Lining the outside of the Viking Union were hundreds of students. They were waiting for the second AS POP produced show of the season. They had been here for awhile to watch Young The Giant perform with Seattle based Kithkin. After watching students wait in the cold for what seemed to be forever, the sold out crowd packed into the VU to watch Kithkin open.

I am pretty sure this was either Kithkin’s first Bellingham show, or their second… at any rate, they haven’t spent that much time performing in town and I think they stole the show. Before they even take the stage, you immediately get the impression that it’s going to be loud and energetic. The drummer, Ian McCutcheon (also one of the two lead vocalists) plays standing up, and each of the other members have floor toms to add every bump of percussion they can get. McCutcheon’s voice sounds extremely mature for a band that just recently played in Seattle’s Sound Off!, and Kelton Sears (bass) comes through with a higher, melodic voice that compliments McCutcheon’s extremely well.

They played dance friendly pop that had Western students going crazy and I heard many in the crowd say that were mightily impressed with the performance. These guys are more than energetic too; the fact that McCutcheon plays standing up just adds to the vibe the band gives when performing; the stage was ripe with movement and enthusiasm. The best way I can describe the experience is to say that it was like watching a tribe discover pop music while the masses danced for the first time. I really hope these guys decided to visit town more often, they’ll get quite the reception next time around.

Young The Giant took to the stage a little after 9 p.m. to a more than ready crowd. I haven’t really heard too much Young The Giant before the show, only what was played on the radio, and I have to say, the radio singles never impressed me much. Sameer Gadhia, the lead singer, used two mics, one in his right hand that had no reverb, and one in his left that looked like an old Elvis styled mic with slight reverb and distortion.

The band played well, the crowd ate it up, but there was something missing to me. Maybe it was because they sounded exactly like the radio edits of their songs. I’m not saying they weren’t entertaining, I just have yet to figure out what everyone finds so appealing in their music, and their live performance that night just didn’t answer my question.

The Underground Coffeehouse on this Wednesday night contained a bunch of people doing their homework, sporadic conversation, and a young couple making out in the corner.

Little Elephant played enchanting, melodic, instrumentals that reminded me of Modest Mouse’s more lucid work. Unlike other young instrumental-driven bands, the members of Little Elephant knew when a song should end and fared well against a venue that’s notorious for its lack of crowd involvement.

Over the course of their set, the members of Little Elephant proved they’re musical capabilities and made it clear that their performance was not a regular jam session despite many seamless transitions. Each member of the band focused intently on their instruments which made it hard to stay involved as a concert-goer, especially since instrumental music sometimes sounds repetitive. For the most part, Little Elephant was able to hold the crowd’s interest through bass-driven, roiling build-ups and break-downs. Towards the end of their set, the bassist said, “We’re really bringing it tonight with the witty stage banter,” recognizing how invested the band was in their music.

The Palisades started with a bang, their music sounding somewhere between punk and garage rock. They were extremely energetic which seems to be the key to their music. I’m inclined to compare their music to the likes of the Arctic Monkeys but only in the way that every song is filled with upbeat, danceability. The audience seemed very interested in the music, people stopped doing the homework, the couple in the corner disappeared, and the neighbors actually complained due to how loud they played.

Between songs they made claims of their instruments being “made from the hairs of poets,” and demanding sandwiches. The Palisades greatly benefit from their lead singer’s ability to project his voice, which sometimes creates a gristly, Man Man-esque grumble. Throughout their set, the band showed flashes of 90s punk with subtle hints of indie rock. I imagine they translate very well into house shows and smaller venues. Although their set was short at about 25 minutes, it was powerful and left me wanting more.

I walk into the Blue Horse Gallery to the slow padded mallet rumble and rhythm of Julian MacDonough’s drums and an unfurling series of smoky notes from Mike Allen’s sax. Just like that, the world seems to become deeper and richer, filled with the sound of talented musicians working out subtle equations of melody. There is a good crowd here. Attentive. Focused. Listening. The Professors, as they are called, are relaxed and smiling onstage. The music is excellent.

Adam Thomas, playing the stand-up bass, eases into Ray Charles’ “Black Jack.” Echoes of the ironic phrasing of Mose Allison in his voice. ‘How unlucky can one man be?” I am immediately struck by the level of discipline, control, tightness. At first impression, there is a formality even in the looseness of the performance. But after some time, what is apparent is simply a higher level of musicianship.

