During the first two nights of Halloweekend’s Levitation, the Chronicle music writers found much to love downtown under liquid lights. Read our standouts so far below, and stay tuned for Saturday and Sunday.
King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard Reiterate Fest Face-Melts
Under a crescent moon, low and Nightmare Before Christmas big, Levitation reiterated its seismic shift last night from outdoor convergence to individual club shows in 2018. After a violent overnight storm scuttled would-be final year 2016 at an otherwise synchronous site, Carson Creek Ranch, and canceled the following festival, the one-time Austin Psych Fest dodged a bullet still in that this Friday’s rains ceased early and a 20-degree temperature drop manifested perfect weather outside at Stubb’s. “The first ever show we played here in America was in Austin,” repeated King Gizzard himself, bandleader Stu Mackenzie. “At Levitation.”
That double-barrel, lysergic-colored Live at Levitation KG&TLW vinyl at the merch sprawl documents past 2014 and 2016 fest face-melts. Friday’s 90-minute warm-up for night two ran the Aussie sextet’s stylistic locomotive: surf-punk, krautrock, NWOBHM, blues. Tribal turbine Michael Cavanagh drove the three-guitar blitzkrieg as bassist Lucas Skinner stood tight on the riser close by, and the pair thrust the jam forward and back, eclectic eddies of psych skank moving the sell-out throng like a piston. Ambrose Kenny Smith’s radioactive harmonica and Aussie tour mate Leah Senior’s vocals lent the drone body and nuance. “Don’t take too much acid,” they signed off at 10:15pm. KG&TLW’s equally sold-out, all-Down Under bill tonight will require precisely the opposite. – Raoul Hernandez
Brotherly Breaks Make the Jesus & Mary Chain Even Better
“Jesus fucking Christ,” sighed Jim Reid towards the end of his legendarily noisy band’s glitch-riddled set. His defeated, depressive apology was once again subordinated to the yowling clamor of his brother William “struggling” with an apparently “kaput” guitar pedal. Jim again: “It’s just one of those nights isn’t it?” Is it? Referencing a friend who’s seen the Scottish shoegaze progenitors several times across their four decades, his description of a standard JAMC show was a dead ringer for Thursday evening – from the false starts preceding commonly performed cuts to Jim sheepishly alluding to an encore during the final song (as though he suspected the audience wouldn’t otherwise be impelled to applaud). What my friend didn’t share is that JAMC is the only band in the world made better by poor preparation. After each minute-long gap between songs – everyone watching alongside Jim as he craned his head anxiously at his brother – William would conjure one of his iconic riffs out of the drone metal morass, a booming dance rhythm would kick in, and we’d remember, “Oh yeah, these are the guys who made apathy cool.” The truest way to “Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” is to “Hate Rock ‘n’ Roll.” – Julian Towers
Protomartyr’s Joe Casey Casts a Dissociative Spell
When Protomartyr flies in from Motor City to ruin y’all’s Texan sunny day with a harsh splash of Lake Michigan noise rock, as a Midwesterner, I’m gonna call that the best show I’ve seen all year. Flanked by two bands wielding post-punk minimalism in pursuit of languid cool on Thursday night, the sight of Joe Casey – a poet of everyday desperation – rang out nearly as strong as his band’s impossibly muscular riffage. (Looking the part, Casey earned comparison to a high school gym teacher from somebody near me, though I’d argue State Farm salesman.) Though Protomartyr’s somber, gray-toned industrial churn was likely some of the least outwardly psychedelic music of the weekend, the singer cast a dissociative spell with ghostly, effect-riddled backing vocals from Breeders sister Kelley Deal. Shuttling in place, spitting his words with nihilistic venom, and at one point manically hollering during a heart stopping “Up In The Tower” – Casey’s apocalyptic declamations held Stubb’s in a vice. – Julian Towers
The New W.I.T.C.H. Hits the Classics
