For local rookies and veteran players alike, a year around Boston’s music scene can yield dividends in creativity and popularity, on record and onstage. Our 2016 class of largely female-fronted bands deserves that merit and momentum.
Lynn Gunn kept singing as she seemingly high-fived every fan that security pulled over the stage barricade at Royale during the first of Pvris’ two sold-out shows in June. Those headlining gigs marked a milestone for Lowell’s dark, electronic rockers, who’ve built their audience on the undercard.
“We’ve never really played to a crowd of our own,” says the frontwoman of Pvris (pronounced “Paris” but altered to avoid the same spelling as a Lindsey Buckingham side project). “It seems abrupt, like a crazy, drastic change, but it’s something that’s been building over time as we’ve been touring and opening up for other bands.”
During their four-year rise, Gunn and bandmates Alex Babinski (guitar, keyboards) and Brian MacDonald (bass, keyboards) have gone from playing Rocko’s Sports Bar & Grill in Manchester, N.H., to appearing on Jimmy Kimmel Live!, joining last summer’s Warped Tour and opening for Fall Out Boy in arenas this winter. But when they released their 2014 debut, White Noise, it took time for the album to carve a path. For starters, the group’s dark, punk-edged electro-pop was a departure from the aggressive rock of its early incarnation.
“I’d wanted to incorporate electronic elements for a while,” Gunn says. “But the [metal/punk] scene we came from had a very specific, dialed-in sound.” She credits White Noise producer Blake Harnage for urging Pvris to break expectations.
The resulting album draws from a dark period after the end of a relationship. Gunn wrote introverted songs with anthemic resolve, from the title track, inspired by the film Poltergeist, to “You and I,” a riff on relationship woes that’s one of two tracks added to the album’s deluxe edition released in April. “When you’re depressed, the things that you’re feeling and the issues you have, they’re not tangible, so they’re all invisible,” Gunn says. “That’s how the whole ghost element came into play.”
Now facing larger stages, she notes a very visible transformation when all eyes aim her way. “I’m kind of timid when talking,” Gunn says, but when she performs, “Some kind of switch just flips on me, and I’m something completely different.”
Striking a Chord
Catch 10 Local Bands Making Waves.
By Paul Robicheau | Photo Credit: John Huet | Styling: Abby Bielagus / Ennis Inc.; Hair and Makeup: Liz Washer / Ennis Inc. | Aug. 1, 2016
For local rookies and veteran players alike, a year around Boston’s music scene can yield dividends in creativity and popularity, on record and onstage. Our 2016 class of largely female-fronted bands deserves that merit and momentum.
Pvris
Lynn Gunn kept singing as she seemingly high-fived every fan that security pulled over the stage barricade at Royale during the first of Pvris’ two sold-out shows in June. Those headlining gigs marked a milestone for Lowell’s dark, electronic rockers, who’ve built their audience on the undercard.
“We’ve never really played to a crowd of our own,” says the frontwoman of Pvris (pronounced “Paris” but altered to avoid the same spelling as a Lindsey Buckingham side project). “It seems abrupt, like a crazy, drastic change, but it’s something that’s been building over time as we’ve been touring and opening up for other bands.”
During their four-year rise, Gunn and bandmates Alex Babinski (guitar, keyboards) and Brian MacDonald (bass, keyboards) have gone from playing Rocko’s Sports Bar & Grill in Manchester, N.H., to appearing on Jimmy Kimmel Live!, joining last summer’s Warped Tour and opening for Fall Out Boy in arenas this winter. But when they released their 2014 debut, White Noise, it took time for the album to carve a path. For starters, the group’s dark, punk-edged electro-pop was a departure from the aggressive rock of its early incarnation.
“I’d wanted to incorporate electronic elements for a while,” Gunn says. “But the [metal/punk] scene we came from had a very specific, dialed-in sound.” She credits White Noise producer Blake Harnage for urging Pvris to break expectations.
The resulting album draws from a dark period after the end of a relationship. Gunn wrote introverted songs with anthemic resolve, from the title track, inspired by the film Poltergeist, to “You and I,” a riff on relationship woes that’s one of two tracks added to the album’s deluxe edition released in April. “When you’re depressed, the things that you’re feeling and the issues you have, they’re not tangible, so they’re all invisible,” Gunn says. “That’s how the whole ghost element came into play.”
