Download audio file (Desktop-TooMuch.mp3)
Desktop – “Too Much”

“Too Much” opens like the kind of mannered micro-soul slowburner you’ve probably come to associate with Junior Boys — a deep plunge of gleaming synths, percolating hi-hats, and a taut guitar note nervously ticking just under the surface. But while JB’s Begone Dull Care from earlier this year settled for a predictable monochrome, Desktop’s jam slips into full-on ’80s electro-funk revival on the chorus, mixing nasally exuberant harmonies with a pair of slick, rubbery synth lines that shimmy and shake their way right through the song’s blissed-out outro.

Desktop is a collaborative project between Keith Thompson (Johnny Headband/Electric Six) and Zach Curd (The Pop Project/Suburban Sprawl Music), and so far they’ve recorded three impeccably constructed synthpop gems, which can be either pre-ordered or downloaded for nada via their website. If you order the physical 12″, you’ll also receive a floppy disk that reportedly contains audio files of the tunes as well (although it could very well contain the software for Oregon Trail, because who, aside from my parents, still has a computer with a floppy drive to check?).

Download audio file (zachcurd-ipromise.mp3)
Zach Curd – “I Promise”

Earlier this summer, Mr. Curd also dropped a free and equally awesome EP of some solo recordings on his blog, which run the gamut from orchestrated exercises in Jon Brion-esque whimsy to auto-tuned R&B vamps to ragged cuts of power pop glory, like this little number “I Promise” posted above. The scattershot focus of the EP lead me to believe that these songs were just a bunch of random ideas he had floating around in his head that he happened to find time to record, which just goes to show how unfair it is for one man to hoard so much talent. Of course, I’m talking about the man who took the lengthy hotline number* for the In the Wheelhouse podcast and somehow turned it into a catchy jingle, so I shouldn’t be surprised.

*Try calling, night or day: (646) 462-4161 ext. 97895

The Post-Rockist holds the curious distinction of being the only Detroit and St. Louis-based music blog known to man. This isn’t something we brag about so much as it’s something that forces us to spend a lot of time awkwardly justifying our existence. We hope to avoid pandering to one audience too much at the risk of alienating the other, mostly by trying to remain true to our mission statement of writing passionately about the music we love (in other words, we pander to ourselves). But on the same token, we’re plainly cognizant that being a music fan anywhere is deeply impacted by your local surroundings, and we try to reflect that by talking about great shows that come through town, or releases by bands like Lightning Love of Detroit or the Blind Eyes of St. Louis — bands that we’d probably never hear if we lived anywhere else.

But, does it work? Do you wish we did more with local coverage? Do you find it interesting at all to read about what’s going on in another city, or could you not give two flying shits about what happens in either the 313 or 314 area codes? Do you wish I’d just shut up and start posting more podcasts by Andrew and Liz?

It’s an experiment, for sure, but it’s one that’s allowed me the opportunity to discover and write about Detroit bands like the High Strung or Champions of Breakfast when they come through St. Louis. Maybe someone else finds that useful? If you have any suggestions for how we can better cope with our bi-city-uality (or any thoughts on the site at all), please let us know in the comments.

Incidentally, this week marks the three-year anniversary of the Post-Rockist. Back when we started, we were based in Cincinnati and Washington, D.C. We’ve come a long way, babies, hope you’re enjoying the ride.

Thanks to Joe Crawford of the Beacon for the interview time and nice article.

At a karaoke bar in Southern California a man in his early 20s took to the stage and the music started. I recognized it from the first note the way you recognize that certain distant relative in public. You know, the one that’s mostly drunk, entirely Republican, and wears camouflage to do his shopping. You don’t know if you should look the other way or embrace him. It was “Turn the Page” by Bob Seger. The guy was butchering the song and no one wants to see family maimed. I off-handedly muttered something to my co-worker sitting next to me about how I was probably the only person there who could really sing Seger. “Do It.” She insisted. I pointed out that I really couldn’t sing and I was speaking more spiritually than technically and then she said something that bemused me enough to sit down and write this essay. She said, “Sing? Seger’s not a singer. He’s a fucking trucker. Get up there.” I sang “Night Moves.” I was fantastic.

She didn’t really mean Bob Seger was a trucker. What she meant was Bob Seger was trash. Just look at the cover of his albums. An old man on a motor cycle, the rising sun behind the statue of liberty, air brushed horses running over a majestic stream, and the close-up of that face—they all look like prizes won at the ring toss in the carnival held in a Kroger parking lot. And just like those carnivals, when you grow up in Michigan you cannot avoid the sounds of Seger.

