Noah Gundersen

Noah Gundersen

Aaron Gillespie

Tue, Feb 06, 2018

Doors: 7:00 pm / Show: 8:00 pm

Showcase Lounge

$15 advance | $17 day of show

This event is all ages

Noah Gundersen
Noah Gundersen
In America today, anyone can engage in spiritual surrender. Performing the rite is simple: one first gathers with their community in a room of mirrors (in peripheral vision these mirrors appear as windows). Next, the agendas, hopes, and grievances of each individual are written down and cast along pulsed radio frequencies to data centers. From here they are automatically sifted through a neural network of graphics processing units, and contributed to an artificial intelligence engine. The principal aim of the ritual is to preserve the cosmic movement of collective perception. Secondary aims include catharsis, prosperity, and (occasionally) procreation. Because of the persistence of social stresses and mounting political dread, the ritual’s cyclic performance is necessary (twice daily, once at dusk and once at dawn).

Paradoxically, even those who question the efficacy of this tradition must do so from within the same framework, in the form of status updates, tweets, or blog posts. In the early part of 2017 Noah wrote:

“This is our voice. The Aether. An invisible platform. A maze of wires and boxes safely containing our proclamations… While white men with pens close their doors, stuff their ears with cotton, and break the world... we piss in the ocean… we drown in white noise.”

(Once upon a time, Noah Gundersen poetically sang that the storms which make us tremble also “fill our organs up with air,”...allowing us to sing “honest songs”. What of our songs now? Are they just piss in the ocean? White Noise?)

A longtime fan responded via Facebook, referring to the entry as “a goddamn dumpster fire of a post”.

“Your early records are masterpieces,” he commented, “...but this scramble to be anything but what your parents are is killing your authenticity.”

Noah is no longer lighting votives, but dumpster fires—big, bright, symbolic and chaotic. Musical vignettes of combustion, rubbish, degeneracy and, perhaps most comfortingly, warmth; because sometimes overlooked in the mad grasping for heady, introspective Authenticity is music that’s heartfelt. In “The Sound”, Noah scourges a source of entitlement that is entirely ambiguous, but does so with a sort of exasperated conviction that is only ever reserved for one’s nation, one’s God, or one’s self. The words “How many times will you shit on what you’re given? How many times till you shut up and listen?” escape his throat with a desperation that (bafflingly) surpasses even his most vulnerable songs about heartbreak, addiction, or loss of faith.

Whether the voices he channels are symbolic or literal, paralyzed with fear or pushing a manic brand of salvation, each amounts to something laced with warm, ruddy veins (I have a feeling that Noah’s music always will). If you listen closely you’ll hear the spiritualist, who takes solace in the fact that when he’s gone, the water in his body may be the beginning of something new. There’s also the doomsayer, certain of his fate, but still so afraid, who can’t help but ask of his own violent trembling, “Are these my feet attempting to dance?” Then there’s mortality, trying to shout through all of the noise, “Send my love to everyone.”
Aaron Gillespie
Aaron Gillespie
Sometimes things go wrong. No matter the resistance, some paths careen towards places you never wished to travel. Earlier this year, Aaron Gillespie went there. He experienced what he can only articulate as “a tumultuous time of life turned upside down,” and as he pulled himself out of personal wreckage, few people came to his aid. Left alone, Gillespie went to his studio. “I started writing this record when I was mourning,” he explains. “It’s been a really weird year, and healing comes differently to people. This helped me cope.”

In the early months of 2016, when the mire was thick, Gillespie spent four days in his studio recording. Although he’s been a successful musician for years (playing with musical outfits Underoath and The Almost), his newest solo pursuit showcases his musicianship in a new light. When you listen to Out Of The Badlands, you’ll be listening to Aaron Gillespie’s most vulnerable project to date.

The record is a compilation of reworked past releases, covers, and original songs, all of which were recorded and produced by Gillespie himself. “The production shows where I was at the time. I didn’t need any noise in my life, I didn’t need anything fake. There’s no programming,” he explains. “I did it all myself. It’s as naked as I could get it to be. It’s raw and honest—it’s what I sound like at my worst, with a broken heart.”

The covered tracks from Underoath—“A Boy Brushed Red” and “Reinventing Your Exit”—are, to Gillespie, sacred and nostalgic. His other songs, like the cover of The Almost’s “Say This Sooner,” include honest lyrics he still needs to sing. His original songs, however, are too sentimental to discuss. “‘Raspberry Layer Cake’ is the most honest song I’ve ever written,” he confesses, “and I won’t talk about it.”

To Gillespie, life is about what you do with the negative. Although sometimes things go wrong, and some paths end up in a place you never wished to travel, it’s up to you what to do when you get there. “When you’re really going through something,” he notes, “when you’re really being wrung over the washboard, you can find beautiful art inside yourself.” Out Of The Badlands, out August 19th on Tooth & Nail Records, is the result of that wringing.
Venue Information:
Showcase Lounge
1214 Williston Road
South Burlington, VT, 05403
http://www.highergroundmusic.com/