End of the World Transcendence Ball
December 21st, 2012
Origami Lounge

by Howl

It was a stormy night and I’m on mescaline. The gentleman taking money and checking ID at the door has sheets of stick-on jewels and he’s asking everyone to wear some. Lots of beautiful faces result. Awesome.

Dr. Yes was up first and presented a twenty-five minute set of synth jams with a bassist and drummer backing him up. Their performance was heavy on seventies-era funk grooves with under spoken vocals. There was very little in the way of hooks or riffs, which are things I prefer in my music, so I had a hard time being engaged. Dr. Yes made me feel lots of solid bands of primary colors and rainbows.

When French Reform began to set up I started to notice the environment. Mostly people in their early thirties with lots of cool costumes. Someone went to town with the decorations; there were tin foil stars, UFOs, blow-up aliens, and big leafy potted plants everywhere. French Reform totally ruled. If Dr. Yes felt like bands of solid color, then these guys felt like fantastic swirling glitter ribbons. The songs were reminiscent of Phoenix. The singer was like Robert Smith, but with infinitely more sex appeal. Kirt Lind was on the keys throwing me back to those blessed dance-rock days of his previous band, Squirrel Vs. Bear.

I continued to enjoy the vibes as a DJ began spinning records and a drunken member of the Amblers began urging everyone to dance. Everyone wore smiles of quiet contentment apparently too relaxed to really throw down on the dance floor like said Ambler suggested. I stepped outside to feel the windy, dry, and moonlit night air and soothed as I watched the trees dance in the wind. I’ll bet our trees are what saved the world from ending that night…dancing away all the doomsday-laser-beams that were being aimed at us.

The Amblers finished off the night. They were inebriated, happy, and comfortable, which made me feel all those things too. This band felt like the color brown…lots of flannels, old-timey riffing, and old-timey singing. Mountain flannel dudes playing surf music from the front porch. The epic moment of the night involved the lead guitarist riding atop the bassist’s shoulders while he ripped out an amazing guitar solo [Editor’s note: this is called the “Rock Monster”].

PHOTO CREDIT: Melanie MacTavish

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Howl was born in the wastes north of Hithlum, where only beasts and witches dare roam. He was raised by two old hags, Tabby and Wiles, who had an unhealthy fascination towards the literary arts. Howl now resides in a well-furnished cave off South Rim Trail, complete with an old iBook and Wi-Fi.