He provided the soundtrack while I crawled around on brown shag carpeting in a diaper. Growing up, he was all over the airwaves. The oldies station played his first hit with the System, “Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man” and even the contemporary “Old Time Rock & Roll.” The top 40 station played “Like A Rock” and the classic rock stations played everything else. I probably learned the lyrics to his songs before any others.

And those lyrics are just as trashy as his album covers. “Just then I saw a young hawk flying and my soul began to rise,” is a line I would use to teach my students about failed imagery and clichéd symbolism. And when Bob Seger attempts subtlety and euphemism he fails again with lines like, “Tight pants, points hardly renown.” Only to be followed by, “with points of her own sitting way up high/ way up firm and high.” Points? The term is at once vague and bluntly specific. Who would ever describe male genitalia and breasts with such a non-poetic algebra conjuring euphemism as points? It’s not even crude enough to be macho. You’ll never hear this conversation:

“Did you see the points on that one?”

“Yeah. I’ve got some points of my own I’d like to give her.”

And “working on my night moves”? Sounds like something a junior high wrestler would come up with. It’s definitely not “making the beast with two backs” or even “knockin’ boots”–which may be my favorite sexual euphemism of all time.

So he’s not a singer; he’s not a poet. What is he? To begin, he is more than the sum of his parts. There is nothing about his music that is technically unique or innovative and reading his lyrics without the music is at times a bewildering endeavor (“Living by the sword”?). Bob Seger is not Dylan or Hendrix. He was not blessed with gifts that leave the common man baffled. Bob Seger is the common man. He is the everyman. But when Stranger in Town begins with those usual riffs, standard drumbeats and trite themes of moving west “‘cause he thought that a change would do him good,” it’s not tired; it’s familiar—like that relative in camo. We went hunting with Uncle Bob as a kid, talked about motorcycles and bows and arrows. When we got a little older, a little more educated, we were ashamed of him. Then as we aged, headed west ourselves, we realized how close we were to becoming him. In German the term is unheimlich; in English it is uncanny—the idea that something can be both familiar and foreign. And that’s what Seger is to me. He allows me to flirt with the memory of a 12-year-old-kid who went fishing and wanted a Harley and probably could have got a good job at GM when he grew up.

And that’s why I was the only one in that bar who could sing his song. My relative, Bob and I, we were up there just doing it. And we were all trash. And we are all fantastically familiar.

Jeff Milo of The Real Detroit Weekly and Deep Cutz blog asked us if we might publish his review of Deastro’s Moondagger. We, of course, said of course. 

Moondagger feels so human. For all its synth-wrung furls and precise rhythms pulsing from that preconceived-computer-perfected genre of electro-pop, it is added a fleshy tremulous pound, a closing of the eyes, a letting go, with a lyrical parade of penetrating questions, of love, of the future, of metaphysics, of feeling. It sings of cosmic intangibles, dream-lands, myths and musings and galaxies, but mixes in earthly mortality with trembling sweat-beaded stares into bathroom mirrors, broken hearts, and the longing for closeness. As singer Randolph Chabot, between spacey skirls and warbled synth-hooks, shouts a throat slashing question, growing more animalistic each repetition, “Can you tell me what I feel, is it real, is it right?” 

Opener “Biophelia” taps in with light cascading 8-bit synths, immediately acquainting the listener with Chabot’s characteristically delectable and hypnotic melody molds – but after four measures these riotous drums like battleship guns start pounding in, sandwiching (as almost every song on the album does) the beautiful, the transfixing, with the urgent, with the upset… It’s as though the album were a study in the tumult of emotions that can follow from what seems like the insignificant questioning of an individual, of himself and of all he sees. Shambly synth cymbals shimmer like a sparking line of gun-powder leading to the ammo shed and the full band explodes outward with Chabot’s pained chorus (of ended love) sliding down in this melodious groan, the guitars aligning with the high-toned synth inflections adding in a surfy-toned reverb, as the drums pound on…

“Biophelia,” acknowledges that things must change, “What was is dead and gone and no two cells are alike / and no ghost will find us here, in the places we have been…” The drums seem to reach a peak before tumbling down into an idyllic dance-pop jostling as Chabot plainly sings, “There is no poetry, this is how I feel…”

“Parallelogram” explodes out the gate with shiny-toned synths with fiery guitar riffs for its wings in a melody ready-made for some lost Saturday morning cartoon action squad theme song. Moondagger’s quiet, meditative searching clashed and blazed with exertion and catharsis is represented nicely (on “Parallelogram”) by an almost two-minded lyrical delivery, the verses sung in Chabot’s timorous, childlike high-tone (sliding over a steady bass grove) and the chorus spilling out with a deeper, louder voice that almost trips over its preceding verse as though it can’t hold back, as these punchy, echoey drums resemble thunder and shimmery guitars cut like lightning.

