Just what The Gold Web's "something" is is clearly beyond me but I don't care.
I had no intention of catching Those Manic Seas, a quartet ( sort of ) from Richmond, Virginia, whose set earlier in the evening at the same venue appeared to be a cheesy gimmick. That gimmick is lead vocalist "Kilroy," who is actually a closed-circuit television set bolted atop a nine-foot-tall mannequin. Given that he spent the night singing his heart out in glorious black and white while projecting a cool, deadpan vibe, it was clear early on that "Kilroy" was not the most compelling front man ever. Without moving body parts and with him reduced to a household appliance, his spotlight actually fell to the human participants ( Drew Rollo, Warren Baker, and Daniel Medley ) who ripped through a kinetic set filled with all manner of frayed guitar figures over a barrage of brittle percussion. With a violent clash of "hot" live music and "cold" vocals, Those Manic Seas actually make compelling neurotic art/dance rock that is at once engaging and off putting, making "Kilroy" not the point.
The new single, "Headache/Heartache," took all that onstage fury and turned it into something otherworldly. With "Kilroy" caught in what sounds like a romantic meltdown, the glacial beauty of his baritone ( he actually seemed incapable of sobbing ) telegraphed bewilderment, vulnerability and fear, giving what was already a catchy and galvanizing mini-epic an unexpected allure.
If "Kilroy" seems more suited for display at the Museum of Broadcast Communication, alt-performance pioneers Ono would easily fit in The Smithsonian. Started as a collective in the 1970s by out Navy veteran and front man Travis and producer/composer P. Michael, this group, apart from a 30-year hiatus, has continually evolved while becoming more relevant with the passage of time. That's not such a good thing, since Ono has always addressed oppression, racism, homophobia, societal barriers and any number of other ills as a lyrical jumping-off point.
As evidenced by the act's recent show at The Empty Bottle on Oct. 6, Ono clearly has no plans of backing down in the least. Offering a too-quick sample of its upcoming full-length, this version of the band found the members situated around the room rather than just onstage with Travis ( as always, dressed in white silks and satins ) performing literally on top of the audience. At once provocateur, clown, dancer and demon, Travis grabbed the largely stunned and bewildered SRO crowd and dragged them into a whirl of "avant-gospel noise poetry," performance art, rants, chants, hard-edged beats, trance, straight-up dance rock and in-your-face theater. Ono's performance was clearly rooted in the absurd art "happenings" that exploded in San Francisco in the late 1960s and, from what went down at The Empty Bottle, it is re-shaping that almost forgotten tradition. Better still, the music has handily absorbed hip-hop, rap, EDM, drum 'n' bass and house, taking the group out of the space of musical entertainment and putting them in the realm of cultural anthropology.
That may sound heady and, with the gravity of some of the lyrical content, Ono may sound like a downer—but that is hardly the case. What really sticks with the band are the playfulness and exhilaration that the performance was delivered with, making the new release something to look forward to in the coming months.
