Like everybody else in the control room of Cambridge’s Bridge Sound and Stage, Dutch ReBelle has her head in a laptop, where she’s organizing final tunes for her promising third project, ReBelle Diaries. But before the speakers boom with her latest hip-hop tracks, the rapper joins producer Janos “the Arcitype” Fulop and the others in swooning at the idea that Radiohead once rocked that room.
“I don’t ever want to be stuck in one genre,” says ReBelle, who grew up listening to opera, dancehall reggae and No Doubt as well as the Fugees, Goodie Mob and Wu-Tang Clan. “With all my projects, I feel like there’s gonna be a variety because that’s who I am. That’s what I mean by ReBelle Diaries. I used to rap over beats that made no sense with hip-hop, like Tina Turner shit.”
That’s evident in a polar-opposite pair of advance tracks from ReBelle Diaries heard in slick videos on YouTube. ReBelle ticks off relationship woes over a swelling neo-soul bounce in “Love Is,” snapping syllables with melodic inflection to ice the phrase “I don’t think we got much left for dis-cus-sion.” And in the hard-edged “Yen,” she breaks down the money game over a spooky, electronic pulse that wouldn’t be out of place on a Radiohead record.
“For me to keep moving forward to the music I want to make, you need to know where I come from,” says ReBelle, born Vanda Bernadeau in Haiti. She also raps about family dynamics, from her parents to a brother who lives in a tough part of Miami. “Some people think my music is aggressive or in your face, but to me, this is just what’s around me.”
That brother helped set her course when the poetry-minded ReBelle was still in elementary school, having her freestyle about household items as he’d point to them. “We never knew that it’d be anything serious, but that’s the game we played,” she says. “Being able to do it was what made me pursue hip-hop.”
After graduating from Penn State with a journalism degree in 2009, ReBelle refocused on rapping, honing her skills at local and national showcases where crowds don’t always expect a female MC to walk out. “That works in my favor,” she says. “The flipside is [they’re] super-critical. You’d better get it right within that first 30 seconds.”
Loud and Clear
Ten Top Local Acts Who’ve Been Making Noise Around Boston and Beyond.
By Paul Robicheau | Photo Credit: Jessica Weiser | Aug. 1, 2014
Dutch Rebelle
Like everybody else in the control room of Cambridge’s Bridge Sound and Stage, Dutch ReBelle has her head in a laptop, where she’s organizing final tunes for her promising third project, ReBelle Diaries. But before the speakers boom with her latest hip-hop tracks, the rapper joins producer Janos “the Arcitype” Fulop and the others in swooning at the idea that Radiohead once rocked that room.
“I don’t ever want to be stuck in one genre,” says ReBelle, who grew up listening to opera, dancehall reggae and No Doubt as well as the Fugees, Goodie Mob and Wu-Tang Clan. “With all my projects, I feel like there’s gonna be a variety because that’s who I am. That’s what I mean by ReBelle Diaries. I used to rap over beats that made no sense with hip-hop, like Tina Turner shit.”
That’s evident in a polar-opposite pair of advance tracks from ReBelle Diaries heard in slick videos on YouTube. ReBelle ticks off relationship woes over a swelling neo-soul bounce in “Love Is,” snapping syllables with melodic inflection to ice the phrase “I don’t think we got much left for dis-cus-sion.” And in the hard-edged “Yen,” she breaks down the money game over a spooky, electronic pulse that wouldn’t be out of place on a Radiohead record.
“For me to keep moving forward to the music I want to make, you need to know where I come from,” says ReBelle, born Vanda Bernadeau in Haiti. She also raps about family dynamics, from her parents to a brother who lives in a tough part of Miami. “Some people think my music is aggressive or in your face, but to me, this is just what’s around me.”
That brother helped set her course when the poetry-minded ReBelle was still in elementary school, having her freestyle about household items as he’d point to them. “We never knew that it’d be anything serious, but that’s the game we played,” she says. “Being able to do it was what made me pursue hip-hop.”
After graduating from Penn State with a journalism degree in 2009, ReBelle refocused on rapping, honing her skills at local and national showcases where crowds don’t always expect a female MC to walk out. “That works in my favor,” she says. “The flipside is [they’re] super-critical. You’d better get it right within that first 30 seconds.”
By Paul Robicheau
Tigerman WOAH
Playing everywhere from labor rallies to rock clubs, Tigerman WOAH have become Boston’s favorite rabble-rousers, blending blues, punk and Appalachian folk into foot-stomping revivals that champion the working class.
“It’s all coming from the same place, a response to a repressive world,” says frontman Adam Kaz, who howls like Tom Waits and whacks away at a painted banjo-ukelele. He and electric guitarist Jon Feinstorm migrated to Boston from Georgia, enamored with both early-century roots music and socialism.