“Toxic Crusaders” is side 1’s prime display of (the often-spotlighted) Chabot’s band mates -drummer Jeff Supina, bassist Brian Connelly and guitarist Marc Smak – a pensive polyrhythm slides into a danceable shimmy, the bass booms and hums along under playful chimes while the guitar gets down right funky. Chabot’s musings on metaphysics continues as his yearning croon follows the chimes “Are we not made of the roots of the planets and the trees – I’m a prophet of how things should be…”

Centered in Moondagger is “Pyramid Builders,” featuring mostly Chabot at his nest of synthesizers, computers, samplers and drum machines (reminiscent of the solo-form in which the Deastro project started out in 2007). “Pyramid Builders” has a jittery beat under intertwining melodies stepping up up up and down down down, blipped and shunted by a few video-game jaunts and a brief harpsichord-ish shashay; synthy bell chimes give it this very restorative feeling. 

The bass blurts out in its most distinctive buzz under achingly beautiful guitar tones at the opening of the epically titled “Daniel Johnston Was Stabbed In The Heart With The Moondagger By The King Of Darkness And His Ghost Is Writing This Song As A Warning To All Of Us…” yet another example of a initially delicate dream-pop opening gets an anthemic front row fist pumping vibe as the bass booms on and Chabot assures the building up of a town the saving of a boy, the winning of a fight!

Tight, prickly, new-wave-ish guitars start to blaze like the sun on rain-soaked pavement over “Vermillion Plaza,” building into this tumbling, ultra-fuzz-wrapped chorus sung in this deep 80’s faux-operatic tone that (almost Morrisey-ish) combines a standoffish boom with a vulnerable delicacy.

“Greens Grays and Nordics” starts out quiet, but the guitar feels so taught and tense in its steady knocking –opening the door of the song to the rolling rhythms of bass and drum under jittery synth jetstreams “I’ve got your picture in my pocket stained with rainbow watermarks” goes the chorus –and it brings me back to my humanistic vision for this album – almost imagining a body itself, cold yes, and a bit stoic – as it’s effected by all this futuristic atmosphero-pop and computer blips – but pulsing vibrantly from each orifice with a different color of the rainbow, burning bright, cutting and splurging out like untamable adrenaline. The body is the band, but maybe it’s Chabot, having all of these feelings, many of them close to an anger-born-from-confusion, some of them a sadness-from-heartache, or perhaps a hope, a love-born-from-potential, for community, for anything. Listeners can often find in Chabot’s music this umbrella application of love or unity to solve struggles – Moondagger is ripe with this, but with the album having been such a long and trying process for the band, they’ll likely be onto something much different for their next project. Moondagger is born from the struggles of a prince in a dream land against a King of Darkness and the corruptibility of power (and yes, the inevitability of love’s potential to conquer all that).

All these pent up feelings seem to reach their breaking point during the stormy chorus of “Moondagger,” sliding in just one track before the album’s conclusion. The verses are charged by relentless rhythms, the synths seem to lumber along with growing grumbles, the guitar feels like its throwing space-toned one-two-punches and all cylinders seem to fire in some hotblooded fuzz-fire, like some overwhelming Michael-Bay-ish over-explosive ending action sequence. 

And that makes “Kurgan Wave Number One” feel like the perfect soothing closing credits song – delivered as a twilight dance ballad with New Order-recalling laconic beats and heart swooning, softly brushed melody.

So then,…We can gobble up the wide-eyed balloon-pop, the synth swirled vigor, the heart-pounding dance-rhythms, the immaculate hooks and compare Chabot to classic/aristocratic/infallible pop song writers, to experimental prog-rock composers, but it should be noted that Chabot is a lucid soul as much as he is a lucid songwriter – he is using these sounds, these swirling tones, these words to help himself understand a myriad subjects, settings and times. And his view, his understanding, is going to transform within the innards of each album. Answers are rarely found inside Deastro’s songs (even if the search never ceases); love may not always work, evil might not always be suppressed, and it may not always be assuring when Chabot t-t-t-t-t-tells us “we’re gonna be fine” (in “The Shaded Forest”) – and future songs (as much of Moondagger’s subtext suggests) may start concerning us, all of us, in bigger, less palpable ways. Rebirth is on the horizon, as “Shaded Forest” (presented here as a b-side), one of Chabot’s older (and most initially popular) songs now features a since-added lyric over the chorus, “Let me be reborn…let me see with new eyes…”

By Jeff Milo

Click here to view the embedded video.

