It was an oddly quiet Sunday night at Gramercy Theater. I was there to see Voice of Baceprot, the Indonesian all-female metal band that has been storming the internet with covers of Rage Against the Machine and Metallica, among others. These young queens are touring the US, playing a mix of their own original tracks and a handful of hard rock covers. Despite the viral spread of VOB’s covers, and the popularity of their first original “God Allow Me (please) to Play Music,” Gramercy was sparsely populated, with a mix of metalheads, older city normies, and various groups of people speaking what I presumed was Sundanese (the dominant Indonesian language). Still, people were abuzz with energy and ready to rock.
The opener was Boston-based Above Snakes, a nu metal outfit with tons of testosterone. Vocalist Johnny Skulls got several members of the crowd headbanging, while himself flinging around thirty inches of braided hair and a band shirt that said “I don’t blow coke but I love the way it smells.” It seemed an odd juxtaposition to have that kind of brash blow-and-sausage meatfest next to the modest-appearing cutiepie trio of VOB, but I could see the connection in sound even if the opener wasn’t my particular flavor of rock.
Voice of Baceprot took the stage to expectant shouts and whoops. I had wondered if they’d bring some heavy metal theatrics, but they walked on stage and collected their instruments rather demurely. The visual drama came from their mostly black outfits crowned with black hijabs. They started with “Public Property,” an anthem for women tired of street harassment. Vocalist and guitarist Marsya glides across the stage between vocals, giving us rock and roll drama in her body movements or a death stare during her shreds. Bassist Widi is a monster, and you can read on her face how much she knows it. “That bassist!” I heard a guy exclaim on the subway after the show. I shouted the same back. Widi is unbelievable at slapping the funk on these tracks. And then there’s Sitti, stamping out wild and complex rhythms especially on “School Revolution,” which had me screaming “don’t try to judge us now!” Their abilities subvert expectations. The American bias towards hijabi girls is to project a weakness or powerlessness onto Muslim girls and women. But their music is a fierce defense of womanhood and a call to punch upward, the opposite of what Americans would expect. It’s a beautiful thing to watch a stereotype be smashed to smithereens. Between songs, moments of communication within the band almost break the heavy metal spell and remind me that these are just kids, barely out of their teens. But once the sound starts, they are giantesses, and they could own arenas.
I am fairly certain that this is VOB’s first tour, and I hope we get to see them in the states again despite the attendance of this New York show. They sound un-fucking-believable, and they will only get better as they keep growing and writing songs that fight the power. Brava!
I was checking out some sounds for a Saturday night adventure when I encountered Gavin Turek’s personal blend of discoey beats and soulful high vox. The almighty algorithm had been feeding me pictures of her late 70’s glamour and magnificent afro coiffe in a vaseline filter, advertising her upcoming visit to Elsewhere. Clearly a fresh face with a mature spirit and some solid tunes, I pulled up into the graff and grunge of Bushwick to check her out.
I arrived at the tail end of opener Val Fleury’s set, just as she emerged from the DJ booth to flavor her fashion techno with some loving vocals. Bummed about missing the first opener, I ordered a vodka and scanned the crowd for the vibe: queer, eclectic, diverse, and progressive – very Elsewhere, and very ripe for inventive hip hop drag duo The Dragon Sisters. Their sis DJ Samuella spun the tracks and set the vibe until sisters Issa and Odessa stomped the stage with 40 inches of bronze hair and desert rave glamour. Give me a queen with a beard ANY DAY. This duo roused the crowd and then jumped off stage to perform among us. Bubbling with charisma, the sisters had us chanting how “A.I. Could Neva” and then throwing tips on the stage like a proper drag show. The Dragon Sisters were a feast for the eyes and ears, serving pointed tunes with sharp wordplay and choreo.
Finally, we landed on Gavin Turek. Val Fleury returned to the table to pave the way for Gavin, who emerged bejeweled in denim and mesh to a driving beat. This diva wiggled and kicked to every track she could like a glamorous disco queen. Turek’s fresh take on that kind of late 80s house and R&B gives you that kind of feeling that you’ve been listening to something forever even though it’s a fresh take. The tracks I’ve had on repeat lately like “Whitney,” “On The Line,” and “Don’t Fight It” had me at maximum wiggle. She has a genuine sweetness about her, which comes through in her absolutely lovely sky-high vocals and the sweet personal moments she shares with the adoring crowd. Surprise guest Cor.Ece helped her end the show with a sultry duet, before ending on her sensual hit “The Distance.” All in all, she puts on a delicious high energy performance that was even better in the intimate confines of Elsewhere’s Zone One room.
All in all, a solid Saturday night that ended with the right kind of sweaty.
Photos by Baron Wolman and NASA. Messin’ around by me.
In the category of “your favorite band’s favorite band,” this little ditty is about my first foray into the discography of the legendary Afrofuturism pioneer Sun Ra and his Arkestra. The name Sun Ra had bounced around my consciousness for decades courtesy of the praise of Lester Bangs and LCD Soundsystem referencing Sun Ra in “Losing My Edge.” According to The Wikipedia, this prolific bandleader and instrumentalist recorded over a hundred albums and over one thousand songs during the decades of his career. That’s an intimidating stack of sound. It’s like trying to watch Doctor Who – with so many decades of programming, where do you even begin? So, I waited. I decided that sometime, somewhere, out in the universe, I would encounter a CD or a vinyl of a Sun Ra recording, and that would be the right time to sit and listen. Oddly enough, pop culture chain Newbury Comics had a small section devoted to Sun Ra releases, and I came out with a gatefold box set entitled “Sun Ra, Egypt – 1971.” It seemed as good a place as any to get started. Risky buying a CD of a band you haven’t heard? Sure. I like to gamble. Some people buy scratchers hoping to win a few bucks, I buy CDs and hope I fall in love.