The next song is by Miles Black, who switches with ease from guitar to the old upright piano behind him. The song kicks off with a beautiful percussive intro, stand-up bass rumbling, the tension building between the two, setting the stage for the piano to step in. By the time Mike Allen’s sax appears, like a snake in the water, your head is sunk into the very heart of jazz. It’s so subtle, like a Zen joke about enlightenment. Makes you want to laugh out loud.

They segue into the Juan Tizol/Duke Ellington standard “Caravan.” Julian knocks out sharp rhythms on the edge of the drums, the sound of stick upon stretched skin. The classic exotic melody seems to catch fire, acquire a life of its own. The musicians play beautifully off of each other. Mike Allen’s sax stretches and twists the melody through time. Miles’ piano remarks in sharp staccato counterpoint response. Julian now playing with his hands, ancient intimate rhythms, ticking punctuation for questions of being that only music can ask, that the performance of live jazz, here and now, seem to particularly ask.

The second set starts off with soft brushes on the drums. Miles Black playing a piano sweet melody – reminding me of the introspective aspects of Bill Evans “I Loves You Porgy.” Bass slow and perfect. Mike Allen’s sax stepping in almost with a sense of humor, layering his phrasing with laughter. They follow this with an original, “Give Me The Moon.” Siren whine of cymbals fading into leisurely time signatures. Breathtaking sax. Husky whisky sodden notes emerging from the developing structure of the song. Then a sort of melodic clarity. The song settling into its meaning. A sense of a slightly broken promise.

The performance goes on into the night, another set, more songs. But it was right there, where the melody unfolded and opened into something rich and strange, where you wanted to stop thinking about it all and just let it be.

You don’t know Jazz until you experience it live. You become part of it. Head down to the Blue Horse to experience great jazz by the Professors. The WWU Faculty Jazz Collective performs every Wednesday at the Blue Horse Gallery from 7 to 9 p.m., for an $8 cover charge and open to all ages.

If you weren’t able to catch Hey Marseilles and The Moondoggies at the Buffalo, it is going to be hard for me to do it justice in this review. With that said, quick word of advice next time either of them are here, be there.

Both bands are Seattle based and made the jaunt north for a Saturday night to a very receptive crowd. I have always been a longtime fan of The Moondoggies, but I had never managed to catch them live, and as for Hey Marseilles, I had only heard the name dropped a couple times.

Hey Marseilles opened the evening up with a long, haunting song that introduced the various instruments the band uses. The band features a cello player and violinist, as well as a trumpet player and an accordion, and this is all backed by your typical bass/guitar/drum setup. The sound they are going for is very straight and to the point; it’s like a weird cross of semi-coherent folk (think Decemberists) and polished bohemian music. They put on an epic live show that night that was three-quarters heavy, giving the entire set a waltzing feel.

The warm violin melodies danced around a dark cello and even creepier sounding accordion, and it reminded me a lot of the band Cursive. Hey Marseilles also changed the moods of the songs as frequently as the mood swings Patrick Bateman goes through in American Psycho, which kept me on my toes and gave their entire set a regal and eclectic feel. Quickly transitioning from warm, happy music, to straight up dark and heavy, I heard several in the crowd mention that it was like a tamer and more emotional version of Beirut.

If there was ever a band that understood catchy, blues driven hooks, it would be The Moondoggies. Crossing the line between Americana and folk, the band molds all that is feel good into one polished grooving live performance. This was my first time seeing them live, and it took me two years and about four copies of Don’t Be A Stranger to finally catch them. Everything about their live show seemed to elaborate on what they had put on their albums. The bass was more driving, the guitars more melodic, they even added a lap guitar to their set.

What was also impressive was the amount of repetition they can get away with. With most live shows, if a performer drones on singing the same thing, it quickly loses ground with me. Maybe it is just my biased opinion, but when the Moondoggies do it, it is like they are accentuating the theme they have already set for the night and it fits perfectly. Not to mention, I have never seen a more entertaining tambourine player. The band had a lot of stage presence and the crowd ate them up. Next time these guys are in town, catch them!

I find a seat in the substantially crowded room, which is fairly charged up with anticipation for a great night of Jazz. The tour is a celebration of the music of Hank Mobley. Mobley (1930 1986) was a hard-bop tenor saxophonist and composer who has been called “one of the more underrated musicians of the bop era.” Mike LeDonne is known as a virtuoso on the Hammond B3, having played for years in New York with Milt Jackson’s Quartet. Cory Weeds is a jazz impresario who runs the renowned Cellar Jazz club in Vancouver.

