Last Saturday, student bands Breed Supervision and Sloth took the stage for an excellent introduction to the variety of bands on campus.
Breed Supervision, an experimental rock group whose music deliberately escapes most easy genre classifications, was the show’s opener. Conservatory second-year Lewis Williams — bassist and bandleader — told me before the show, “You’re never going to be able to listen to music the same way after this.” I am pleased to report that Breed Supervision’s performance changed my view of what a concert could be.
Conservatory second-year Luka Ison, on saxophone and electronics, opened the set with grating, repetitive synth notes, followed by a swelling wave of feedback. Conservatory third-year Sam Roberson entered in with a strum of his guitar, then paused before alternating between two notes a whole step apart from one another, his plucking contrasting with the occasional distorted strike of his guitar which joined the developing layers of feedback. Cypress Proctor, drummer and double-degree second-year, joined in with soft cymbal hits as Ison took the lead with gentle saxophone. The band slowly built toward a crescendo, then let it fizzle out before Roberson abruptly began playing a more structured riff, quickly accompanied by riveting drumming from Proctor and powerful screaming from Lillian Sugrue, frontwoman and College second-year.
From then on, Breed Supervision alternated between abstract, feedback-driven noise interludes, sparse and contemplative yet structured (post-)rock sections, and chaotic, danceable climaxes, each part bleeding seamlessly into the next. There was never a moment of silence in the set, something Williams says was “part of our mission from the start.” Speaking of dancing, we have to talk about the canonical first-year moshpit. From Soul Glo to Wishy to Breed Supervision, moshpits are a fixture at beginning-of-year Oberlin shows as eager first-years joyfully crash into each other.
While one could write a full review for each member of Breed Supervision, Sugrue especially deserves a little spotlight as the most eye-catching part of the performance, even beating out the DIY mannequin torso amp (more on that later). Freed from her guitar and bass-playing duties in fellow Oberlin band False Spring, Sugrue passionately danced, lurched, and thrashed about the stage, gripping the mic and stepping into the moshpit like a hardcore vocalist or a particularly energetic rapper.
The band lists some of their influences as Ornette Coleman, Sun Ra, Ichabod Crane, Jane Goodall, and Freud, among many others. Speaking of Freud, a Breed Supervision concert review would not be complete without talking about the amplifier for Ison’s saxophone and electronics. Built by Williams himself out of a used amplifier, a cheap speaker cone, and a mannequin torso, the nipples of the mannequin have knobs for controlling treble and volume, and the navel contains an input jack, making any cable plugged into it an umbilical cord. The mannequin resembles a disembodied cyborg fetus, a setup rife for interpretation by any decent Art History major or amateur psychoanalyst.
Headlining the show was Sloth, a group of fourth-years who play a distinct brand of clever, twee rock music. While Breed Supervision was a hard act to follow, Sloth kept the momentum rolling with songs characterized by charming, quirky writing and upbeat instrumentation. Lydia Rommel, primary vocalist, rhythm guitarist, and double-degree fourth-year, has an idiosyncratic, rich voice that cut through despite being somewhat low in the mix.
Sloth are crowd work experts, and their friendly, enthusiastic tone stands in stark contrast with Breed Supervision’s calls to either “shut the f**k up” or “open up the pit.” During their cover of Violent Femmes’ “Blister in the Sun,” Sloth played the last verse softer and softer as saxophonist, keyboardist, part-time vocalist and guitar player, and College fourth-year Max Newman got lower and lower to the ground to the point where he was essentially lying down, prompting the audience to follow along with him. The band exploded into the last chorus as the entire audience jumped up at once in a delightful exercise in audience engagement.
Sloth’s backbone is the lively, locked-in rhythm section of Eva Molla, drummer and College fourth-year, and Jamie Felix-Toll, bassist and Conservatory fourth-year. Molla’s habit of playing four-on-the-floor kick patterns accompanied by offbeat hi-hats adds a little disco and polka flair to otherwise standard rock beats. Felix-Toll is a big fan of jazz-funk bassists such as Jaco Pastorius or Rocco Prestia, which comes through in his groovy, intricate, yet never overcrowded basslines. The highlight of the rhythm section’s performance was the ending of “Sex,” which grows in intensity and speed until coming to a sudden stop.
The highlight of Sloth’s set was the closer, their debut single “Fourth of July,” which emphasizes what makes each part of Sloth so great. The chorus had one of those rare, instantly catchy hooks which hit like a truck that comes back and runs you over for good measure. An impressive solo from Lucas Daley, lead guitarist and College fourth-year, gracefully floated around the fretboard without ever descending into noodly territory. But it’s Newman’s subtle, chiming key part which really grabbed me, adding a hair-raising bit of texture at just the right moments.
Molla said any Oberlin students aspiring to play in a group should “find a space, find people, and just play. It never has to be that serious, and that’s the only way we’re able to continue for so long.”
On a similar note, Rommel described the show as “[a] perfect storm in terms of what the Oberlin music scene is, because we are different but in a way that complements each other … I hope seeing active student bands playing original music is inspiring freshmen to do the same.”
Oberlin has long been an incubator for legendary musicians, from singer-songwriters such as Liz Phair and Jason Molina to members of Deerhoof and Yeah Yeah Yeahs. If you want to be headlining The ’Sco or even touring one day, take this concert as a sign to start a jam session in your room or share a song with your friends.