I was headed to Stroudsburg to see Coventry Carols opening for Life of Agony and Sick of it All on a dreary breeze-less day. I slid in the first CD while crossing the bridge, hoping to color my lingering depression with something mind-blowing. The sounds startled me at first. My untrained ear found it indistinguishable from the sound of my 8th grade orchestra class dicking around before the teacher started. I sat in an odd confusion while the traffic loosened. “You’re really on the jazz these days, aren’t you?” my other half asked from the passenger seat, referencing my being neck-deep in Logan Kane’s catalog for a while. Until that dude educated me, Jazz was always the purview of corporate tower elevators and pretentious jagoffs. I hadn’t had a taste for it in the slightest until I learned how weird it could be. The second track: a voice introduced the recording as deep instruments signaled an odd dread over a tippy tappy cymbal pattern. This music was perplexing. My guy nodded off but I remained patient, waiting for something to hook me, toying with the idea of abandoning Sun Ra altogether. Luckily, doing 80 on the NJ Turnpike is no time to change out a CD. So, I sat in my discomfort and listened through “Egypt,” wondering what I’m supposed to find.
Made of whistle tones, hisses, and cacophonous keyboard noise, “Solar Ship Voyage” was the engine of the Arkestra doing the calculations for takeoff. More cacophony followed. Nonsensical rhythmic bangings and disturbed key smashes pervaded fifth and sixth tracks “Cosmo-Darkness” and “The Light Thereof.” The visuals came on as I shifted into autopilot. I saw the cosmos, sure. Bleeping lights and retro-futuristic technologies colored my mind. “Friendly Galaxy No. 2” was curious but warm. Its unsettled terrains breathed of life and mystery, with airy drums and twittering flutes creating a mysterious if lightly threatening lushness until it relaxes into calmness. It rolls into “To Nature’s God,” where I finally got to relax into the rhythmic chanting of the new world. “Okay,” I remember saying. “Now you got me.” By ‘“Space Loneliness No. 2,” I realized the purposeful discord, the otherworldliness, the aliens speaking in electronic key tones, space madness, the cold darkness of the vacuum, the wholeness and splendor of the Gods.
The next opportunity I had, I picked up Lanquidity, again at Newbury Comics. The first track tinkles with a gorgeous sunrise, until undercurrents of discord begin to flush out and disturb the rhythms, giving shadow and puzzle to the landscape. Something about it started giving me Ralph Bakshi Wizards style visuals. I suddenly realized just how many classic science fiction thoughts were coming to me. Ray Bradbury thoughts. Rotoscopic animation thoughts. 2001 thoughts. It occurred to me that Sun Ra was a pioneering Afrofuturist, but all of my tonal pop culture connections were white, and I suddenly longed for a Black alt-culture equivalent of Heavy Metal. By third track “That’s How I Feel,” I was staring down my own self-dissatisfaction, nodding to the unrelenting groove, caught inside my own self-imposed reticence.
See, I had been struggling. Like everyone else on Earth these days, my mental health was doing another swirl in the toilet, and a hubris I had for writing suddenly morphed into another round of self-loathing and self-imposed censorship. I had nothing to say, and nobody for whom to say it. But within this avantay-garday weirdness, I could hear both expertise in expression and a reflection of my own listlessness and ennui. So what did I do? I sat in my discomfort. And suddenly, I realized, that’s part of what Jazz, and many other experimental, discordant, and unmelodic genres are meant to do. The listener has to sit in discomfort, get lost in it, and face it, if one intends to emerge from it.
Does that sound pretentious? Relax, I’m just a huge nerd that likes words. Pour a cup of Romulan Ale, and imagine it is being served by Guinan from Star Trek, as she tells you (in the voice of Arkestra member June Tyson) “there are other worlds, they have not told you of.” And then travel.
I write this as the discord of the first few minutes of 1974’s film Space is the Place sounds not unlike the clashing radio waves of long-dead stars, or the cosmic frequencies of the Big Bang as transmitted to sound, because why not? It’s madness, to sit in quivering trumpet tones and feel this feeling, but it works. I feel a sense of frustration now, about not having been patient enough to learn *how* to listen to music like this. It is a meditation, a different purpose for listening. The film itself is a strange romp, flush with Blaxploitation themes, ascetic and metaphysical philosophies, and moments of live Arkestra performance. It’s a pretty coherent film even with its rough edges, and therefore worth a stream from Max.
This isn’t to say I would be invited on the Arkestra and into the new world. Sun Ra’s vision was of an all-Black society free from colonizing power structures, and I’m a doughy white girl from Lawn Guyland. But I’ll trail along behind the Arkestra, wave with love from the window of the Enterprise, and proselytize Sun Ra’s ever-expanding universe of possibilities from my own instrument, the keyboard. In the mean time, these dudes are still kickin’ around the world, led by Arkestra veteran Marshall Allen, and I have got to go for this ride.
Music-Survival-Guide 