The Graveface Records and Curiosities block party was smaller than I expected, tucked into the wide alley behind the record store. Booths were lined up neatly around the periphery. The low tables were filled with pins, posters, and ghost kids (macabre dolls fashioned of cloth, with sewn button eyes). There were cassettes and records for the release party of the Valley Gals’ latest album, Real Rock. A revolving cast of faces periodically peeked out from their condominium windows in affable resignation. This was a celebration to commemorate the continued existence of the Graveface Records and Curiosities.
First up was Lucky House, an explosion of sound and chaos, with the singer leaping about as if possessed and the rest of the band feeding off that energy. They performed all original songs, except for a cover of ‘Suspicious Minds’ from The King’s own catalogue. This song is a favorite, so to hear them warp and stretch it to fit their punk rock sound was invigorating.
Then smalltalk took the stage- all one word, all lower case. The frontman proceeded to slyly weave together lines from The Wizard of Oz with string sounds and techno beats. He took the beloved classic and reduced it to its baser element. Transformed and strange, the added music pulsed within the narrative, rendering it compellingly and undoubtedly alive.
If Lucky House was an intense frog child, Big Spill was their ribbiting father. There was screaming, guitar reverb, and even more yelling. There was also a song dedication to the homeless accompanied by a personal story which was rather touching, then a return to the sheer volume they wielded with a liberal hand. The lead singer bounced around like a pinball, perpetually bent over backwards, singing fiercely into the sky.
Shouldies was a duo, with one mustachioed soundboard operator and one shivering vocalist. The singer would start a word and elongate it, adding reverberations as he dragged it out. The sound reminded me of a sword swallower I’d seen last summer. His big trick revolved around an audience member slowly removing a zig-zag shaped sword out of his mouth. The image returned to my mind in full technicolor, the curved sword slowly sliding up and out of his throat, its shape that of a fantastical sea serpent, wriggling in and out of mythical ocean waves.
Up until Valley Gals took the stage, no one had been dancing. But that all changed the second they opened their set. All the young punks decided it was their time to move and threw themselves into it with wild abandonment. One rather tall guy’s primary dance move was to spin in a circle and let his shoulder length hair lift in the air like an airplane’s propeller. Others around him simply threw themselves against each other, spreading out their arms to make themselves bigger and bopping about like bumper cars. Around them, the older motionless horde stood good naturedly, staring fixedly ahead at the technicolor dreamscape that was Valley Gals in all their glory.
The lead singer, decked out in an optimistic pastel pink against the black night sky, screamed into oblivion. In between every song she would speak into the microphone with a charisma that came with an individual look, voice, and sound. She was endearing and immediate, an everywoman explaining to us what each song was about before they played it. One was about stuffed animals, another her struggle to get out of bed. The Valley Gals wrote explosive music about all matter of everyday things, then took these concepts, abstracted, and stretched them to the music. The message was life and vitality bleeding from the speakers like rushing water, enveloping and eclipsing, strong and staggering, electrifying and deafening. It was heat to the cool night. The floodgates were open, and people were finally dancing.
Finally, everything slotted firmly into place. Members from acts that had played earlier that evening stood among us in the crowd. The booth vendors carried on their casual conversations, sipping light drinks out of plastic wine glasses. A couple started kissing, the taller woman bending down to press chaste affection to her girlfriend’s mouth. It was a night where music reigned supreme; rollicking, fast paced, shatteringly loud, and utterly chaotic.