Now facing larger stages, she notes a very visible transformation when all eyes aim her way. “I’m kind of timid when talking,” Gunn says, but when she performs, “Some kind of switch just flips on me, and I’m something completely different.”
By Paul Robicheau | Photo Credit: Joshua Pickering
Abbie Barrett
“I was kind of late to the game,” Abbie Barrett admits. The New York native, who lived in California for a year before moving to Boston, was singing backup in bands here when she started to write her own songs in her mid-20s.
A decade later, with a trail of club shows and residencies behind her, Barrett is finally enjoying a watershed year. She’s ready to release a bracing eight-song EP called That Shame on the heels of her semifinal run in this spring’s Rock & Roll Rumble and a 2015 Boston Music Award as Singer-Songwriter of the Year.
“Playing music is one of those things where, when I’m doing it, I feel most like myself—that alone is impetus to keep doing it,” she says. “I just wish it was a little more lucrative so I could be doing it more. But at the very least, I’m not losing money on it.”
She’s lucky to have a streamlined, butt-kicking band that includes guitarist Mike Oram and bassist/producer Ed Valauskas, who also joins Barrett in Jenny Dee & the Deelinquents, where she sings backup. “They’re all my friends,” she says. “There are so many nice people who play music around this town.”
It’s a refreshing change for Barrett, who once played in a more folky solo setting. “I sort of hated it,” says the singer/guitarist, whose inspirations range from Neil Young to Radiohead. “But I knew in the back of my head that I would do it enough to get a band going.”
That Shame showcases her in full rock mode, sometimes evoking the tone and phrasing of the Pretenders’ Chrissie Hynde. “I get compared to the Pretenders a lot but don’t really listen to them,” says Barrett, whose craftsmanship extends from the gorgeous vocals of “As I Wanted You” and the soaring crescendos of “Falling” to the catchy ’80s-flavored punch of “Take It in Stride.”
In a video for that song, Barrett plays a scientist in a lab of colorful dry ice. “It’s that whole music business, how best to get people engaged, and right now we’re thinking video is the way to go,” she says. “People are more inclined to click on [something] if there’s a visual attached. And it’s fun to make music videos!”
By Paul Robicheau | Photo Credit: Courtney Chavanell
And The Kids
And The Kids didn’t start honing their sound in a standard rehearsal space. Three years ago, the Northampton-based band rented a cheap plot of land on the Connecticut River with an electrical outlet, erected a tent and brought in a storage pod to practice in.
“We had fans in there and kept it open—it was in the shade as well,” says singer/guitarist Hannah Mohan. “We were right on the water. You could play drums outside. It was like the dream summer, except for the thunderstorms.” That is, Mohan says, until the fire department declared their bucolic setup unsafe.
This summer finds And The Kids touring behind their assured and adventurous second album, Friends Share Lovers. The June release supplements the band’s oblique songs—rooted in influences from Yes and the Doors to PJ Harvey—with dream-pop layers capped by high, stacked harmonies.
“I love dream-pop,” Mohan says. “It was definitely intentional to do more vocals and experiment more.” And The Kids have been artistically restless ever since Mohan met drummer Rebecca Lasaponaro in middle school band class. They dropped out of high school but earned GEDs and later met keyboardist Megan Miller and bassist Taliana Katz at the Institute for the Musical Arts in Goshen.
Katz only joined And The Kids when Miller was deported to her native Canada for overstaying her visa, a situation that likely won’t be resolved for a few years. So the group went to Montreal to write and record Friends Share Lovers with Miller’s input—and synth parts that Lasaponaro now triggers onstage while Mohan and Katz work with loop pedals to refashion the band’s shorthanded sound. “It’s crazy, but we keep it together,” Mohan says. “We’re just gonna pretend we’re together.”
By Paul Robicheau | Photo: Hive.Studio
The Devil’s Twins
Equally at home in art school or a biker bar, the Devil’s Twins take no prisoners. Jeremiah John Louf splits his raw guitar tone into three octaves through separate amps, his cool vocals countered by the banshee cries of his tambourine-wielding sister Nikki Marie Coogan, while Ryan Manning attacks his drum kit like an octopus on steroids, mouthing the siblings’ words for animated emphasis.
