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The Daily Wildcat

The Daily Wildcat

 

    Concert Review: The Evangelicals

    Concert Review: The Evangelicals

    They came from Oklahoma, from the edge of the Bible Belt.

    They stood outside, past the back doors of Solar Culture, where a train occasionally ran by causing whatever noise that existed inside the small art gallery to die.

    The Evangelicals walked in and quickly set up their altar. Josh Jones fiddled with some effects. Bassist Kyle Davis walked around and placed two stage lights – one with a red gel and the other with a green gel – at the front of the stage, pointing them back at the band.

    They’d been proselytizing on and off since last spring and it looked like they could use a break.

    Jones squinted his eyes and stared out past the crowd of 20 and asked whoever was listening to kill the stage lights behind them. Within seconds the lights died and the band breathed life into the room.

    Davis pulsed his bass, and he and Jones enacted a faux dramatic scene about a dying boy and a doctor who tries to save the boy’s life.

    The music built. Behind the band shadows were cast as giants on the wall. The massive silhouettes danced across the back of the now red and green Solar Culture.

    Then, Jones began his gospel: “”So high”” he sang in a falsetto. The band stampeded through “”Party Crashin,'”” a song from their most recent work, The Evening Descends.

    When the heavy coda to the opening song came crashing down, the band came down with it. They were subdued again. Jones and Davis both thanked Tucson and the crowd in frail voices and then geared up for another sermon.

    Again, the volume swelled and Jones once more ushered in constantly changing tones and occasional fits of energy on his guitar. When he smiled between one of the quieter moments, his face contorted in the glow of the band’s stage lights.

    But Jones’ smile quickly disappeared after the silence ended, and the band jumped back into the heavy, whimsical music that flooded the small room with as much sound as it could handle.

    Outside, the train strolled by without a sound.

    On stage, Jones and company looked possessed. Davis writhed on the floor, shaking his bass in the air, and Jones hunched over his guitar, head banging his way through the galloping riff of “”Another Day.””

    But when the music was over, they tidied up, the lights came back on and they thanked the crowd and slowly walked off stage. With their absence, all that was left was the heavenly ringing of potentially damaged eardrums.

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