When not hiding behind bookcases or under stairs, Colyn Gremaud occasionally emerges to microwave pizza rolls, blog about music and write Hunter S. Thompson fanfiction. You can follow him on twitter (@flipconstantine) if you think the instructions on the back of shampoo bottles are high literature. He is still mad about the Norman Conquest.
Perhaps Mayor Slay didn’t mean to be ominous when he tweeted “There will be drones” on June 23rd, but that is most certainly the impression such a pronouncement should give to any concerned citizen.
It’s been a minute since I’ve ducked my head into the OnSTL offices. Seems like everything here is holding together. Might want to get Animal Control on that beaver problem. Anyway, something annoying has come to my attention and I’d like to make sure that it comes to yours as well.
Ft. Collin’s, CO’s You Me and Apollo graced the noble concrete floors of Blueberry Hill’s Duck Room last Thursday. I went into their show having not done my good journalistic duty and listened to—really—any of their music. So I had no idea what to expect. What I found was more than pleasantly surprising.
The second annual St. Louis Fringe festival kicked off in style with “Fringe Tease” which took place at Urban Chestnut brewing company. The atmosphere and crowd were electric, with Urban Chestnut’s line of craft beers providing ample social lubrication. The evening served to introduce the public to all thirty of the St. Louis based acts that will be participating in this year’s Fringe Festival, which begins on June 20th, but the evening was an event all on its own
I usually consider it a breach of my extremely stringent professional ethics to dance while I’m reviewing, however at The Gramophone’s fifth anniversary show that injunction lasted about until the first drum hit.
Those of you familiar with the Pig Slop—the venue that until recently occupied the converted Globe Variety store at 2700 Cherokee—may have been disappointed when that famously gritty venue closed its doors. Fear not however, the Pig Slop lives on as Mushmaus. I attended my first show at the new Mushmaus on Friday. You wouldn’t have even known it had changed. The partitions in the back corner have been removed and the whole space is wide open now. I found a chair with wheels and exploited that fact. I didn’t injure myself, or anyone else. That may be good or bad depending on who you ask.
If you’re either me or Phyllis Young, seventh ward Alderwoman, you probably think the city has a problem with buskers. If you’re Phyllis Young you probably think there are too many. If you’re me you probably think there aren’t enough. But Phyllis Young gets to decree that the cost of a street performance permit should quadruple.
Let me introduce myself. I’m your new music writer. I write about the music that happens in this town. When I first got this gig my mind instantly filled with blurry visions of sweaty gonzo screeds scrawled on greasy napkins while hiding in the bathroom stall of some Cherokee street fire hazard while rapid fire machine gun drumbeats rattle the drywall. Then I realized I’m not that cool and the best I can manage is a paragraph of scholarly nonsense on how groundbreaking Mahler’s 6 sounds from the cheap seats of Powell Hall. Then I realized that that’s pretty cool too.
So I’ll do both. Even though I might be out of my depth cool-wise. I’ll fill your mind up with brutal accounts of spit-smeared shit rock as well as more-toity-than-hoity cultural events. It’s what I do.