by Matty McPherson (@ghostplanetmatt)
The Permanent Records Roadhouse is a stately establishment nestled near the Cypress Hill neighborhood in Los Angeles. Surrounding blocks are industrial street parking havens, a thankful reprieve. The establishment has a bar, with a music trivia "not happy hour" happy hour happening on its back patio, at the base of a moderate incline. As nature would have it, there’s a small record shop the size of a bedroom at the base of that incline there. The vinyl prices might have you foaming at the mouth with rare titles in the hundreds of dollars; CD and tape prices might have you fainting from the realization you've been building a LP collection instead of a CD one for a fraction the price. You can also buy a Pabst Blue in there before the DIY show. I mentioned the Roadhouse does DIY shows right?
The Roadhouse is about the size of your local soda bar with a stage raised a foot off the ground. I came up here for the first time back in March to catch Dummy guitarist Joe Trainor's curated set; the one that featured Agriculture as the third of a four band bill. I had work the next day and was going to faint from exhaustion if I didn't leave after being deeply moved by Agriculture’s frenetic spasms and promise of transcendence via black metal. This time I'm taking a sick day; call it Flenseritis. Opening night of the LA Flenser denizens: Drowse, Agriculture, and Sprain (alongside Cave Diver). The nine folks across two four pieces and the lone one-man project are venturing east on a trek towards Austin, Texas’ Oblivion Access festival for a Flenser Showcase. The kind that seems to be a particular moment of triumph for the label. To put things in perspective the SF based label didn't even have an LA artist on the roster as of five years back, and now has 3 exceptionally noisy rabble-rousers with deep roots in the local scene. The kinds of artists who seem to be incredibly tapped into the performative aspect of their concerts.
I arrive early enough for the rare position of a front row seat to soundcheck. A fruitful reward, as the three acts each efficiently load in and test their own blasts of sound that warrant the dollar earbud pickups. Agriculture’s soundcheck is the most tongue in cheek. Last time around, guitarist/vocalist Daniel Meyer-O’Keeffe wore the most graciously tattered of Earth, Wind, & Fire t-shirts you could ever hope to dig out of the $1 clothes mountain at a Southern California swap meet. Today, in a potent white tank top, he's leading the band between a spirited swaggering rendition of “Back in Black” and Agriculture's signature sounds after taking the stage from Cave Diver.
Speaking of, Cave Diver is a new LA five piece performing their first time to a public audience! Stephen Lee Clark, with credits on Deafheaven’s New Bermuda, runs the band while coordinating his portable Eurorack. Meanwhile, Caleb Dravier of essential DIY outpost, Jungle Gym Records, drums with finesse. The quintet‘s sound beckons to five years back when the long tail of Duster’s slow dirges became a lightning rod for a new generation of songwriters. Cave Diver pieces sprawl with that beckoning familiarity fit for the warm-up slot. It worked for Sprain, but they quite quickly evolved out of these tempos and the fuzz, and I can only hope Cave Diver’s five song EP further hints at greater development.
Agriculture’s development has been swift and tenacious. Only having formed last year and quickly picking up gigs from mountain parties to small stages like this one. Now they’re hot on the heels of the four piece’s signing to Flenser, a label that continues a streak of spotlighting possible heavy music outside of rigid restriction and codification. That’s the thing about the transcendent, ecstatic black metal, to my ears brings a massive grin and the promise of community to what could be exceptionally insular music. Off stage and in person, Agriculture are among the most lovely folks you could meet. On stage, the four-piece themselves are cryptic, excavating a deep veracious one-track focus on achieving a sound of bliss; a hole.
The set is a slight contrast to the energy of their previous showstopper at the venue here. Less focus on giant sweeping pieces, with new material from next month’s debut LP being showcased. As such, a greater showing of solos from guitarist Richard Chowenhill delighted us. The kind that further Agriculture's development outside of immediate jamming and into intricate compositions that offer ample sections for each member to provide their own touch. Drummer Kern Haug had teased his penchant for speed and spiritualism on the 2020 Young Jesus album, but here arrives at a propulsive forward flow of the beat; an act of endurance as zen. Meanwhile, Meyer-O’Keeffe, Agriculture's most ecstatic entity (the kind who jumps towards the ceiling and headbangs while laying down a knuckleball of a solo), has moved to the microphone providing a counter to Leah B Levinson, concocting his own bravado and moments of triumph in one noticeably quiet vocal section. It’s a new side to his presence. Both guitarists in their respective solo outings across the forty minute set further Agriculture's position outside of immediate black metal codifiers–their solos have classic hard rock swagger in them, mining different aspects towards a bright rainbow palette that screams in your face. Yet, they do happen to brilliantly foreground their sound in these contrasts and find a revelrous capacity that across this tour will serve them well.