This Friday, Detroit celebrates four new releases by some of our best bands.

The highlight of the night is Deastro’s inevitable break-out release, Moondagger. This album is sure to launch Randy and his band onto the national scene. Be sure to catch him tonight, because it’s likely he’ll be touring places other than Michigan widely for the rest of the year.

The Silent Years, who have done their fare share of national touring, will be releasing a new EP, as well as new releases by Manna and Quail and The Summer Pledge.

This is going to be a fantastic event. Be sure to be there, break out the old tux or evening gown, and enjoy a track from Deastro’s new album:

Deastro – “Parallelogram” from Moondagger.
Download audio file (Parallelogram.mp3)

A few weeks ago, I got to hang out with the gentlemen of Blasé Splee at one of their Royal Oak residences. The result was this article about the band in this week’s Metro Times. It was a very fun and entertaining 3 hours of hanging out, where I got to listen to final mixes of their excellent debut album, Et Cetera, entertain future album titles  (my bets are onThis Doesn’t Taste Like Celery to be a big hit), learned that bands hate to be asked what their influences are, and discovering to my vegetarian displeasure that bacon-flavored chapstick actually exists.

This will be a big weekend of music in metro Detroit. Friday at the Crofoot is Mr. Sandman’s Quadruple Album Release Prom (more to come on that), and Saturday is both the Blasé Splee release (first 100 in the door get a free copy of the new disc) at Small’s and the Motor City Rocks Spring Showcase at The Belmont. Hamtramck will be a fine place to spend a Saturday night.

Czech these two tracks from the Blasé Splee album (be sure to check out the awesome that happens around 1:38 of “Praise”)

Blasé Splee – “Praise” from Et Cetera
Download audio file (Praise.mp3)

Blasé Splee – “All of It All” from Et Cetera
Download audio file (AllofitAll.mp3)

Additional Linkage:
Deep Cutz’z Interview w/Blase Splee and review of Et Cetera.

“That 3 minute guitar solo was awesome.”

Believe it or not, I said that–aloud, to people!–about a month ago, during a set by Screaming Females at The Trumbelplex in lovely Woodbridge, Detroit, Michigan, USA. 

I’m not wont to pipe such an utterance aloud, nor under my breathe, nor think it in the least. Ever. But I did, unconsciously and uncontrollably, while watching Marissa Paternoster (can that really be her last name?) in a small, anarchic room of 30 people on a Tuesday or Wednesday night. 

The other 29 people in the room were equally as impressed as I.

You see, our friend Marissa, at a diminutive 5’2”, is tall in shred stature. She makes me wonder if I might actually like Joe Satriani if I actually listened to him. Probably not is the answer, but she and the other two Females (both male) put on a ripping rock show and got a small venue jumping and dancing about, all the while drop-jawed.

And for their obvious awesomeness, they’ve earned a pretigious little supporting gig for a group that’s been getting just a bit of press lately–a band featuring a certain Detroit-born artist who is sometimes a big deal around here.

Screaming Females join Dead Weather on their upcoming summer tour.  

7/13 – 9:30 Club – Washington, DC
7/14 – 9:30 Club – Washington, DC
7/16 – Terminal 5 – New York, NY
7/17 – Terminal 5 – New York, NY
7/18 – House of Blues – Boston, MA
7/21 – Olympia De Montreal – Montreal, Canada
7/22 – Kook Haus – Toronto, Canada
7/24 – The Fillmore – Detroit, MI
7/25 – The LC Pavilion – Columbus, OH
7/27 – First Avenue – Minneapolis, MN
7/28 – Vic Theatre – Chicago, IL
7/29 – Vic Theatre – Chicago, IL
7/30 – War Memorial Auditorium, Nashville, TN 

Screaming Females – Bell (mp3)
Download audio file (ScreamingFemales_Bell.mp3)

Screaming Females – Skull (mp3)
Download audio file (ScreamingFemales_Skull.mp3)
 

Learn a bit more about Screaming Females at The Trip Wire.