Those uninitiated and awaiting Zamrock legends W.I.T.C.H puzzled over an initially melanin-challenged onstage assembly Thursday at Empire Garage – until Patrick Mwondela, from the evolving group’s Eighties disco incarnation, entered to man the keyboard. Next out was the sole remaining member of the original Seventies lineup, Emmanuel “Jagari” Chanda. The bandleader’s career was stalled for decades by Zambian political shifts until finding widespread revival with 2012 reissues and a 2019 documentary. To a few audience members wearing the band’s trademark floppy hats of chitenge cloth, the new W.I.T.C.H. played their Black Sabbath and James Brown-inspired funky stoner classics, including “Living in the Past,” “Chifundo,” “Waile,” “It’s Alright,” and “Lazy Bones.” All energy, grace, and joy, Chanda said: “We take nothing for granted. Thank you for being here.” – Christina Garcia
Os Mutantes Maintain Sixties Subversion
Dangerous political subversives and cannibals of culture, Os Mutantes were once derided by conservative and leftist factions alike in Brazil, food-pelted during concerts, and terrorized by the torture of fellow Tropicália stars who fled the country – but that was the late Sixties. On Thursday, a set of their now-immensely-influential work kicked off a US tour, and managed to sound just as challenging, avant garde, and experimental as it must have to the censors who let their psychedelic rock, jazz, blues, and Brazilian combination slip through. Still channeling intentional critiques and challenges to power, a now 70-year-old Sergio Dias held court at Empire in black sparkles, reading lyrics off a small screen mounted to his microphone while strumming and attacking his guitar like a blues God. While the Ventures and Beatles provided major touch points, Os Mutantes standards like “A Minha Menina” and “El Justiciero” proved classics of their own. – Christina Garcia
The Legendary Pink Dots Hone Cult Status
Too weird for college rock, too muscular for electronicats, and too psychedelic for the goths that first celebrated them, the Legendary Pink Dots define a cult band. Nonetheless, the Netherlands-based act persists into its fourth decade. Still led by singer Edward Ka-Spel (as co-founder Phil Knight retired from the road), the Dots have only honed their potent mix of pulsing rhythm throbs, strident synth noise, and crunch guitar. Built for studio work, the band compels live with minimalist lights, complementing the rhythm pulse, and the deadpan Ka-Spel reveling in his darkly romantic tales of madness and obsession. The group’s latest The Museum of Human Happiness contributed highlights “Postcards From Home” and the wild-eyed “This Is the Museum” on Friday night, but the punters saved their biggest cheers for blood-pressure-raising 2008 pounder “Rainbow Too?” With over a decade between ATX appearances, the Dots earned a warm and enthusiastic reception, even if the Empire Control Room crowd remained modest. – Michael Toland
Marisa Anderson’s Electric Grace Lost in Fest Shuffle
One of our era’s best guitar-thinkers, Marisa Anderson plays with remarkable beauty and grace. The Portland artist’s solo compositions fuse ragtime, classic, blues, and folk, and her takes on traditional tunes are singular, subtle, and lovely. An intimate performer, her electric playing can be wondrous and deep in the proper setting. Unfortunately, “intimacy” is not a word one has ever associated with the outside stage at Empire. The placement made for an almost unsettling experience, as an artist whose style and vibe would have worked brilliantly inside became a rough smear, her voice lost in the shuffle and noise of a Friday night festival crowd. What could have been a very moving set was here rendered legitimately haunting, which – okay, it is Halloween weekend – but I’m going to guess that’s not quite what was intended. – Joe Gross
Forcefully Refreshed, Godspeed You! Black Emperor Locks In
Godspeed You! Black Emperor has figured it out. An underground sensation in the late Nineties and early 2000s, the Canadian chamber-punk collective took nearly a decade off, allowing the members to work on other projects, all of which had varying degrees of connectivity to the original group. Thus refreshed, the music they’ve made over the last decade is easily some of their most powerful and nuanced. That power faced an uphill climb outside at Empire Garage, where you had to stuff yourself as close to the stage as possible to experience the band beyond deafening chatter in the back. Songs such as “Hope Drone” and “Job’s Lament” swelled and crashed with great force; as the band has moved from compositional intricacy to heftier drones, their musicianship has grown as well, percussion and strings locking and unlocking in a heavy drift. A thunderous set, depending on where you stood. – Joe Gross
This article appears in October 28 • 2022.