“We work really well together because we thrive off the controlled chaos,” Coogan says of the trio, who share a love for Elvis Presley, Amy Winehouse, Johnny Cash, Social Distortion and the Misfits. “We’re not a punk band,” Louf says, “but the intensity is at a punk level. If you take Billie Holiday and Buddy Holly and put them together to play these songs, they’d come out like that.”
Separated by their parents’ divorce, Louf grew up with his mom in Salem while Coogan lived with her dad in Rhode Island. But they reconnected at the Massachusetts College of Art & Design, where they majored in design and illustration. She works as a tattoo artist, which facilitates ink for the band, its crew and fans.
“I’m the only one who can count my tattoos,” Louf says. “Instead of a fan base, we call it a friend or family base. It has that syndicate family feel.”
The Devil’s Twins—named because the siblings were born the same week, two years apart—also bring their visual aesthetic to the stark silhouettes cast by floodlights that Coogan controls onstage. Their self-designed album covers feature three children, looking like the band members in their cool, bad youth.
“What was amazing was when we dressed the kids up in the outfits, they really took it upon themselves to form this union,” Louf says, “to the point that the little Nikki and the little me were really tight, and we said, ‘Don’t leave Ryan out!’ ”
By Paul Robicheau | Photo Credit: Chad Kamenshine
Palehound
People in a waiting room take therapeutic turns with a sledgehammer in the new video for Palehound’s “Cushioned Caging,” one of the most entertaining, crisply directed local clips you’ll find. And it was done in collaboration with high school students from the Real to Reel Filmschool of Boston nonprofit Raw Art Works.
“It captures the environment of being caged, because waiting rooms are pretty bleak,” Palehound singer/guitarist/songwriter Ellen Kempner says. “They did an amazing job. I was shocked. Well, not shocked. I could trust them, but damn!”
Kempner was still a teenager when she wrote “Cushioned Caging” and other songs on 2015’s Dry Food, which brought her national indie-rock acclaim and the chance to tour both the U.S. and Europe. In high school, Kempner says, “I was kind of a weirdo… I had some great friends, but I spent a lot of time alone, smoking weed by myself and writing songs.”
She began writing at age 10 but didn’t think her songs were cool until years later, says Kempner, who also honed nimble guitar chops versed in jazz and classical as well as rock. At 13, when she attended a camp in her native Connecticut, Speedy Ortiz’s Sadie Dupuis was her counselor. “I was actually covering Pearl Jam, and she was helping me learn the song,” Kempner says.
Dry Food reflects her interdisciplinary sensitivity, from chugging rocker “Molly” to jazz-shaded acoustic work, dovetailed by self-aware lyrics that softly reframe the pains of love. And Kempner played every instrument except drums (handled by Jesse Weiss, now part of her live trio completed by bassist David Khostinat). “It would be daunting for me to relinquish that power,” she says. “I’m just so neurotic, and I need things to sound exactly like I envision them.”
Which makes Kempner a tad uncertain about the follow-up she plans to record this fall. Despite some writer’s block, she says the bulk of the writing is done. “I definitely feel good,” Kempner says, “but I’m also nervous, obviously because of how well the last record was received. I don’t want to let anyone down.”
By Paul Robicheau | Photo Credit: Roberto Terrones
Julie Rhodes
It’s the stuff of local folklore. After a Providence house concert, Julie Rhodes was chatting with musicians Jonah Tolchin and Dan Blakeslee, who was trying to remember a tune when Rhodes sang a snatch. Impressed by her voice, Blakeslee challenged her to write a song, and she got to it on the drive back to Somerville.
Until then, Rhodes’ only experience with singing had been in the car or the shower. “That’s where I got my chops, on road trips by myself, belting it out in the car,” says the Woburn native, who’d spent time following pop-punk bands around the country. “I was especially shy back then, so that was my way of living vicariously through these other artists. Then I decided this is what I wanted to do myself.”