Personally, I’ve been feeling pretty down about where things are and where things are heading, but today I feel a curious sort of pride about my hometown and its rich culture (currently one of the only ways Detroit can be thought of as “rich”).

This feeling came from spending an evening at Brad Hales’ People’s Records mp3 blog. Hales is owner and proprietor of People’s Records in Detroit, located on Woodward at Peterboro. The blog hasn’t been updated in some time, but the archive of fantastic soul, funk, and jazz tracks, recorded directly from the vinyl, is well worth hours and hours of anyone’s time, particularly if you rely upon a daily dose of music to make life worthwhile (If it’s in you, then you know exactly what I’m talking about.).

In his blog bio, Hales describes Detroit as “one of the most musically magical cities imaginable” and I believe him. Such unironic sincerity is welcome to my blood-pushing, beating heart, especially in a city where often our only defense against our real hardships is an uncanny knack for sarcastic naysaying.

My favorite song so far is Bobby Patterson and The Mustang’s “Broadway Ain’t Funky No More,” which I’ve listened to six times in row as of the writing of this post.

Spend an evening with Brad at People’s Records blog and an afternoon at the actual, physical store in Detroit, and perhaps you’ll feel a bit more reinvigorated about the spirit of Detroit as well.

Related Links:
–An excellent MetroTimes article “Groove is in the Heart: Peoples Records, a time capsule of D-Town musical history, is back” by Laurie Smolenski

–Martin Freeman (“Tim! Tim-Bo! The Archbishop of Canterbury!) of the British The Office fame visits Detroit, and Peoples Records. The best part of the video is the moments when Freeman and Herman Weems just stand and listen to the music, around 3:27. The smile that rises on Freeman’s face–the unconscious manifestation of joy in a human being arising from the experience of music–is a moment that we seldom pay attention to. Watching a smile lift itself in such a way is a wonderful thing to experience. Thanks, Music! I think you’re great!

The High Strung – “Standing at the Door of Self Discovery”
(from Ode to the Inverse of the Dude)
Download audio file (HS-SelfDiscovery.mp3)

The High Strung are playing at the Firebird tonight, just one of the gaggle of bands making a pit stop in St. Louis on their way to or from SXSW next week (scope the sidebar for the icing on the cake). I interviewed Josh Malerman, the Strung’s singer/guitarist, for a brief piece in the Riverfront Times this week, which you can find at page two of this link. The article was way too short to cover everything we talked about, and considering that Josh is such an earnestly enthusiastic and super fast talker, there was a lot left on the cutting room floor. (For instance, the psychological bookends he provided as a way of framing and understanding the loose “theme” of Ode to the Inverse of the Dude, the band’s new album due April 24; the way writing horror novels and pop songs fulfills the same artistic impulse; and a genuine defense of late-period Bob Pollard, which, considering I basically characterized my last encounter with Uncle Bob as watching a pair of kidneys die in real time, made me re-appreciate the work he’s doing today.)

Dude, the new album, is really growing on me. It’s not as immediately catchy as Get the Guests, but I think that’s because it’s in no hurry to prove anything. It’s more of a laid-back and freewheelin’ psychedelic record, filled with swirling horns and effects-laden keyboards as if they were Midwestern refugees from the Elephant 6 collective (the Minders come to mind in particular). There are a lot of great moments on the album, from the Schoolhouse Rock! funk of “Guilt is How I’m Built” to the acoustic mixtape bait of “I Got Your Back,” but it’s the choral mantra of the opening track that I keep catching myself singing at the most inopportune times. “Standing at the Door of Self Discovery” is a triumphant salvo, bursting with hope and awe and military drumming, like they were leading a small army of banner-waving Jungian psychoanalysts over the mountaintop. Try and see if it doesn’t get caught in your head.

The High Strung are planning to release another new album in October, tentatively titled Dragon Dicks. I can only imagine the cover art. I gotta say, though, if this whole “touring rock band” thing doesn’t work out for them, they should just set up a consulting business on the side as “album name generators” for less creative bands.

So I’m going it alone for Saturday’s re-cap, which is unfortunate since I was a bit fatigued and am at a loss for words right now. But duty called, and I always try to answer.

