It’s been a while since San Francisco damaged dudes Sic Alps rolled through the area. By my calculations, it was the Saturday night of Cropped Out 2010. They played outside, and it was cold as shit. Not a concern this time around though, as the Kentucky Museum of Art and Craft (KMAC) has started booking some real mean shows as of late, like Dan Decon last month, and their digs are most definitely climate controlled.
Sic Alps ain’t ya father’s unwashable, filthy, no-fi psychedelic rock scuz – Sic Alps twist, creak, and thump, taking you on a cosmically damaged romp through west coast good vibes and future shock trepidation. If you’ve heard Ty Segall’s latest excellent jam hive, then it should make a lot of sense that this group spawned that monster. They released their latest eponymous effort on Drag City last month (it’s great you should buy it), and it’s their most sonically dynamic (i.e. generous incorporation of strings) and funky to date. True story, I was casually listening to my iTunes on shuffle whilst engaging in some fast-track multitasking when some Alps came on and I thought “hmm, I don’t recognize this Alexander Skip Spence song.” Both Skip Spence and Alps vocalist Mike Donovan retain a subtle, gorgeous quality through raspy timbre and decimated, hissing melodies, suggesting that both gentlemen have seen the true face of God and didn’t like what they saw. Don’t get it twisted though, while Sic Alps certainly drink from the same goblets as the highest in psych rock royalty, they also bring the goods to back up their seat at the table.
Put the kibosh on your Twin Shadow-listenin’ numbskullery and get weird with Cross, the Lexington, KY-based collection of heads who boil a sludgy amalgam of proto-metal, West Coast psychedelia, fuzz-punk, and goth into instantly hummable anthems juxtaposed against shadowy, abyss-staring exercises. The project is spearheaded by visual artist R. Clint Colburn and Ma Turner, who you may recall from the Troubleman-signed bizarros Warmer Milks. Cross’ rounded-out cast of bodacious cohorts possess a crystalline artistic vision, propelling a thundrous, well-oiled form of sonic alchemy that trascends “scenes” (ugh). Like, can death rock be jangly? Turns out, fuck yes. Cross figured that out with panache in their subterranean laboratory for their forthcoming debut effort, Die Forever.
What a damaged bill in such a fancy establishment. Won’t you join us, por favor?
Sic Alps with Cross
Friday, October 19
715 W. Main, Louisville
8 p.m. / $8 ($6 for museum members)
All ages / Get wasted with ID