She emailed Tolchin and Blakeslee that first song and didn’t look back. Tolchin produced Rhodes’ February debut, Bound to Meet the Devil, an album of earthy country-blues songs that she and/or Tolchin wrote, plus a cover of Son House’s “Grinnin’ in Your Face.” At the forefront is her sweet, sandpapery voice, which brings to mind Etta James, Janis Joplin and Bonnie Raitt, even if Rhodes says her vocal style was influenced more by the progressive reggae-punk band RX Bandits.
“I was never really brought up on soul music or R&B or blues,” Rhodes says. “A lot of the vocal stylings were never influenced by those artists, but when [my music] started happening, those artists came to light for me.”
It was a similar case when Tolchin arranged to finish the album at Alabama’s legendary Muscle Shoals studio, where soul greats such as Aretha Franklin and Wilson Pickett recorded. “It’s not something that I ever grew up knowing anything about,” Rhodes says. “That [Muscle Shoals] documentary came out as we were trying to figure out a place to record.” They even added keyboards by Spooner Oldham at Muscle Shoals, then mixed the album in California with overdubs from session ace Greg Leisz on pedal steel and Sara Watkins (of Nickel Creek) on violin.
Rhodes’ long days of working in an ice cream shop are over, as she’s gone from cutting her teeth in local rooms like Atwood’s Tavern to spending more time on the road with her band. “At first it was a challenge to even get me up on stage,” she says. “It went from me being afraid of it to me feeding off the nervous energy.”
Then there’s that wide-brimmed hat that she favors onstage. “It’s like a safety blanket,” Rhodes says, “but I do have a love for a nice hat.”
By Paul Robicheau | Photo Credit: Chris Anderson
Bent Knee
Art-rock collective Bent Knee colors a schizophrenic canvas of musical influences and sonic personality. Former Steve Vai disciple Ben Levin balances shredding with squiggly guitar loops and appreciates Kendrick Lamar and Sufjan Stevens. Bassist/singer Jessica Kion admires both Stevens and Tune-Yards. Violinist Chris Baum favors moody Nordic bands Sigur Rós and Efterklang, while drummer Gavin Wallace-Ailsworth draws from Peter Gabriel’s polyrhythmic grooves. And sound designer Vince Welch values Nine Inch Nails and Porcupine Tree.
“There’s very little overlap in what we listen to as individuals or our musical training or background,” says singer/keyboardist Courtney Swain, who grew up in Japan before studying classical composition and voice at Berklee, where she met her bandmates. She cites eclectic Japanese singer Ringo Sheena as her primary inspiration. “I appreciated how different and nonconformist and how dark she is,” Swain says, labeling qualities that fit her own band’s communal identity.
Bent Knee’s dynamic third album, Say So, released in May on experimental Maryland label Cuneiform, floats echoes of Far Eastern music (including the grand rhythmic and choral flourishes of “The Things You Love”), but despite her skyscraper voice, Swain doesn’t dominate the band’s sound. Songwriting is particularly democratic for the sextet, which finalized its membership five years ago.
“We can’t create the sound of Bent Knee without everyone’s input, so we write by consensus,” Swain says. However, Welch gets added say-so when it comes to recording. “The way we write is like sculpting,” Swain says, noting they “overwrite and track as much as we can in one [studio] day, and Vince will go and peel through the layers and see what will work.”
In turn, Swain anchors Bent Knee’s storm, swooping from cabaret calm to gale-whipped summits, but she says, “I feel like a vehicle more than the center of attention. I see my voice as an instrument, and when I emote, I sing as all of us.”
By Paul Robicheau | Photo Credit: James Jay Fortin
Worshipper
Many bands change musicians, but not partway to winning a competition. Heavy rockers Worshipper hit that bump after a first-round victory in April’s Rock & Roll Rumble when lead guitarist Alejandro Necochea left for a European commitment with another band. He drafted Craig Small to learn his parts as a sub.
“We really made it a point to just be as relaxed about the whole situation as we could,” singer/guitarist John Brookhouse says. “It was definitely more daunting for Craig than us.” Especially when the group added songs in later rounds.
Worshipper still emerged triumphant, as one might expect of dark, epic-minded rockers crowned Metal Artist of the Year at December’s Boston Music Awards.
Brookhouse says he was seeking something more melodic than his thrash band Rule, while Necochea wanted something heavier than Township in forming their group with bassist Bob Maloney (Cracktorch) and drummer Dave Jarvis (Mellow Bravo).
