Cosmonauts, The Molochs

Cosmonauts

The Molochs

Scantron

Fri, March 24, 2017

Doors: 7:00 pm / Show: 7:30 pm

$10.00

This event is 21 and over

Cosmonauts
Cosmonauts
Cosmonauts are a California-based band known for their simple, physically powerful songs and punishing stage volume. Cosmonauts were formed in 2009 by guitarists Alexander Ahmadi and Derek Cowart, natives of Fullerton in Orange County. They met when a mutual friend staged a house show and the two ended up jamming together. As Cowart told a reporter, "It was almost the same fashion as when the Clash approached (Joe) Strummer. 'I like you, but I hate your band,' is pretty much what Alex told me. I was like, 'That's alright. I hate my band, too.'" Teaming with bassist James Sanderson III and drummer Cole Devine, the four became Cosmonauts, and began hashing out powerful, drone-inspired guitar jams inspired by Spacemen 3, Sonic Youth, and the Velvet Underground. The group also discovered a simple way to get its trademark thick, reverb-heavy sound: using old amps and driving them as loud as possible. (As Cowart says, "The Kinks didn't get their tones from pedals, they just blew out their amps. It sounds cooler that way.") A few months after their first shows, Cosmonauts released their first album, a cassette-only offering issued by the label/record shop Burger Records that hit the street in the summer of 2010. Cosmonauts soon set out on their first tour, landed a spot at the South by Southwest Music Conference, and began releasing fresh material at a steady pace, including the cassette-only New Psychic Denim EP and a handful of 7" singles. In 2011, Cosmonauts' debut album was reissued on vinyl by Chicago's Permanent Records, and the band's many singles were compiled on a cassette-only collection, Natalie Wilson's Arm. Their second full-length, If You Wanna Die Then I Wanna Die, was released in 2012, and in 2013 the group reunited with Burger to release a third album, Persona Non Grata. - MARK DEMING

"Their raucous set was like if the Velvet Underground had turned to the MC5 at their Boston Tea Party concert in 1968 and, instead of insulting them, had turned and made love to them—and that was how Lou Reed wound up wearing that dog collar. I couldn't make out a single lyric, but did they really close the set with 'Little Honda?'" --LA RECORD

"Swirling, distorted psych, bulldozed along by pounding primitive drums, fuzzed out vocals, all glued together with a heavy spaced out guitar drone. If that ain't the ingredients for record of the month my name is Prince Bloody William. Imagine if you will the best of THEE OH SEES jamming deep with MOON DUO, with the aid of some sort of retro type drug that only Brace Belden knows the name of and you would almost be right on the money. Heavy, without losing one single hook, repetitive without being the least bit boring and shamelessly stepped in the glory years of acid rock without being a boring regurgitating hipster. Be warned, this record will give you a contact high." --Maximum Rock N Roll #337
The Molochs
The Molochs
First, let’s meet Moloch. You remember him, right? The ancient god, the child eater, the demander of sacrifice, the villain in Ginsberg’s Howl(and also real life) and now the personal antagonist of singer and songwriter Lucas Fitzsimons, who named his band the Molochs because he knew he’d have to make sacrifices to get what he needed, and because he always wanted a reminder of the Ginsbergian monster he’d be fighting against. And so this is how you make a record right now: you fight for every piece, and when Moloch takes apart your relationships and career potential and leaves you sleeping on couches or living in terrifying apartments and just about depleted from awful people involving you in their awful decisions, you grab a bottle of wine (and laugh at the cliché) and put together another song. And once you do that eleven hard-won times in total, you get a record like America’s Velvet Glory: honest, urgent, desperate and fearless because of it.

