Sensory Overload: X-Rated Cowboys, Gelatinus Cube and more make best of a rainy ComFest Friday
Prior to the heaven’s opening up, however, the day turned up a number of nice sets, beginning with a performance from bass/drums duo Corbezzolo. Singer/bassist Marie Corbo, backed by drummer Noah Demland, balanced her sweet vocals with comparatively poisoned words — “There’s nowhere that you can hide,” she cautioned on one number — and the music alternated between pretty and prickly, shifting from slow-building anthems to punkish numbers built on quaking bass and surging drums.
Sprawling garage-psych seven-piece Gelatinus Cube followed with a thrilling turn that felt seconds from falling to pieces at any given second, like an auto engine temporarily patched with Duct tape. Singer/guitarists Pat Chase and Tim Swanson alternated lead vocals, though both shared a similar approach, delivering tongue-in-cheek lines about feeling swell in scraped-knuckle voices that tended to loosen and come undone like shoelaces. “In spite of everything guess what I’m doin’ great!” Chase howled on one number as trumpet and tambourine and guitar and drums tumbled, tangled and knotted.
While Cube tended toward rickety, rollicking compositions, Daymare favored concrete-solid arrangements built on pulverizing drums, slashing, head-banging guitar riffs and the emotive vocals of singer/guitarist Dustin Rinehart, whose words tended to focus on human details (there were mentions of handing over every drop of his blood, wasted breath and beating hearts) even when the music moved with machinelike efficiency.
X-Rated Cowboys’ lively afternoon slot would have been ill-suited to most of the characters in its songs, which tended to be populated by the types of late-night carousers who never could have roused themselves from bed in time to make it to the performance. Occasionally the band, anchored by the likes of singer/guitarist Quinn Fallon and bassist Ben Lamb, who brought a physicality to his instrument that had me thinking he should launch his own line of workout tapes (“30-minute Standup Bass with Ben!”), crooned of escape (“Rear View Mirror”), but more often than not the characters in the songs remained in place, watching cracks grow in the ceiling and toasting to better days with cheap booze.