The Damned Music Fest '09: Part One

This was my first Dayton Music Fest. It was probably my last too. I have only half-drunken tales of what previous fests were like. It appears that this year there were more bands actually from Dayton than in previous years. This had me excited to soak up the sound and get really immersed in the DMF for material for my first vishnu den post. Humbly I submit to you, the VD reader, the first of a four part piece on the ill-fated Damned Music Fest.

My night started at the DDC. As a new writer for the VD, I worried all day whether the low turnout at this first venue might increase the chances of me being identified for reviewing what I witnessed there. After careful thought I decided the risk is worth the chance to slam XL427. There's a reason this band has an uninspired name that evokes thoughts of newly identified astronomical bodies. They belong in the deep cold of space and you have to hope they never come close to the third planet in our solar system. Alas their trajectory brought them to a collision with the only all-ages venue for DMF, the Dayton Dirt Collective.

XL427 attempts to project the idea that they perform sincere songs that Christian rockers, rape babies, and drunks who love indie pop could never find accessible. Sadly they are mistaken. My freshly drunken ears had more access to their sound than was necessary. The band's lineup sounds promising, yet only manages to meld the horror that is Reustchle with the discarded scraps of Shrug's sound. Standing there listening to their tedious noise rapidly killing my buzz, I could only shudder at the thought that none of the other venues would begin rocking for another hour.

I will commend the DDC for finally beginning to assemble the basics of what anyone who'd start running a venue would find mandatory. A sound system which isn't in immediate need of solder and duct tape, a stage, and some non-fascist discipline. It's been over a year dirtbags. Even "C.H." Phil could get a hold of some shitty monitors faster than this.

My mind wandered much during the first band's set. I have no idea how long they played as my mind became trapped in a memory-compartmentalizing coma. Eventually I was brought back to by the sound of one dirtbag clapping. The break in the noise was quite welcome, but Kris N. was quickly ready to try and get some feet tapping to that oh-so-unnecessary Poptek sound instead of feet tapping in impatient exasperation. He did disappoint. Usually I can forgive a shitty first song. Performing can be nerve wracking, and the audience should at least try to give performers a chance to warm up and rock out. The dirt space, however, is already a echo-y shit box. Thanks for pouring on enough reverb to make me consider the money-making opportunity it could be to invest in companies that manufacture migraine medicine. I walked before he could torture me with a second song.

As I left the DMF poster caught my eye. I had to laugh as hard as I did the first time I saw it. Really it should have been an indication to everyone of what this year's DMF would be like. The art is a map of North Dayton with a legend that includes the list of venues each with a corresponding letter code. I imagine the designer was supposed to pick a mapped section of Dayton so they could indicate where each venue is using the corresponding code in the legend. If that was the case, they should have at least listed the bands over the map to hide that fact.

Next: On to the C{Space!