“Pop and metal weren’t that far apart when we were growing up, so people can see those touchstones of things they remember,” says Brookhouse, citing old-school influences UFO, Rainbow, Judas Priest and Dio-era Black Sabbath. “And we’re trying to write songs too. It’s not just a bunch of riffs thrown together.”
Now Worshipper awaits the Aug. 26 release of their debut album, Shadow Hymns, capped by the distorted bass wah-wah of remixed favorite “Black Corridor.” And the eight-song record arrives on New York’s Tee Pee label, home to the group’s more modern, doomy inspirations, like Sweden’s Graveyard. “A lot of bands on there are right in our wheelhouse,” Brookhouse says. “It’s a cool place to be.”
By Paul Robicheau | Photo Credit: Kassy Balli
Radclyffe Hall
Clones of Dhy Berry appear on multiple instruments in the video for “Rather Be,” from her band Radclyffe Hall’s full-length June debut, Ghosts, and that’s a lot like the way she works in the studio. “I do 98 percent by myself,” says Berry, who starts from the rhythm up. “The bass and drums have to be the most captivating part, because I’m a bass player, so that has to be cool… or it’s not going to work.”
That makes the results danceable, though it’s her surrounding vocal and synth orchestration that truly makes Berry’s vision come to life. Her music reminds one of dark synth-pop groups like Depeche Mode, and she counts Toronto dance-pop band Metric and bassist/singer Meshell Ndegeocello among her influences.
But Berry also listened to R&B and funk in her Ohio youth and neo-soul artists like Erykah Badu and D’Angelo in college. She covers Janet Jackson’s “Control” on Ghosts, but her R&B side blossoms on the creamy, propulsive “Don’t Wait (It’s Now or Never),” featuring Raine, aka her onstage vocal/keyboard foil Jaqui Rae Stewart.
The Berklee graduate launched Radclyffe Hall (named after the English poet who wrote about loneliness and lesbianism) two years ago after extensive touring as a side musician with Canada’s the Cliks. “I always wanted to have my own thing,” Berry says. She drafted Stewart and two drummers, who would symmetrically face each other on stage, though she recently scaled back to drummer Sean Camargo alone.
Their sound was further stripped down at a recent New York show when Berry’s computer got wet and malfunctioned, forcing the trio to eschew their programmed layers—and, Berry says, lending them fresh perspective. “It was cool to hear it sound a little more organic.”
By Paul Robicheau
These Wild Plains
When he used to sell T-shirts and manage bands on tour, Ryan Bambery watched musicians teach each other guitar parts before the show. “It stuck with me,” he says. “OK, if they can do it this way, I’ve got nothing to lose.”
Learning guitar basics on the side proved helpful when he met up with fellow restaurant staffer Ben Voskeritchian to make music. “We’d just write songs together before we even had a name,” Bambery says. “Mean Creek had a big sold-out show at Great Scott, and they said, ‘Hey, don’t you guys have a band?’ We had songs. But they gave us a show, and we had a month to put a band together.”
Three years later, These Wild Plains are making strides with their just-released second album, Distant Ways, furthering what co-frontman Bambery calls their “American rock ’n’ roll.” For his band, that means an Americana-steeped sound that’s both rugged and winsome, inspired by My Morning Jacket and the Band.
“We were into the blues when we started, and it wasn’t until a year or two in that I got started on a Willie Nelson kick,” says Bambery, who turned his love for slide guitar into playing the lap steel. “The whole band just got kicked into the wide world of country, and we haven’t turned back since.”
Stylistic shifts are par for the course, as drummer Rob Motes and guitarist Nick Mercado also join co-singer/guitarist Voskeritchian in the shoegaze soul-rock outfit Dirty Bangs. “Different roles keep it fresh and interesting,” says Voskeritchian, who handles bass in Dirty Bangs, where Mercado switches to keyboards.
But there’s no doubting where These Wild Plains are rooted—in more ways than one. “I had a girl from Nashville come up and tell us that [the music] reminded her of home,” Bambery says. “I said, ‘Good, it reminds me of home too.’ But I grew up in Braintree.”
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