After a brief technical delay, the night started off with the song “Perfectly Hank” by Mike. The Hammond came on beautifully, seeming to hover around the backbeat with a lazy perfection. That sound with the Leslie speaker, there is no denying, is just the essence of cool. Immediate associations with Booker T’s “Green Onions” and Tom Waits’ Heartattack and Vine. And, of course, jazz organists Jimmy Smith, Sonny Philips and Freddy Roach. LeDonne is just stunning, hands rifling over the keys of the Hammond like the gears of a carousel calliope, weaving in and out of the melody into surreal combinations of notes: giraffes emerging out of the surf on bloody half-shells, then back into the groove, aural associations at the core of jazz, the eternal return to the melody and then the burst of self-assertion like a new star in the sky.

Cory Weeds picks up right from where LeDonne leaves off, echoing, amplifying and subtly commenting on LeDonne, branching off into fractal scales. Oliver Gannon accents it all with elegance and Jesse Cahill is rock solid. There is a presence, and awareness, in the room of music being played with exceptional grace and skill.

The next piece starts off like freight train chugging rhythm, sax climbing up melodic scales, then the round modulated tones of the lead guitar, everything laying down the woven rug for the organ, those undersea tones. LeDonne hitting the keys with a delicate, almost anticipatory phrasing reminiscent of Oscar Peterson. I half expect to hear the distinctive Peterson vocal grunts at the ends of the runs. Next piece is slowed down, brushes on the skins, breathy breaks, a sublime smoky sax solo by Weeds. This is the moment where the band really shines together, polished sound, easing the mind on the major notes that just tumble out of the stage like cows over the moon. Hank Mobley’s “A Dab of This and That” is a stand-out of the first set. Sharp organ rhythms that evoke the funk of Lee Morgan’s Cornbread.

The second set comes on fresh with more intensity, fire bursting out of the kindling, red hot, fast, white heat, solo breaks sparkling and loose. Cory Weeds breathes out the very soul of the sound on the sax, notes trembling under controlled pressure. And then there is a Mike LeDonne solo breaking off into soft ivory notes that morphs into digital fragments that roll against each other inside the Leslie like debris from a beautiful wreck of music, the abandonment of structure that marks out the territory of jazz in the 20th century.

This is followed by a beautiful ballad-type piece. Organ pumping. The slow raspy pumps and breaths of the Hammond before it kicks into the groove, Cahill lays perfect brushes on the snare, subtle guitar-work by Gannon, long sustained chords bleeding into killer organ riffs, monumental heavy sounds like a cathedral springing up in your brain. Solid block beauty. Cory steps out while Mike LeDonne works on some kind of perfection.

The Blue Horse is soaking in all of the beautiful strange melodies, muted tones, rounded corners of the sound. Imagine a jazz club from the 50s that you always wanted to hang out in. And although it seems to be in the most unlikely of spaces, the Blue Horse is starting to resonate with the dark and difficult spirit of jazz. Whatever that is. But it is good.

Havilah Rand

The Blue Horse Gallery during a beautiful Bellingham evening. Havilah Rand returned to town, standing on stage in red boots, singing Superstar. Phil Sottile providing perfect vocal counterpoint on guitar and Dave Vaughns tapping out subtle percussion on a cajon drum. What was most immediately striking was how seamlessly Phil and Dave wove sonic textures around Havilah’s vocals and guitar. Having recently been out on a mini-tour of the Pacific Northwest, their sense of the interior of the songs, of where and how the spaces opened inside the melody, was subtle and engaging to witness.

Havilah’s voice was full of ache and longing with hidden reserves of strength swelling into the high notes. Phil’s mournful and elemental guitar swells serving almost a form of musical annotation. And Dave’s tapping out a soft time sounded like the ebb and flow of a surf. There were several moments, during the performance of “Petrified and Riding on a Train,” where it seemed that the audience was collectively holding its breath in appreciation of the silence surrounding the song.

Havilah’s music moves across genres with ease, glancing against various facets of jazz, country, folk, blues, to stand alone as a thing in itself. Her phrasing is remarkable, syllables stretched slowly with elegance and laid down against and over each other like braids. This was especially notable on her cover of Leonard Cohen’s “Dance Me to the End of Love.” Something familiar, yet strange, infusing such harrowing lines as “Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin” with new resonance. The song “All Night,” which is featured in the movie Leading Ladies, was another standout, one of those songs that immediately seems destined to become a standard.

