Last night I had the pleasure of attending Scott Yoder at Barboza, accompanied by locals Baywitch, and Mud On My Bra. Scott Yoder recently returned from a tour abroad in Europe, and he brought back his powerful presence that reminds you he used to front local indie-rock legends, The Pharmacy.
The atmosphere of Barboza last night was one of the fond memories: grungy clothes, PBR tallboys, and the lingering scent of stale spliffs. Coupled with the queer-centric overarching energy that used to reign supreme over Cap Hill—I felt at home.
Scott Yoder and his band of misfits took the stage in a way only comparable to Rocky Horror Picture Show mixed with the androgynous mystique of David Bowie. The set was loud, sexy, witchy, visceral, and rocking as shit. Yoder took me on an acid trip with Iggy Pop and Dr. Frankenfurter to a deserted tropical island. And I was tripping hard. This is the kind of unique Seattle sound that captures my complete attention and mesmerizes until they announce the last song.
Yoder would lick the mic stand, play with weird instruments and delay pedals while his bassist was slamming their bass on the ceiling; I was captivated. The kind of presence and energy Scott Yoder and his band brought to the stage was one I had not seen in years, the kind I highly recommend you scope.
Baywitch
BaywitchStraight out of a 1950’s beach party turned raucous, knife-wielding massacre, Baywitch brought the waves. Self-proclaimed “antisurf,” Baywitch came crashing down. Among a washed-out, high-energy fit of surf-driven spastic guitar riffs, bass thumping over the driving, powerful drums.
The tremolo picking of guitarist and vocalist Lila Burns syncopates with her fellow players in a way that’s both moving and chilling. This type of surf rock has not met its true potential in Seattle’s music scene. Take a moment to have a listen to their album, Hellaspawn. Look out for their next gig because it will get you dancing and thrashing. Guaranteed.
Mud On My Bra
Mud On My BraFierce female rock duo M.O.M.B started off the night like an exploding bomb of punk, grungy, and feminine energy. Mud On My Bra is driven by surf-infused punk and garage rock with frantic guitar rhythms and quirky, romantic songwriting. They railed through their set in a style that reminded me of Sleater-Kinney on a crazed, bubblegum-pop killing spree. The energy of Mud On My Bra was enthralling, yet fun and bouncy. Their sound was raw and unforgiving in a way that (in my opinion) Seattle no longer truly appreciates. Scope their Spanaway EP here.
