$25.00 Tickets
Live Nation Presents
Tue May 9 08:00 pm (Doors: 07:30 pm )
21 and up

Tuesday May 9th, 2023

Doors: 730 PM

Show: 8 PM


$20 Advance |  $25 Day of Show



Avey Tare

You remember how it was, don't you, back in the Spring of 2020? Knowing so little about what any of us should do, so many of us crawled inside our quarters to find new obsessions or indulge the familiar ones, unencumbered by anything else we could do. At home in the woods on the eastern edge of Asheville, N.C., Avey Tare took the latter path, sequestering himself in his small home studio to sort the songs he'd written and recorded with friends in the instantly distant before times -- Animal Collective's Time Skiffs, of course, their astonishing document of communal creativity a quarter-century into the enterprise. He often worked there for 12 hours a day, tweaking mixes alone, save the birds and bears and his girlfriend, Madelyn. By Fall, though, it was done, so what next? How else should Avey now occupy himself in his cozy little room? The answer became 7s, his fourth solo album (and first in four years), an enchanting romp through the playground of his head. He wasn't, however, going to do it alone.

During the first week of January 2021, Avey began making regular drives to his friend Adam McDaniel's Drop of Sun Studios to give guts and flesh and color to the skeletal demos he'd made at home. They turned first to "Hey Bog," a tune Avey had been tinkering with since he wrote it to have new material for a rare live performance years earlier. The inquisitive electronic meditation -- all tiny percussive pops and surrealist textures at first -- slowly morphs into a gem about surrendering cynicism and accepting the world a bit more readily, the call buttressed by trunk-rattling bass and spectral guitar. It feels like a lifetime map for new possibilities, encapsulated in nine absorbing minutes. The plot for 7s, then, was set: trusting, intuitive, exploratory collaboration among friends, after a Winter without it. These songs are like overstuffed jelly jars, cracking so that the sweetness oozes out into unexpected shapes. Still, the sweetness -- that is, Avey's compulsory hooks -- remains at the center, the joy inside these Rorschach blots.

If Animal Collective has forever been defined by its charming inscrutability, Avey surrenders to a new intimacy and candor with 7s. Take "The Musical," a bouncing ball of rubbery synths and wah-wah guitars that contemplates what draws someone to sound and how turning that calling into a profession can alter the source. "I can hear the mountains singing," he counters with an audible smile wiped across his face, painting a postcard of his home amid one of the United States' folk hubs, "and I do believe they could do that forever." Obligations aside, this is a self-renewing love, he realizes, the source as captivating as it was the first time. "Have you ever felt a thing and known that's how you felt about it all along?" he ends this guileless love song for everything.

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The desolate landscape of Joshua Tree, CA may seem a curious dwelling for the densely unusual wasteland circuitry of Paradot, but engaging with their cracked and rusted craft, one begins to witness a rapport with the more forsaken corners of the psychedelic dreamland identifiable with Southern California. Since aligning in 2017, Emilía Turner and Jodoli have constructed a distinctively genre-bending agrimation of electronic experimentation, an audio-visual avenue that brings to mind 80’s post-industrial innovators Severed Heads, the revolutionary Warp/Rephlex landscapes of the 90’s, and the DIY glitch obsessions of Black Dice and Pan Sonic. Their self-described “maximalist” reconfiguration of found sounds, samples, and other electronic detritus yields a richly enveloping and surreal sound that they relate in more practical terms as a “cross-section of techno, noise, ambient, and pop.“ This synergistic collaboration of hardware enthusiasts and their variety of samplers, modular synths, drum machines, have generated two full-length albums (2018’s Conductor, 2019’s Vain Zanni Cave, 2022’s Albumen), all self-recorded/produced in home studio environments. Calibrating a tighter sonic architecture these past few years in both studio and live performance, Paradot advance a powerful sensory shock, one they see as “a gradual ebb and flow between dreamy ambience and high-impact noise.”

On Albumen, the duo continue to push their aural palette into areas that feel radically unknown while simultaneously evoking a certain nostalgia. While their 2018 debut Conductor focused on a more scattered, improvisatory approach they describe as “ephemeral and irreproducible,” Albumen, out on 6/24 via Cudighi Records, tightens the structure and expands the diversity of sounds, tying their work closer to their live presence. Some sections evoke the pounding, minimalist thump of early 80’s hip-hop/electro giants like Whodini and Mantronix, while others moments hit at the abstruse elegance of Seefeel and Autechre. This is keeping in line with a record that fosters a more rhythmic luminosity, one which searches for a certain unfeigned innocence and curiosity. Indeed, one may look at the album’s striking artwork and see a smile drawn in sand, an evocation of the sincere joy one may find exploring new realms of eclectic sonance. Even the synthetic is created from the organic, and Paradot strive to obscure the precise distinctions and misconstructions commonly associated with experimental electronic music.