It was one of those nights when you feel privileged to experience such music in such an intimate setting. Exposed wood rafters and a big window opening to the darkening skies, an ancient drum slowing sounding, strumming guitars in strange tunings, and a beautiful voice full of the sweet and rich echoes of an unidentifiable nostalgia.

Appreciation should be given to the Blue Horse Gallery for providing such a warm and welcoming space for performance. The low lighting and rustic ambiance bode well for many more nights of great music.

I walked in as Phreddy and the Nightmares were getting into their set. I’m not usually one for cover bands but with Phreddy and crew it’s different. There aren’t many bands out there actively keeping the old school (and proto) New York punk sound alive, and anyone familiar with Jeff Barrett of the Cathoholix knows that their addition to the bill was only fitting for the CD release of the night. With swagger and bravado the Nightmares take you back to the Lower East Side to rock your lights out. The only thing that could have made the Shakedown-to-Max’s Kansas City transformation more complete would have been (Richard) Hell raising stage antics that fully utilized the space.

Tearamanapart’s set reminded me why I like them in the first place. They routinely incorporate an unbalanced 6/8 rhythm in their riff smelting that I often find addictive. Kyle Roe paces the stage and nearly purges himself into the microphone; this juxtaposed to his goofy sense of humor in between songs. The band has been recording so if you haven’t had a chance to see them live you will hopefully be able to catch a track soon.

The band of the hour was Cathoholix who had finally finished their album. I’ve heard a lot of mixed sentiments about this band, but I like them. Their music is quick paced and shrill, full of ear piercing feedback, and the combination of Luke Greer’s racing drums and Barrett’s “manglin’” shreds will make you either twitch or frenzy.

Brandy of the Whiskey Wailers joined the band for a few towards the end of the set. Objects were thrown and a good time was had… until smoke began creeping in through the brick in the back of the bar. The fire department showed up just before last call to put out the stash of cigarette butts that had caught fire in the back alley fire escape.

When they aren’t helping orphans, or cruising early-twilight-taco-trucks, this almighty Mount Vernon quartet is busy bringing their “post-rock-new-wave” sound to the Pacific Northwest, leaving a chemtrail of devotees in their wake.

Their mid-July show saw them play to one of the rowdiest crowds I’ve yet to see at The Shakedown, but they still managed to captivate the room with their unique blend of synths, swagger, and good-ol-fashioned rock. This was my second time seeing Shit Machine in action, and I was not disappointed – energy levels were high, sustained by Chris’ solid drumming, and Shauna’s confident meandering around the keys. Likewise, Dan and Faith make good use of their vocal harmonies, best evidenced in the churning “Longing,” a highlight of the set. “In The House of Scientology” was reminiscent of YYYs and ignited many a “slow bromance” across the dancefloor, while “At the Mall With a Bear” perfectly demonstrates the band’s strengths; resulting in an infestation of earworms that take days to cauterize.

Opener Lonebird (Andy Piper/Sugar Sugar Sugar) presented an innovative set with sprawling songs such as “Double Bubble Trouble.” From his trademark tamborine-cap to the simple act of foot-tapping-timing, every extremity of the local artist was engaged in creating music. While admittedly a little Americana-car-chase-soundtrack for my taste, I have to admire the willingness of this albatross to forge his own musical path. I stepped out and missed the Ladies of the Night set, but by all accounts this is a mistake not to be repeated.

Shit Machine will be back in Bellingham to play a gig at Caps on Sunday, Sept. 11, and their CD Throw This At A Cop is available at Avalon and Everyday Music. I’m told a new album is currently in the works. There better be a track about dinosaurs.

Federation X. Photo by Chris Fuller

Is there a point to this review? You were probably there and if not you are a ridiculous human being; the show was another in a long line of recent sets by Bellingham’s old guard who have been coaxed out of inactivity since The Shakedown’s opening.

This was the second time I have seen Swayze and I was even more impressed this time around. They take cues from the Tacoma scene with drawn out yells over seriously heavy, bordering on sludgy riffs. There were a few rhythmic nuggets throughout the set that forced me to crack a smile. Lupe Flores’ drum sound is huge and it’s always a delight to watch someone enjoying the hell out of what they’re playing. A good start to a night of resurrection.