Fitzsimons came to his calling in an appropriately mythic way, born in a historic city not far from Buenos Aires and raised in L.A.’s South Bay—just outside of Inglewood—where he was immersed in the hip-hop hits on local radio. (Westside Connection!) The summer d before he started middle school, a close friend got an electric guitar, and Fitzsimons felt an enirresistible inexplicable power: “I'd go back home and I’d look up guitar chords on the internet—even though I had no guitar—and just imagine how I WOULD play them. I was slowly getting obsessed.” When he was 12, his parents took him back to Argentina, and on the first night, he discovered a long-forgotten almost-broken classical guitar in the basement of his ancestral home: “It sounds made-up, but it’s true,” he says. “I didn't put the guitar down once that whole trip—took it with me everywhere and played and played. When I got back to L.A., I bought my first guitar practically as the plane was landing.”

This started a long line of bands and a long experience of learning to perform in public, as Fitzsimons honed intentions and ideas and tried to figure out why that guitar seemed so important. After a trip to India in 2012, he returned renewed and ready to start again, scrapping his band to lead something new and uncompromising. This was the true start of the Molochs: “It didn't make any sense to not do everything exactly the way I wanted to do it,” he says. “I was so shy and introverted that singing publicly sounded like a nightmare come true. But I didn't have a choice—I heard something inside of me and I needed to be the one to express it.”

The first album Forgetter Blues was released with Fitzsimons’ guitarist/organist and longtime bandmate Ryan Foster in early 2013 on his own label—named after a slightly infamous intersection in their then-home of Long Beach—and was twelve songs of anxious garage-y proto-punk-y folk-y rock, Modern Lovers demos and Velvet Underground arcana as fuel and foundation both. It deserved to go farther than it did, which sadly wasn’t very far. But it sharpened Fitzsimons and his songwriting, and after three pent-up years of creativity, he was ready to burst. So he decided to record a new album in the spirit of the first, and in the spirit of everything that the Molochs made so far: “I wanted to spend less time figuring out HOW we were gonna do something and just actually do it.”

The result is America’s Velvet Glory, recorded with engineer Jonny Bell at effortless (says Fitzsimons) sessions at Long Beach’s JazzCats studio. (Also incubator for Molochs’ new labelmates Wall of Death and Hanni El Khatib.) It starts with an anxious electric minor-key melody and ends on a last lonesome unresolved organ riff, and in between comes beauty, doubt, loss, hate and even a moments or two of peace. There are flashes of 60s garage rock—like the Sunset Strip ’66 stormer “No More Cryin’” or the “Little Black Egg”-style heartwarmer-slash-breaker “The One I Love”—but like one of Foster’s and Fitzsimons’ favorites the Jacobites, the Molochs are taking the past apart, not trying to recreate it.

You can hear where songs bend, where voices break, where guitars start to shiver and when strings are about to snap; on “You And Me,” you can almost hear Lou Reed’s ghost call for a solo, and on “I Don’t Love You,” you get that subway-sound guitar and find out what happens when Jonathan Richman’s G-I-R-L-F-R-E-N goes wrong. And of course there’s the charismatic chaos of bootleg basement-tape Dylan—always Dylan, says Fitzsimons—and the locked-room psychedelia of Syd Barrett, especially on “Charlie’s Lips,” Fitzsimons’ ode to—or antidote to—those times when he felt the bleakness completely: “Then a bird lands on a branch nearby, you hear leaves fluttering, you hear a child laughing … all of a sudden things don't seem so bad anymore.”

So Moloch might still be out there, devouring his sacrifices, but the Molochs are still fighting, too. And that’s why Fitzsimons picked the band name—it’s so he remembers what he’s up against. He’s not celebrating the destroyer of youth and individuality and creativity, he says: “I’m just keeping him in sight so that he doesn't win.” – Christopher Ziegler