Afterwards, Drowse (Kyle Bates) is shifting things up slightly. It's still a one man show, fit for the bar stage mind you ( at least currently is forgoing visual accompaniment for this performance). Yet, in between wrapping up a semester and writing and rehearsing is his downtime, the Drowse setlist through the post Wane Into It era continues to mutate. I’ve had the pleasure of seeing Bates’ work in various intimate spaces over the last few years.There is a stately familiarity and all encompassing power to the world of Drowse; a black void of guitar chords toned down like frostbite, that swallows you whole for 45 minutes and lashes between catatonic jitters and deeply fought ethereal comedowns. In bringing out older material from his 2017 and 2019 albums though, Bates' slinkier capacity as a jack of all trades shines through. The glacial pieces themselves are not just stronger on revival: great emphasis on sudden percussives and jingle bells, minimoog solo time, and a set whose composition FIGHTS to earn its ethereal sections; it was akin to watching a lone sailor caught in an unrelenting storm. There’s still a particular climatic centerpiece of incandescent bliss near the 75% mark of the show, and every time I lose myself in it. This time, the piece's appearance in the climax of a Drowse set feels enshrined, a full story from start to finish with which visual accompaniment is no longer as applicable as the flickers in my mind.
"It's the first time Sprain's playing here". I overhear employees bemused with the cadence of individuals who understand the onslaught of noise. I'm in a unique position grimacing; I've been following April Gerloff and Alex Kent since spring of 2019 at KCSB during a live in-studio. In between then, I've witnessed the band in over six different contexts, garage show to Otoboke Beaver opener. Since their days performing garage shows next to Cryogeyser, Sprain have always commanded the stage as masters of ceremony. Not exactly as musicians--sound practitioners to be more exact. The kinds in suits and dress; fancy attire for a tenacious, one-track focus set. Tonight, its Los Angeles casual, or so we think? Only Shallow will come on as they finalize load in. Gerloff, Kent, and Sylvie Simmons will amuse themselves either by sight tapping a bass solo or smiling at the song's own foreshadowing of what's to come.
I've humored takes on Kent’s unrelenting stage antics that have attracted a most beguiling response (yes, he’s studied his performing arts at advanced level). Still, that's too general to understand his capacity for stumping audiences in audacious, vexing manners. I've bought As Lost Through Collision twice, once on vinyl for a music library and another on tape as being kicked out by LiveNation security. Sprain has been a band so rooted in evolving from performance to performance and crowd to crowd, that I cannot make out for the life of me whether the material presented is indicative of what is to surface on the supposed second album.
What is assured is that guitarist Alex Kent is in composer mode (his focus on power stomping in amongst the most striking of moves) and that the band will play two giant compositions, if not four ten or so minute songs; it’s a style of songwriting that still feels akin to a giant open range for Flenser acts, with only Scarcity’s Aveilut anywhere remotely in the wheelhouse. Yet, the band has instinctive trust in how they have arrived at these songs, part composition, part improv, and all mended by early post-rock’s promise to build music out of texture and depth in silence. These are brutal pieces. The kinds designed to weed out, shock the audience (Kent will open by dead eye looking at us and stating “I know there are weasels in this audience”), as much as test drummer Clint Dodoson’s endurance and patience against a wall of amps. He’ll pass with flying colors.
There will be delicate pushes to silence drawn at a sound’s conclusion; a quixotic noise motif that Simmons and Kent embrace when they push for guitar feedback;. Both the guitarists forego bowed strings and use drum sticks as bows for white noise shell shock closer to Branca guitar orchestra than any other style of guitar music. Gerloff will push her bass towards and hit down heavy like its nu metal summer 1999. In one inspired moment, Dodoson will lay down a hip-hop beat that sounds closer to samba, and Kent will dance the boogeyman away for a brief second. It's a humorous reprieve as part of a new piece, they’ve road tested meticulously every time I’ve seen them. Only tonight am I learning how it was designed to reflect a traveler changing the dial and switching between Sprain’s engrossing sonic palette.
The crowd is charged as the Roadhouse powers down for last call beverages. After the show I stick around to briefly chat with Kent, who’s refusing to light up on account of watching his voice for the road to come. He is a fan of confrontational crowds, although tonight was notably the most gracious I have seen the band operate. They’re contemplating if they want to shift up how they operate on stage, whether or not they want to forgo one and move into the audience and perform in a manner akin to how UK eight-piece Caroline operated on their swift 2023 US tour. Nothing’s ruled out entirely. As I would anticipate nothing more from them.
