Friday Night at The Ox: NERRRRD ALERRRT!

Friday night at The Ox was jam packed for the Anamanaguchi show. X Hunters opened, followed by Good Luck and Slingshot Dakota. Where were you? Were you THERE? I specifically instructed you, my little darlings, to be there Friday night. Check out the full review after the jump.

After the ceremonial stop at El Bar for a few six packs, I arrived at The Ox to find the entrance to the normal venue blocked off by a big piece of particle board. For those of you unfamiliar with The Ox, as you walk in to the entry way to the ground floor you see a large open warehouse with a stage in the front and a booth for bottles of water and merch in the back. It's a pretty ideal setup because it's open enough for a crowd to congregate, or to allow ample space for you to sneak off a fart without anyone knowing.

Such was not so on this night. The normal entrance blocked, I followed the din upstairs to the 2nd floor where at the end of a hallway there was another not quite as large open room serving as the venue for the evening.

I arrived to the catch the beginning of The X Hunters, the opener for the evening. Their tri-guitar tribute to the music of Megaman X was, technically, impressive. To hear said arrangements being performed with big-fat-ballsed guitar chops makes you go "heh, lookathat." But beyond the virtuosity of the renditions, you're kinda left holding your sad little soft pud over the straight-forwardness of it, and the seeming lack of enthusiasm. I'm not complaining about their performance, alls I'm sayin is you're doing metal renditions of video game songs. Can I get a choreographed kick or two for godsake?

Up next was Good Luck, the Bloomington, Indiana-based pop punk band.

Good Luck absolutely 100% did not disappoint. If you haven't heard their strikingly original album Into Lake Griffy, your fucking fault. Their live performance followed suit: wild, noodly guitar licks over a hard-hitting rhythm section, all cranked down tight and delivered with every bit of conviction that is heard on their recording. They were enthusiastic onstage, and the crowd responded in kind. I cannot overstate the importance of a crowd that doesn't absolutely suck chicken nuts at a show, and everyone was doin' the damn thang. pitching back and forth wildly as the band went into "How To Live Here", their debut album's opener, the crowd was all raised fists and strangers screaming lyrics in each others' faces, which pretty succinctly summarizes the whole Good Luck aesthetic.

They played for about 25 or so minutes, performing such favorites as "Hey Matt" and "Public Radio", and they owned it.

This is how nice Good Luck is: following their performance, I accosted vocalist/guitarist Matt Tobey in the hallway, jabbing my cell phone at him wildly, hoping for a quote on...I forget, whatever. Matt was good-natured enough to not mock me for my dime-store Press hat, shabby clothing, and lack of proper quote capturing device. The same can be said of vocalist/bassist Ginger Alford, who very kindly just went the hell along with it when I shoved my phone-as-tape-recorder in her face and, without any prepared questions, asked her about the best breakfast she's had recently. I will not be putting their quotes up because I am horrible and people shouldn't have to deal with me.

I did not get a quote from the drummer because I couldn't find him. And I couldn't find him because nobody knows what any drummer ever looks like. Seriously, tell me what the drummer from The Rolling Stones looks like. Exactly. Bet he was real nice too, though.

Bathroom break time. The line for the bathroom upstairs at The Ox blows. It seemed like absolutely nobody wanted to mingle, and upon entering the bathroom, which had no running water, there were crushed up pills on the sink. Now, this is the weird part. When I say crushed up pills, I mean capital P pills. it was like, a handful of Whole Foods herbal supplements, squished on the counter top, their healing herbal goo leaking everywhere. I just kept imagining some kid hunched over with a rolled-up hundred dollar bill, horkin' some gingko biloba up his schnozz.

The next band up was Slingshot Dakota, a two-piece indie/powerpop group. Vocalist/keyboardist Carly Comando and drummer/vocalist Tom Patterson set up so that they were facing each other on the stage. Carly started off with a few bars of Phil Collins' haunting song about things coming in the air at night, "In The Air Tonight".

From there, they launched into "The Golden Ghost", and I gotta tell ya. These guys had a HUGE sound. Carly and Tom both have killer pipes, and the keys were really full. Tom's drumming was ferocious, and who doesn't love a singing drummer?

Slingshot Dakota also had great presence onstage, bantering in between songs about weed to an improvised Stevie Wonderesque bit of funk. But more than that, they were a very urgent crowd-pleaser. Their dynamic vocals and dirty, filthy keyboards had the whole room up and movin'. They finished off strong, and despite later receiving a setlist from Tom, I lost it because I am shit at journalism. Sorry Tom. Should have pinned it to my jacket along with my mittens.

Anamanaguchi (I know you just said that out loud, wasn't it fun?) closed out the night. Holy shit. I'm not entirely sure, but I am almost positive that some melvin in the crowd started sporing because all of a sudden the room was jam-packed with dudes in Nintendo t-shirts. And they were all super hype.

I nudged someone in the back of the crowd, and asked her what the big deal was. She began to explain, but I paused her, and pulled out my cell phone and jammed it in her face, remembering my mantra of be a dick first, act like a normal human being later.

She flinched and said "Um...I've been excited about this for a while, because Anamanaguchi did the soundtrack for the Scott Pilgrim video game. Most of the people that are here are here for them."

I'll be damned if she wasn't right. the audience doubled in size when Anamanaguchi took the stage. They set up with the band in front of the stage on the floor, and the laptop...guy...onstage with his laptop. Nobody knows what the laptop guy does for the performance. This reporter surmises that he hits the "play" button then plays snood for the remainder. They had a projector that played an 8-bit graphic of their logo, along with other blocky, colorful images. For their opener, "Paintbrush", someone hit the strobe, prompting a full-room epilepsy fit. Even in the back, I was getting knocked around. Somewhere up ahead, a three foot tall stuffed tiger crowd surfed by, clearly not enjoying itself.

The band was...good. The music was really fun, and the dance marathon that ensued was seen in snapshots from all the friggin' strobelight action. But there's something off in the whole stage presence issue. Try as though I might, I could not get up close enough to see the band in action. From most other vantage points in the room, you are treated to a view of some white dude on his mac, standing on a stage while a projection of spinning nintendo-graphic hullaballoo goes fucking nuts behind him. The whole thing is kind of underwhelming. Again, the music was catchy as hell, and I understand that it's not always about how animated the band was, but why not like, hide that guy among the other band members? He's featured so prominently, being the only person onstage during their performance, and he just stands there. Checkin' his friendster account or whatever. It's odd.

But nobody else seemed to give a shit about the silly things that bug me, because the throng usually reserved for the front of the stage had reached all the way back to the merch table. People go fuckin' bonkers for this blip-bloop shit.

Anamanaguchi wrapped up, and was immediately called up for one more song. They obliged and the crowd got right back to jostling me about and spilling beer, a painful reminder that mine was all gone.

And so ended the night, Anamanaguchi (you said it again) retiring and the roomful of sweaty dweebs emptied out into the street below. It was a great night for some killer bands, a great night for a fantastic crowd, and a truly traumatizing night for one poor unfortunate three foot tall stuffed tiger.