Fitzsimons came to his calling in an appropriately mythic way, born in a historic city not far from Buenos Aires and raised in L.A.'s South Bay—just outside of Inglewood—where he was immersed in the hip-hop hits on local radio. (Westside Connection!) The summer d before he started middle school, a close friend got an electric guitar, and Fitzsimons felt an enirresistible inexplicable power: "I'd go back home and I'd look up guitar chords on the internet—even though I had no guitar—and just imagine how I WOULD play them. I was slowly getting obsessed." When he was 12, his parents took him back to Argentina, and on the first night, he discovered a long-forgotten almost-broken classical guitar in the basement of his ancestral home: "It sounds made-up, but it's true," he says. "I didn't put the guitar down once that whole trip—took it with me everywhere and played and played. When I got back to L.A., I bought my first guitar practically as the plane was landing."
This started a long line of bands and a long experience of learning to perform in public, as Fitzsimons honed intentions and ideas and tried to figure out why that guitar seemed so important. After a trip to India in 2012, he returned renewed and ready to start again, scrapping his band to lead something new and uncompromising. This was the true start of the Molochs: "It didn't make any sense to not do everything exactly the way I wanted to do it," he says. "I was so shy and introverted that singing publicly sounded like a nightmare come true. But I didn't have a choice—I heard something inside of me and I needed to be the one to express it."
The first album Forgetter Blues was released with Fitzsimons' guitarist/organist and longtime bandmate Ryan Foster in early 2013 on his own label—named after a slightly infamous intersection in their then-home of Long Beach—and was twelve songs of anxious garage-y proto-punk-y folk-y rock, Modern Lovers demos and Velvet Underground arcana as fuel and foundation both. It deserved to go farther than it did, which sadly wasn't very far. But it sharpened Fitzsimons and his songwriting, and after three pent-up years of creativity, he was ready to burst. So he decided to record a new album in the spirit of the first, and in the spirit of everything that the Molochs made so far: "I wanted to spend less time figuring out HOW we were gonna do something and just actually do it."
The result is America's Velvet Glory, recorded with engineer Jonny Bell at effortless (says Fitzsimons) sessions at Long Beach's JazzCats studio. (Also incubator for Molochs' new labelmates Wall of Death and Hanni El Khatib.) It starts with an anxious electric minor-key melody and ends on a last lonesome unresolved organ riff, and in between comes beauty, doubt, loss, hate and even a moments or two of peace. There are flashes of 60s garage rock—like the Sunset Strip '66 stormer "No More Cryin'" or the "Little Black Egg"-style heartwarmer-slash-breaker "The One I Love"—but like one of Foster's and Fitzsimons' favorites the Jacobites, the Molochs are taking the past apart, not trying to recreate it.
You can hear where songs bend, where voices break, where guitars start to shiver and when strings are about to snap; on "You And Me," you can almost hear Lou Reed's ghost call for a solo, and on "I Don't Love You," you get that subway-sound guitar and find out what happens when Jonathan Richman's G-I-R-L-F-R-E-N goes wrong. And of course there's the charismatic chaos of bootleg basement-tape Dylan—always Dylan, says Fitzsimons—and the locked-room psychedelia of Syd Barrett, especially on "Charlie's Lips," Fitzsimons' ode to—or antidote to—those times when he felt the bleakness completely: "Then a bird lands on a branch nearby, you hear leaves fluttering, you hear a child laughing … all of a sudden things don't seem so bad anymore."
So Moloch might still be out there, devouring his sacrifices, but the Molochs are still fighting, too. And that's why Fitzsimons picked the band name—it's so he remembers what he's up against. He's not celebrating the destroyer of youth and individuality and creativity, he says: "I'm just keeping him in sight so that he doesn't win." – Christopher Ziegler
Scantron
Scantron
A sumptuous extension of rock and roll tradition. Northeast soul. After a year touring every dive bar east of the Rockies with Low Cut Connie, Jimmy Scan and Billy Tron joined forces with George M Murphy to form SCANTRON, a high-energy, no-holds-barred garage rock outfit. Fortified at a secret location near Bear, Delaware, they have been imbibing Genesee Cream Ale and recording hits ever since.
Venue Information:
Kung Fu Necktie
1250 N Front Street
Philadelphia, PA, 19122
http://kungfunecktie.com/

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