Raised on politically charged punk in his teens, Kaz moved on to Pete Seeger and the Smithsonian Folkways series. “When Jonny and I got [Folkways], we lost our shit,” he says. “That was a good two years where I didn’t listen to anything but that, the Carter Family, Son House and Bukka White.”
The underemployed friends moved to Lynn, where they fueled their interest in community-building—and building a band. Adopting a name that nods to a Rufus Thomas song, they drafted acoustic bassist Kevin Landry and eventual drummer Adam Lentine and played Lynn’s tiny Buchanan Café. “It’s like a 50-year-old fishing trailer,” Kaz says. “It has kind of a bad history, but it’s a great spot that’s been reborn with neighborly people of all stripes.”
They’ve since expanded their reach, even playing Boston Calling and local-band offshoot Boston Clawing at Ned Devine’s on the same day. “I think I slept for two days after that,” Kaz says. “It’s rare that we play a packed bar, let alone a packed City Hall Plaza.”
The band’s been giving away the first two volumes of its Up South EP series and plans to start a third by fall. But people should experience Tigerman live to get the full WOAH, complete with ZZ Top-ish beards that Kaz claims were not a schemed shtick. “We never talked about it,” he says. “They just got bigger because the four of us hung out all the time.”
By Paul Robicheau | Photo Credit: Mary Lewey
Bent Shapes
To many, digital music distribution has made hard copies irrelevant—but singer/guitarist Ben Potrykus and drummer Andy Sadoway also see it as an opportunity for novel ideas. With their trio Girlfriends, they released songs on cassette and VHS tape, and under their new name, Bent Shapes, they just released a 7-inch on Plexiglass.
“It’s thick and heavy and pretty pointy at the edges,” Potrykus says of the single “86’d in ’03” (a reference to his high-school graduation), backed with a cover of “Bridgeport Lathe” by obscure ’70s Boston rockers the 2x4s. “When you have the physical component of a release,” Sadoway adds, “why not have it a little wacky?”
In turn, Bent Shapes live up to their name with skewed, perky pop that falls somewhere between Vampire Weekend and Velvet Underground offspring the Feelies. The band adopted that name because “Girlfriends” was difficult to find in an Internet search and “forced people into preconceived notions of what they might expect,” Potrykus says.
Another change: the departure of Girlfriends/Bent Shapes bassist Supriya Gunda, who left after last year’s catchy Feels Weird. The group has since shuffled to fill that spot. Sadoway played bass on the new 7-inch, and, for shows, they recently switched from Spirit Kid mastermind Emeen Zarookian (who’s moving to California) to Potrykus’ sister Kate. Luke Brandfon has also joined the band on second guitar.
Nonetheless, Bent Shapes’ tunes largely toggle on the metronomic, shifting interplay between principals Sadoway and Potrykus, who says, “The idea of using guitars as percussion instruments, interacting with drums, is pretty fascinating to me.”
By Paul Robicheau | Photo Credit: Frankie Nazardo
Gem Club
Christopher Barnes survived what he calls a “traumatic experience”—having a crane hoist a piano into his Somerville apartment. “I think about when I have to move out,” says the singer/songwriter/pianist of chamber-pop group Gem Club. But it was worth the effort, considering the growing national buzz since the January release of Gem Club’s second album, In Roses. And that piano is where it all starts. “This is always sort of a jumping-off point, me and a piano, and then we figure out how to take it from there.”
For In Roses, Barnes and his collaborators, cellist Kristen Drymala and vocalist Ieva Berberian, recorded at John Vanderslice’s San Francisco studio, broadening their palette through synthesizers and samplers as well as strings arranged with the Magik*Magik Orchestra’s Minna Choi. They’ve since taken drum machines and the synthesizers on tour, and Barnes says they’re working on reducing the orchestral scores so they might employ small string sections at special shows.
But for now, Gem Club remains a trio, performing in concert halls and living rooms, rock clubs and art galleries. “Sometimes it’s a hard sell to put us in a room on a Friday night that’s really loud,” Barnes says. “I can say that I enjoy playing for people rather than at people, and I have experience doing both.”
Barnes’ delicate, impressionistic ruminations are clearly made for a more intimate experience. In Roses includes “Soft Season,” inspired by the life of fellow gay man Joey Stefano, a ’90s porn star who fell victim to drug abuse. And “Polly” is about an aunt who died from Alzheimer’s disease a decade ago, a time when Barnes says he was unable to grieve. “It all starts with personal experience,” he says. “A lot of what my music is attempting to achieve is sort of an empathy.”
