CAVE

CAVE

Tyvek, Running

Thu, November 8, 2012

9:00 pm

The Hideout

Chicago, IL

$10.00

Tickets Available at the Door

CAVE
CAVE
For the attention span impaired, howabout some Hawkwind, Can, Circle, Lightning Bolt, Pharaoh Overlord? Sounds good huh? Well, it's easy to hear bits and pieces of all of those bands in the sound of Cave, a dual drummer-ed riff heavy psych rock, that takes single riffs and hammers at them, pounding and pummeling, repetitive and mesmerizing, a sort of kraut flecked hypnorock, but with all sorts of strange twists and turns, bizarre arrangements, baffling breakdowns, but woven into longform jams that should have anyone into the above mentioned bands frothing at the mouth.

The sound is punk rock, lo-fi, but lush and epic, damaged and delirious, like garage rockers raised on Magma and Faust, there's plenty of Neu! in there, Stereolab too then, but it's way heavier than that, the guitars crunchy and thick, occasionally opening up into wailing psychrock blowouts, the drums getting more and more distorted and frenzied. Imagine an amphetamine fueled Circle or Can, but via the basement, the sound a sweat soaked drug drenched mostly instrumental kraut groove
Mathy, murky, like the fucked up younger brother of Yes, a Neanderthal krautrock, laced with awesome grinding space rock riffage, blown out squalls of ur-psych, flurries of percussive splatter, chanting cult vocals, bits of what the fuck vocoder (!), but for all the weirdness, the core sound of Cave is THE RIFF. Whether it's a warbly synth, or a superdistorted guitar, or tra-la-la vocals, they all align themselves with that riff, the mission, to entrance, to ensorcel, a heaving, pulsing, throbbing mass, the sound magnetic and irresistible. Endless jams that aren't really, but feel like they should be. Like they are anyway. Transcending the laws of time and space, dragging us kicking and screaming, bouncing and bobbing, into some blissed out basement at the end of the universe, where we subsist of nothing but riffs, drums and FX. We never want to leave.
Tyvek
Tyvek
Full of half-hearted fuzz riffs and tossed-off two-note vocals, Tyvek's self-titled debut made for great recession-era listening. In a world suddenly crowded with dying malls, half-built condos, and underwater McMansions, the Detroit basement-punks' wobbly songwriting sounded weirdly poignant. But unlike the Midwestern punks that came before them-- the Stooges, the Electric Eels, Negative Approach, to name a few-- Tyvek never seemed particularly cheesed-off about their surroundings. The rotating cast of collaborators fronted by guitarist/singer Kevin Boyer was agitated and noisy, but never aggressive.

The band's new full-length is tight, snotty, and pogo-worthy. The mellow instrumental snippets that padded the last LP are long gone. Now there's only the clacking of drumsticks to signal the next onslaught of distortion and motor-mouthed shouting. As a result, they nail the burnt-out 'burbs imagery better than ever. "Underwater institution/ Silent hallways vacant always endless yards of paper trails/ Medications healthy systems baby doctors cut their tails," shouts Boyer over chunky power chords on "Underwater 1", ticking off his list of gripes. In the refrain, he boils it all down to one perfect image of a "Safeway bag now sticking to my shoe." "Frustration Rock", the band's original aggro anthem, sounds kind of nerdy in comparison.

Tyvek's first full-length was cobbled together from a smorgasbord of the bands favorite tapes-- practice takes and basement jams full of lo-fi gristle. This time around, Tyvek spent some money. Nothing Fits is the band's first release to be recorded in an actual studio, and the result is a shorter, more focused record, but hardly a cleaner one. On the title track-- with its unrelenting snare cracks and blizzard of treble-cranked guitars-- Tyvek come off like the Motor City's answer to Huggy Bear.

But like the best old-time hardcore, there's an element of audience participation built in via shout-along refrains. Those lyrics are clear enough: "People in the passing lane, just pricks in a car," sings Boyer. "Fuck off!" responds an overdubbed chorus. And burried down in the din, there's a tried and true posi-punk message. "Underwater 2" delivers the counter-arguement to Pt. 1's bleak, dumpster-diving worldview: "Want to make it something out of nothing at all/ So we've gotta pull together/ Now we gotta just start small," sings Boyer. "It's all right/ just do what you want." Tyvek are slackers no more.

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Venue Information:
The Hideout
1354 W. Wabansia Ave
Chicago, IL, 60642
http://www.hideoutchicago.com