Bellafea at Kings
As much as I love writing and music, I hate writing about music. I’ve made a few attempts, including one published in The Independent Weekly, but I just never feel comfortable doing it. I read far too many impenetrable wankfests disguised as music journalism in the NME in the ’80s, and that probably instilled my antipathy for much of the genre. The worst music reviews seem to be about anything but the music, and mostly about the reviewer. All I ever want to say anymore is “I like them: they sound like Sonic Youth or “I don’t like them: they sound like a trap case full of symbols falling down the stairs” Besides, in Chapel Hill everybody is a music critic, and a casually tossed-off comment like “this reminds me of Beulah’s first album can get you into a tedious ten-minute argument.
So don’t take it as dismissive that I’m not going to say a lot about Bellafea’s set last night at Kings in Raleigh other than this: it was great. I first heard about Bellafea through Myküll, who is friends with Heather, who is half the band “with Nathan on drums”. She sent me CDs to give to my friends who work for labels or otherwise help to influence the direction of Chapel Hill music, and everybody enjoyed them. I really like their sound. It’s unusual without being unapproachable, and I love the way they play with the mood of the song, going from quiet and introspective to loud and frenetic and then back again “of course, this leads to embarrassing moments of clapping-before-the-song-is-over, which I did last night”. Heather is a lot of fun to watch onstage, jumping around like Laura Ballance and contorting her face as she sings from the depths of her tiny body. Bellafea recently relocated to Chapel Hill from Wilmington, and they’re going to be a valuable addition to The Scene. I think they’d be perfect in a lineup between Work Clothes and Lud, if that means anything to you.
Okay, I guess I did say a lot about the show. And one other thing: I think it’s great that The Rosebuds used their CD release party as an opportunity to give exposure to their friends, but six bands are too much. I know this will further brand me as an old fart, but I’ve only got about 90 minutes of rock appreciation in me anymore. And turn it down, you kids.
Kings is only a 30-minute drive from the Cat’s Cradle, but Raleigh feels like another country sometimes, even though I grew up there. There is some Chapel Hill-Raleigh scenester cross-pollination, but mostly they seem like two different species. For instance, in Raleigh some of the women actually dress up. I saw one woman last night who looked like an escort, and quite a few more who were seriously working the rock ‘n’ roller thing. One emaciated blonde sported the classic drugged-out vacant stare along with a shoulder-baring Motörhead t-shirt that relegated the sleeves to the role of bicep warmers. She looked like she should have been hanging out in a dressing room waiting for Lemmy with a towel and a bottle of Jack. Contrast this with Chapel Hill, where the typical female hipster looks like she got up at 3:00 p.m. and put on the clothes her drummer boyfriend dropped on the floor the night before. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that look. As long as it’s not smelly.
I realize now I might have illustrated my point with photos, since I had my new digital camera with me, but I’m not sure how I would have gone about explaining myself. “Hey, do you mind if I take your picture to illustrate a blog entry about Raleigh women dressing like slutty heavy metal groupies?
That reminds me: I still haven’t written about ANUSTART. Oh, well. No time now. I’ve got to wipe down my leather pants and head back to Raleigh.