With the young band out of the way it was time for the old fogies of Bellingham’s rock scene to crawl out from the underground mines and perform under the spell of the gypsy curse (I kid). I had only heard recordings of The Narrows so it was nice to get a chance to see them live. If you’re unfamiliar, they formed in 1999 and had put out a few CDs over the years but it’s been a while since the last time they performed. The Narrows stood out on the bill sonically as their music crawls at the pace of a glacier and maintains a prehistoric intensity that compliments Swayze’s set. I must admit, however, the combination of their lumbering music and my whiskey drinks started to bum me out. Nevertheless I enjoyed them, but had I been in a better mood I would have gotten a lot more out of the set.

The Cheeps have been around forever as well, but even though this was only the second time I’ve seen them they have become one of my favorite bands to see live. Admit it, this town can use some more showmanship, and LP climbs on top of that table in my heart that Cat Sieh of Rhombu$ and Garrison Marr of Brunette Sweat left behind. Decked out in a bee costume LP uses whatever precipice available to screech over the garbage-can guitar tones wafting from the stage. If you haven’t heard the song “Bees” I suggest you find it. It’s just a simple, straightforward garage song but it’s infectious.

Federation X provided the main course of the night and launched into their set with “Apeshit” and “Real American Ids…” off their X-Patriot album. They played a few tunes from Rally Day as well but the more interesting part of their set was the unveiling of some new material that they have been recording. Whatever new release they are working on will prove to be a deviation from their more raucous past. It’s more straightforward and almost pop influenced with its constant build up and “blocky” song structures. My favorite part, however, was during the encore when Bill Badgley took to the crowd while Ben Wildenhaus managed to keep the guitar lines loud and filling. Fed X is making a triumphant return and I seriously hope they blew away the Cap Hill Block Party crowd the following afternoon.

Le Butcherettes, Rookery, Sassafrass. Photo by Tyler Ragsdale

What little information known about Le Butcherettes circulated throughout the bar the entire evening: the band is on tour with Queens of the Stone Age and will soon be touring with Iggy & The Stooges, the drummer’s from The Locust, and critics are proclaiming their album, Sin Sin Sin, one of this year’s best. But before the L.A.-based trio took the stage, patrons of The Shakedown were treated to a pair of local groups that got the place rocking.

Youthful and eager to display its brand of ’80s punk-influenced rock, Sassafrass began the wowing the crowd immediately after taking the stage, with 19-year-old Brooke Minkler muting any hesitant and uncertain voices with her own yowls. Guitar chords and drumbeats, furiously tight, blended with attitude to electrify the crowd, inciting a sing-along cover of “Fight For Your Right (To Party).” After playing a short but sweet set, the band exited the stage amid calls for more, but alas, the night needed to progress.

Rookery built upon the brimming excitement with a solo guitar intro that seized the audience’s attention with an enthralling grip that continued for the duration of the band’s performance. A collection of local music veterans (Brenda, Ryan and Dave from Black Eyes & Neckties, Tim from The Seizures and Axes of Evil) and having played a mere handful of shows, this band is quickly becoming known for incorporating both substance and style to sate the hunger felt throughout the music community in the wake of those groups dissolved in recent years. Guitar hooks played with raucous energy, melodic screams (occasionally reverberating from beneath a horse skull) pierced the music while the bass and drums pounded beats into the pleasure centers of yearning brains. This band made its purpose very loud and clear: to up the ante and rock in a multitude of ways.

When it came time to deliver, Le Butcherettes demonstrated exactly why so many people cannot stop buzzing about this band. Bassist Jonathan Hischke strummed out chords like he was simply playing a slightly larger-than-normal guitar and produced a low end that shook the air. Drummer Gabe Serbian was an extension of his own kit, feverishly yet effortlessly beating out a rhythm that simultaneously grounded and energized. Guitarist/keyboardist/vocalist Teri Gender Bender belted out wrenching lyrics interjected with screeches while being cyclone of instrumentation that gazed into the souls of those pressed against the stage. Songs that started with rapid guitar riffs and hard-hitting drum thwacks almost paused after a minute or two to allow Teri a few moments of singing with an expansive vocal range that could cause one to visualize the sound itself rising from the pit of her stomach and through her torso, eventually expelling from the throat. It could easily be categorized as rock with a slight air of pop wafting about, but that wouldn’t do proper justice to the overall feel. Heavy and hard and soothing and compelling, Le Butcherettes commanded attention and repaid it with concentrated intensity. And when it was all said and done, the rumors and anticipation had been replaced with the hope this group will make it back up here before getting as huge as it’s destined to become.