Each year, sometime around Earth Day, art takes over the town of Olympia, Washington. The streets are closed down, and just about every retail store, restaurant, and coffee shop displays art on their walls, inviting people to come in and have a look, free of charge. It’s like a big, disorganized art gallery, and they call it Arts Walk. These sorts of events have been popping up all over the nation. Olympia is quite a sleepy little town — especially in recent years — and Arts Walk has become one of the city’s hallmark annual events.
Usually it’s necessary that I travel to Seattle or Portland to go to shows, but I found out that Growing would be stopping by during Arts Walk on their national tour. Growing actually formed in Olympia in 2003, later migrating east to Brooklyn. The band recently released their eighth album, Pumps, a sexy, throbbing affair that sounds like a couple of motherboards making sweet love to an Atari while an electric guitar plays with itself in the corner.
I walked into Northern, Olympia’s all ages venue, and as I looked around I realized that the show space was quite empty. The Northern is a small venue, and at that moment, in the presence of only another 30 patrons, it felt uncharacteristically cavernous. Prior to the show I noticed that no fliers had been pasted around town to advertise the gig; I considered myself as one of the lucky ones for being privy to the show, and settled in for a good time.
The first band, Gun Outfit, began playing, and right away it was apparent to me that their sound guy must have been deaf — the levels may have been acceptable, but it was way too loud. Usually, I’m not one to complain about excessive volume — I’ve stood next to many Marshall stacks in my day — but I’ve never felt my eardrum vibrate so violently. After the show, I finally listened to some of Gun Outfit’s music, and they’re a solid indie rock band — I’m disappointed that my ears were too busy screaming for mercy to enjoy their set.
Things got even worse when the second artist, Eric Copeland, started. Again, I’ve listened to his stuff, and he’s a great experimental mix master when his music isn’t being blasted for maximum pain factor. However, the shrill sounds that night put me in a place I haven’t been to since listening to some of the harsher AFX stuff on full volume. I wasn’t the only one — I watched as the crowd cringed during particularly piercing, high-pitched parts. Several people walked out, and others stuck their heads in the door only to retreat, deciding that the cover charge wasn’t worth the pain.
Just when I feared I could take no more, the set finally ended. The crowd’s shoulders relaxed, they removed their earplugs (which were $1.00 at the door), and wandered outdoors for a cigarette. I glanced over to my date and he looked as though he might possibly be dying of boredom. I prayed that Growing would fix my night for me.
Growing set up their equipment in a flash and began playing without a word. I only realized it was them because I had recently seen a press photo. Two guys, one girl, I thought to myself. Yep, that’s them.
They began playing, and I immediately noticed a difference in the sound quality. I could actually hear the music — and it sounded good! Loud, but without lacerating my eardrums. I looked back to the soundboard to find someone new seated at the helm — Growing had presumably brought their own sound guy, and rather than sitting there spacing out (as the previous guy had been doing) he was working. I watched as he stood up, removed his headphones, walked to the center of the club, listened for a moment, and went back to the soundboard. That guy was my hero of the day.
The crowd began to dance timidly, in the strange little way that Olympia hipsters dance, and it was nice to see people actually smiling (rather than grimacing in pained misery). Why wouldn’t they smile? Growing’s droning, intensely unique sounds were flowing out of the speakers, and we had a chance to see the band members work their magic up close. Stony faced, they looped distorted electric guitar, beeps, blips, and samples with crunchy noises and hard beats. It was a good time — no, a great time — and all of the sonic assaults and affronts that had occurred earlier in the evening were forgiven and forgotten.