By Paul Robicheau | Photo Credit: Joshua Pickering
Petty Morals
When the six women of Petty Morals first took the stage at the 2014 Rock ’n’ Roll Rumble at T.T. the Bear’s Place, it didn’t take long to predict their deserving romp to the finals. They had delicious dance-punk chops, a joyous rock-’n’-roll attitude befitting a group that got its name from a quote by Keith Richards, and wicked catchy tunes, from originals like the breezy twister “Not Going Back” to a killer cover of the Pointer Sisters’ “Neutron Dance.” And of course, there’s that girl-power thang, magnified through giddy smiles and show-specific fashion accessories, like Batman fight-scene bubble quotes pasted on each member. “Bam!” indeed.
“We’re still silly girls,” drummer Lauren Recchia says, “but we’re also professional.” She’d been around the Rumble block before, as had guitarist Chrissy Vaccaro and sparkplug singer Tai Heatley, in separate groups. Recchia had also played with bassist Chrissie Tierney in a Joan Jett cover band, and when her tastes turned to synth-punk, she sought “a party atmosphere” for her next project.
Recchia found that atmosphere with Petty Morals, though she admits, “It’s really surreal that we all don’t get into giant fights because we’re all Type-A personalities.” Their camaraderie was clear at the Rumble finals, where Petty Morals’ onstage celebration at the night’s end made it hard to tell that streamlined punk rockers Goddamn Draculas had edged out the ladies for the crown.
“We’re a lot busier than we thought we were going to be after the Rumble,” Recchia says, and with ex-Mellow Bravo ace Jess Collins poised to replace departing backup singer Helen McWilliams, the party keeps on rolling.
By Paul Robicheau | Photo Credit: Ethan Long
Krill
It’s not typical for a band’s lyricist to picture himself as a tree, a blade of grass or a turd stuck circling the toilet bowl. But Krill isn’t your typical band.
“The thing that drew me to philosophy was what drew me to Krill stuff,” says bassist/singer Jonah Furman, who majored in philosophy at Johns Hopkins and dabbles in existential lyrics as abstract as his Jamaica Plain trio’s art-punk.
For the song “Purity of Heart,” from last year’s Lucky Leaves, Krill lifted the title from Kierkegaard. The inspiration for the title of their February release, Steve Hears Pile in Malden and Bursts into Tears, is more esoteric. While there’s no Steve in Krill, which also features guitarist Aaron Ratoff and drummer Ian Becker, the band’s Illinois-bred members do admire the Boston band Pile.
“I get that it’s ostentatious and people are drawn to it ’cause it’s funny,” Furman says of his conceptual whims. “Partly it’s metaphysical stuff, like ‘Lucky Leaves’ is about [Krill’s original drummer, Luke Pyenson] leaving the band, and ‘Theme From Krill’ is about being in the band Krill. It’s stuff that I feel is not explored much in lyrics and kinda aims to take down this level of cool detachment.”
The lyrics complement the raw, off-kilter dynamics of the music, which lurches with Furman’s heavy ballast and Ratoff’s gnashing riffs over the disciplined time changes of Becker, who leans into his cymbals and snaps off rolls of momentum.
“We’re doing complicated stuff, but we’re still pretty sloppy,” Furman says with a note of pride. “We came up with our own thing in Somerville, then we went to Allston and got loud, and then we went to JP and got weird. That’s the reductive narrative, but it’s pretty true.”
By Paul Robicheau | Photo Credit: Christine Verret
The I Want You
The I Want You teeters between control and chaos, its keen pop structures leavened by the loose feel of a band that jammed for three months before members decided they should probably play a gig.
“Our rule’s been just to let it go and play,” bassist/singer Jim Gerdeman says. “We let everyone do their thing or add their thing to it. There’s no real controlling idea that we’re trying to sound like or shared influences that we’re trying to hit.”
The I Want You’s free-flowing chemistry stems from members’ diverse influences and previous bands. Gerdeman grew up on classic rock like the Electric Light Orchestra and Cheap Trick. Guitarist/keyboardist Jonathan Donaldson came from the Color Forms as a fan of the Smiths and psychedelic pop. And guitarist Blake Girndt played songs about the TV series Lost in the Easthampton novelty band the Others. All three split lead vocals while Jonathan Ulman (Thalia Zedek) mans the drums.
Their new six-song EP, Ah Really, ranges from the playful snarl of “Off and On” to the Beatlesque “Queen Celeste.” Gerdeman encouraged the quartet to record it in one day at Matthew Girard’s Arlington studio after home recording sessions took too long.
“It made it more immediate,” says Gerdeman, who spreads out the group’s low-end textures on an eight-string bass he bought for $150 on Craigslist. “We’ve done projects where it’s been very ironed out and polished off, and that’s fine. But with this band, we’re mostly trying to make it a good experience for us.”
