With the days growing shorter and temperatures running low, ask fans of dream pop and shoegaze threw on their beanies and made for Middle East Upstairs for sounds of a slightly gloomier outlook. Allston’s Funeral Advantage started the show with what some might deem the night’s most anti-rock presentation. Though a five-piece on stage, Funeral Advantage is the brainchild of frontman Tyler Kershaw. Kershaw is an avid Cure fan and his music expresses that, sticking to the textures and melodies of a late 80’s UK scene.
As the night’s only locals, Funeral Advantage represented a niche genre well. And though playing to a crowd with a more hardcore and pop punk inclination, their place in the spotlight endured. Kershaw and co. started their set with “Body Is Dead,” a glittering track from the band’s upcoming full-length. Showgoers took in the tune with the eagerness of elementary school students, craning their heads to take in it’s creeping melody and exposing many neck tattoos in the process. Though their upcoming full length is still in the works, Funeral Advantage recently released a second pressing of their demo with Disposable America, a local indie label and Allston Pudding’s community partner.
Funeral Advantage is not a hard listen. Though Kershaw noted the band’s latest work to be their poppiest yet in a recent interview with BDCWire, their sound does not equate with the superficiality of top 40’s hits. Still the band does maintain a sedative quality on stage and a welcome one at that, as one song rolled into the next with the warmth of more minimal soundscapes.
Music jargon aside, Funeral Advantage sounds a lot like jumping off a cliff. Somewhere between a glimmering “Weightless” and confirming “Christine After,” you throw your body off a rocky ledge and enjoy the feel of flying. When the band closes their set with “Wedding,” you freeze for a split second, a sweet spot in mid-air. All this before gravity takes hold, before you shoot into a downward spiral, before you realize any final conclusion: Kershaw breaths against the faintest hint of synthesizer, enjoy all the things that made you feel alive.
Still with me? Good. There’s more music to talk about.
Cloakroom followed with a different kind of gloom. As a newcomer to Cloakroom I was unsure what to expect. Though a fan of their label, Run For Cover Records, the band had previously fallen under my radar, only to present themselves at the forefront of Wednesday’s venue and my attention. And boy, present they did.
Do you ever meet someone and just kind of “get it?” What “it” is I can’t exactly pinpoint, more that you feel comfortable cracking jokes to them you’d usually save for, ahem, your cat. These situations are rare and personally, terrifying. When you look to this semi-unknown someone and think, “what do we do next?” Usually, I don’t do anything but look for the nearest exit. But in a more musical situation, like that with Cloakroom, you simply become a fan.
Cynical, bold and even bitter at times, the band played an extremely compelling set focused on a classic three-piece combination. Most noteworthy was the bands technical ability. From bassist Robert Merkof’s slamming bass lines, to drummer Brian Busch’s brawny percussionist barrel, to frontman Doyle Martin’s driving guitar—all had a way of standing out while creating an absolute sound.
Martin’s voice was a true highlight for me. Fairly monotonous with the slightest touch of Morrissey, the frontman spent his time on stage crooning like a true pro. Unlike the opener’s subdued vocals, Martin’s voice rang distinctly above the music as he sang with a scowl, twisting his face to the crowd to deliver another disgruntled lyric. Vocals seemed to defy the laws of any ordinary sound system and pack the room entirely, as if to have come through the walls and ceiling to fill the space in my ears.
This week I discovered the band’s awesome cover of “Francis Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle.” It’s a top Nirvana tune for me—and if yours too, I would definitely recommend a listen.
The shoegaze-lovin’, cyber-bullyin’ boys of Whirr capped the night. Before any official start, the band shocked the venue with a blast from their speakers, a blow of feedback that freed the room of any sound or thought processes. Whirr carried on with that notion as they began their set, following through that first mark of sound to land themselves definitively as the night’s loudest act.
Whirr is hard to pinpoint. Though a shoegazey to boot, on stage the band tended more to a drifting sadness than the poppier side of the genre’s bigger hits. Though Whirr’s 2013 Pipe Dreams does have a few uptempo tracks (see: “Home Is Where My Head Is” and “Toss”), on stage they focused on a more melancholy, muddied sound. Their new album, Sway, was released just this week, and seems to keep the same mentality.
And talk about loud. The five-piece broadcasted a wall of sound from start to finish with grittily layered guitars, pounding drums and vocal melodies that for the most part, were even more indistinguishable than what you expect from shoegaze. Though this may have had more to do with the venue’s sound system.
You can love Whirr or hate them, there really doesn’t seem to be an in-between. Whirr enthusiasts are a committed, almost obsessive bunch. As an outsider this confused me, until I got talking with a fan at the show. He told me how much he liked Whirr, that Pipe Dreams was his favorite album of 2013 and in his opinion, the best of that year. Our conversation snaked it’s way forward and he stumbled upon the topic of his past. I was surprised to learn that he had been divorced, that his heart had been broken and his life changed drastically as a result of both, though likely more the latter. And as our talk ended and Whirr picked up, I thought about his story with the music and it started to make sense. It’s so easy to get lost in Whirr’s music. And for fans, that seems to be the point.
