By Isa Jones
By Mary Willson
By Brian Turk
By Drew AIles
By Taylor Boylston
By Bree Davies
By Emerald O'Brien
So, people of Earth, after attending the marathon last Thursday night, Backwash is happy to report that the musical world as we know it will carry on -- at least until next year.
Thursday, May 4, 3:00 p.m.
King Rat kicks off the schedule at the All-Ages Universe on Market Street, located in a lot that is possibly one of last pieces of undeveloped property in LoDo. There are a few differences between this year's showcase and last year's, and one them is as plain as the pink nose on everyone's face: It's hot. Sometimes 80 degrees feels like 180, especially when you're wandering around a concrete parking lot. The band plays to a crowd of about thirty people -- if you count the vendors and folks working furiously to drill the last screws into the skateboarding ramp. DJ Skunk is up next, spinning happy sounds for a handful of people who seem to feel it's their moral obligation to dance. Ah, well, it's early yet -- mid-afternoon on a workday. Steadily, the VIP tent to the side of the stage fills with bandmembers and other very important people in search of free beer and pizza. Keg goes down for twenty minutes. Lull.
Things pick up during sets from Yo, Flaco!, who is joined late in the set by a guest MC who just kinda hopped on stage, and Rainbow Sugar. Cindy Wonderful sports Elvis shades, a raccoon-esque dye job and her trademark sass; bassist Germaine Baca looks particularly svelte in a pink tube dress and matching hair. The Third Degree takes the stage and demonstrates that the band is not at all concerned with playing blues anymore, opting instead for somewhat generic guitar rock. Signs of life in the parking lot: A pair of girls bounce a beach ball around, skateboarders get busy. The VIP tent gets schmoozy. Backwash overhears the word "multi-task" and multiple cell phones ringing. Time to move on.
The Kalamath Brothers sound good at the Soiled Dove. David Booker also sounds good next door at Market 41. Munly confuses the crowd at Jackson's Club Millennium by enunciating roughly one out of every three words. Not a lot of people are there to see it; the crowd is pretty meager, possibly because, compared to the proximity of the other clubs to each other, Jackson's seems like Aurora. Or maybe everyone is just home watching must-see TV?
8: 15 p.m.
Backwash becomes obsessed with seeing every single band on the schedule. Others seem to be going through the same thing -- they're pulling out their personalized hit lists, rosters with more strategies than Battleship. I drop by the All-Ages Universe. Miss Audry is spinning for a group of kids dancing with. Audry's good, but I can't help thinking that this ain't the kind of rave that's gonna make the pages of Urb. Maybe it's the giant Pepsi can to the left of the stage. Slip into the Dove for a moody set from the Perry Weissman 3. It's a mellow one, and it's difficult to shake the feeling that something's missing now that longtime PW3 guitarist Mike Serviolo is gone. Next door, Space Team Electra has quite a crowd at Market, though lead singer/guitarist Myshel Prasad seems kinda pissed about something. Maybe it's the fact that she can't hear herself through the monitors or that aorta-rattling hum emanating from the PA. A person tests the bounce-back abilities of the newly fangled plastic Miller bottles. (The bottle simply lands with a thud, and a girl gets beer all over her new mules.) Across the street, Pure Drama converts Bash (which is looking pretty fly -- and sounding good, too -- under new owners) into a multimedia environment. Video screens flash all around the venue. Bandleaders Ryan Pollicky and Becca Gomez (a vampirous vixen in velvet and come-on-and-look cleavage) entice the crowd to dance to their electro-grooves. Their keyboards are draped in velvet. They're very serious, and it's cute.