By Paul Robicheau
The Hotelier
Punk rock often fits the trope “three chords and the truth.” But in the case of Christian Holden, singer/bassist of the Hotelier, the truth gets expounded upon. He lets emotions fly in torrents of lyrical introspection, and songs on his Worcester-based band’s second album, Home, Like Noplace Is There, hover in the 300-word range.
“I wanted to experiment in writing a lot of words, to make it difficult for people to take our music on any sort of surface level,” Holden says. “If you’re at a show and you want to participate, you have to get into it in a really deep and personal way. And it worked, because people do come to our shows, and a lot of them know all the words and seem to have a really emotional and cathartic experience.”
Holden, guitarists Chris Hoffman and Ben Gauthier, and drummer Sam Frederick met as students at Shepherd Hill Regional High School in Dudley, originally taking the moniker the Hotel Year. They began touring in 2011, evolving from pop-punk, a style Holden deemed “kind of shallow,” to more socio-politically conscious rock, influenced by emo bands the Promise Ring and the Get Up Kids.
Right from lead track “An Introduction to the Album,” where the singer roars, “I can’t seem to burn bright enough, I’m cold and I’m left alone,” Home, Like Noplace Is There reflects on the disillusionment of suburban youth and the experiences of Holden and close friends, including a past girlfriend who was suffering from severe depression.
“I was aware enough of my experience to say it in a way that was clear to a certain extent, but it’s nothing that was really damaging to me,” he says of his songs. “In fact, a lot of the writing and recording and putting [the music] out was stuff that helped me get over it.”
By Paul Robicheau | Photo Credit: Johnny Anguish/Daykamp Music
Doom Lover
There’s a lot going on at a Doom Lover show, starting with the divergent musical backgrounds its three singers bring to the stage. Jeffrey Vachon comes to Doom Lover from blues-rock ravers Big East, his fellow guitarist Geoff Smith hails from quieter shoegaze group De Osos, and synthesist Nikki Dessingue graced electro-pop outfits Stereo Telescope and the chaotic Campaign for Real-Time.
“It’s like a basketball team—any of us can take a shot at any given time,” says Vachon, who cites the Canadian collective Broken Social Scene as one band that all five members of Doom Lover enjoy. “I’m definitely the most rambunctious. Somebody has to be, and if it was all of us, that would be crazy!”
Indeed, the shaggy Vachon’s the one most likely to flop about the stage. And if he bears a slight resemblance to Jim James of My Morning Jacket, Doom Lover also evokes that band’s experimental streak. Case in point: Dessingue’s use of a theremin.
“You can’t deny the theremin,” Vachon says of that antennae-based instrument, controlled by the proximity of hand movements and heard in songs like “Under the Alders” as sonic icing to driving rock. “You don’t want it to be a shtick,” he says. “We’ve got a spooky thing, but it’s not ‘The Monster Mash’ all day.”
Doom Lover even staged a puppet show in the middle of a vaudeville-themed February gig, and they have plans to try it again. “We like our shows to be more events than anything else,” Vachon says. “I want to throw an interesting party.”
By Paul Robicheau | Photo Credit: Derek Kouyoumjian
Parlour Bells
It’s hard to imagine a more perfect odd-couple pairing on the Boston rock scene than Parlour Bells co-founders Glenn di Benedetto and Nate Leavitt. “I probably bring the weirder side of things,” says gangly, colorful frontman di Benedetto, adding of burly, bearded guitarist/producer Leavitt, “He sorta anchors me.”
Leavitt, who also plays with soul-rockers OldJack and his own Nate Leavitt Band, met di Benedetto in junior high school in Andover. They started playing in bands, inspired by Guns N’ Roses and the L.A. metal scene, then Nine Inch Nails and Jane’s Addiction. “Things like that stuck with us, the flamboyance of glam-rock,” says di Benedetto, whose persona nods to David Bowie and Jane’s Perry Farrell.
Over four years, two EPs and three singles, Parlour Bells have slipped from self-described “dusky, darkly romantic lounge rock” to a harder-hitting attack with keyboardist Magen Tracy, bassist Brendan Boogie and drummer Paul Myers.
Next up is another EP, headed by new stage favorite “Celebrities on Ice,” which di Benedetto links to “cryonics and time travel” as part of his desire for a futuristic reinvention of the group. “We’ve been doing the lounge thing and wearing the suit coats and the sparkly pants,” says di Benedetto, an avowed science-fiction
fan. “I’m going to make this like a space romance.”
The singer’s flair for visual drama also stems from his work in video production, evident in the “Bachelor Hours” video, which nabbed a 2013 Boston Music Award nomination and featured cameos from many local peers.
“That’s characteristic of Boston,” di Benedetto says of the scene’s noncompetitive nature. “There is something reassuring about the tight-knit community that we have. I think most of us are not under the delusion that we’re going to be wealthy people. At this point, we love playing and having fun.”
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