Little Mountain Studios: small, sweaty, under construction and perfect for this relatively underground lineup. I caught the end of Vancouver’s Solars, so I can’t say much more than that they were loud. As for Indian Jewelry, the interweb tells me that they are from Houston and that their sonics can cause seizures. If head-bobbing to sludgy industrial-esque stew means seizures in Texan talk, then seizures I had. Drawing on too many influences to mention, they reminded me of the first time I heard Barry Adamson. I knew I liked it—didn’t really know what kind of music it was, but it was definitely sinister.
Unfortunately, the power in the building—which used to be a butcher shop—cut out for a while, eating into their already short set. [ed. This was actually due to someone stepping on the power cord and pulling it out of the unfortunately-placed wall outlet. Watch what you’re doing, jerks!] Back up again for just half a song, and the crowd was again thrust into darkness with only a lonely drumbeat to latch onto. They called it quits. Check these guys out if they ever make it over the border again.
The Psychic Ills’ latest album, Mirror Eye, hasn’t received the best reviews (it’s a poor follow-up to Dins), but their live show wasn’t bad. Those into drone with a Jackson Pollock splash of song structure were in luck. The quartet (although I could only see three from my vantage point) stopped about four times, which was the only indication that they had completed a song. To be honest, most of the set sounded like a jam or perhaps songs that the band knew but the audience didn’t. These psychedelic devotees did manage to hypnotize me for a moment, living up to their name and generally pleasing the 80 or so people busting the seams of Little Mountain. Altogether, a complementary string of bands and pleased patrons made this a good show but not a triumph