First to Baker’s for Old Empire. I decided to see this band after hearing their great song “Sweaterdress” on MySpace a few days before the Blowout commenced. I caught only the end of their set and liked what I heard a lot. The sound at Baker’s (as with most venues at this year’s Blowout with the exception of the K of C Hall) was excellent. Way to go Metro Times in getting good gear and sound persons. I thought the songs sounded even better live than on their MySpace page and look forward to the proper release of their upcoming album. As this band continues to play out, they’ll surely get even better. I’ll be walking away from this Blowout with Old Empire as my new-found band to watch this year, much as I did last year with Lightning Love, whom I was looking forward to seeing at the Belmont.

I think Baker’s and the Belmont, being so close in proximity, got a lot of traffic due to the rainy weather. I saw a lot of the same faces at both venues. Got to the Belmont to see the end of Leif Erikson‘s set, which was a joyous kind of hip-hop that I always welcome.

I’m the first to admit that I don’t have a critical right to judge hip-hop–I just haven’t had enough exposure to say whether someone is good or bad or whatever. I just know what I like, and I really liked Leif Erikson. When they chanted “How good do you feel?” I answered “Good!” because I did. And I love any show that ends on a positive note, so when the guys from Leif “waved goodbye to the folks leaving on a plane” as if they were standing on a tarmac to bid us adieu, I determined right then that I will be sure to catch these guys in concert again soon.

Lightning Love was next on the bill, and they delivered a solid performance, and looked strangely tall on stage. There’s something about the Belmont when it’s at capacity that makes the bands seem taller. I was standing with the crowd for most of the show, and from this vantage the sound was excellent. Since last year’s Blowout, this band has gotten better and better and rightly have received more and more good press. Hopefully 2009 will be equally as good to Lightning Love as 2008. I wouldn’t be surprised if next year they’re preparing for a trip to SXSW.

The rest of my night felt like it was moving toward vertigo without ever getting there. My friends and I felt competing drives to either go home and call it a Blowout, or to get in as many bands as possible in the final two hours. While our minds pleaded for the former, our hearts and bodies pushed us toward the latter. The result was a little bit of Smoke, then some chatting toward the back of the room of The Belmont, then some Friendly Foes (whenever I see Friendly Foes, I feel like each song has built-in parts that are the musical equivalent of the “BAM!”s, “POW!”s, and “BOOM!”s of a Batman fight with his weekly nemeses on the Adam West TV version of the show).

Then to Baker’s quickly for a few minutes of Swamp Sisters, only to have the idea to try K of C to end the Blowout. Caught the end of Carjack and the middle of Detroit Cobras, where I could see my own exhaustion and fatigue reflected in the faces of many at the K of C Hall. Which just goes to show that ending the Blowout on Saturday night might just be the worst possible slot your band can get.

And that, my friends, was that.

So another Blowout has come and gone. Reading back over this little re-cap of the night, I’m sorry and demoralized by the fact that “a re-cap” is all that it is. I wish it could’ve been more. But is it really possible to accurately convey in words (or even pictures, if we weren’t so lazy this year) what the Blowout is really all about?

First and foremost, Blowout is a time to reconnect to our excellent local music scene. Detroit doesn’t have as much to offer as it once did. But the one constant in our city has been music. Our metropolitan area–from the old streets of Woodbridge, the many clubs and bars that nightly host live music, to the suburbs and out to Ann Arbor–is full of talented, creative individuals and artists who love music as much as they love their families and spouses. They live through the songs they play and the songs they hear. It’s part of what connects all of us, and it’s one of the things that keeps us going at a time of economic and political hardship.

Our music is a way of forgetting about our daily troubles. It’s a bond that we all can share if we open our ears and our minds. And it’s ours, damn it, whether we’re playing it live or whether we’re there to witness an artist at work. This year, I revisited some of the bands I haven’t seen since last year. I got to enjoy and experience some of my favorite bands who I see on a regular basis. And I found a few new bands to follow over the coming months. But I also found a scene–a totality of like-minded people–giving themselves up to the music, and to the community, for four fantastic days.

After leaving the K of C for the last time until next year, my friends and I got into our car. The key turned; the engine started. The radio immediately began to blare as the battery sent its charge through wires and circuits. And as we pulled out of the parking lot, we calmly turned the radio off. Silence. A moment of quiet. A music-less ride back home.

After four days of experiencing Detroit’s true spirit sounding defiantly through the dense fog of tough times, I couldn’t think of a more fitting homage than a little bit of silence with which to think. And reflect.

Wristband #05557, signing off.

Other blohgings on Blowout 2009:

Detour
Eat this City
Detroit Gorilla
Deep Cutz
D-Tales

Related Bloggings:
Post-Rockist Blowout 2008 Pre-Party Thursday Friday Saturday