My Westword Showcase: Bands, Beer, and Sunburn

I started drinking at 10 a.m. on the morning of the Westword Music Showcase. That's two hours before I would've normally greeted the day on any other Saturday. But since my band was slated to play the ass-early noon set, I met my other bleary-eyed members of Le Divorce at Le Central for le eggs and le booze to prepare for le rock.

Being the newest band on the showcase, and playing the early set, we were expecting our audience to consist of my mom and the sound guy. We were both surprised and relieved when five minutes before show time, hipsters started piling in with wristbands and sunglasses.

There is something unnerving about playing angry rock music with daylight streaming through the window. But the upside was that when our set was over, we had the rest of day to check out the showcase.

We emerged from Sutra's dark back room into the blazing sun and ran over to Bar Standard to catch Houses' set. This band's fresh approach to the classic rock style is perfect for a summer fest. At 1 p.m. the place was already packed and sweaty and I found myself wondering how Houses frontman Andy Hamilton was fairing under a mountain of hair and a beard that would give the members of ZZ Top a run for their money.

We then headed over to Broadway's to catch Kingdom of Magic, arguably the second loudest metal band in Denver (the first being Tauntaun). I admire any band ballsy enough to run full Marshall stacks in a bar smaller than my living room. And while my boyfriend loved Kingdom's wall splitting mid-day metal, I found it a bit much. So I wandered over to see Eleanorat Mo's. What can I say? I love slightly-pussy complaint rock. I'm not kidding. I blame Thom Yorke.

Next was Gangcharger at Bar Standard. I love this band's distorted, shoegaze-y, wash of sound. I appreciate any group of people who grew up listening to My Bloody Valentine. But they need a massive sound system to handle their volume, and Bar Standard's wasn't up to the job. Maybe Kingdom of Magic could've lent their Marshall stacks. Either way, it's worth it just to watch singer Paige Peterson play an effects board that looks like an 80s Simon game.

By 4 p.m., I found myself on the Bar Standard rooftop in the soul-sucking sunlight. Halfway through boyhollow's indie-electro DJ set, I realized I was way too drunk for daytime. Then I got the hiccups. Hiccups that continued for the next two hours, making my conversations sound like this: Hey Ivyy Goldberg from Donnybr-hic-ook. hic. I love you're hic "most fuckable rock star coll-hic-um. No, I'm hic not that dru-hic-nk."

Somehow I managed to miss every band on the main stage and the Curious Theater. Not because I'm so hipster that I'm programmed to loathe any band more than 8 people know about, but because Westword is a big hot cluster-fuck, and I don't like crowds. 

This means I didn't catch Snake Rattle Rattle Snake's headlining set. I hope the indie-rock gods can forgive me. The thing is, I like Snake Rattle, but unlike some other alternative weeklies, I don't happen to think they are Denver's new messiahs of indie-rock. There, I said it. 

So instead I caught Jim McTurnan And The Kids that Killed the Man at 6 p.m. We share a practice space with these guys, and I have to say, this is a band that has come a long way in the year and a half they've been together. I wasn't a huge fan of McTurnan's last band, CAT-A-TAC. But The Kids that Killed the Man blend melodic pop with gritty indie-rock in a way that had me bobbing my head in between hiccups.

By the end of it all I wanted only one thing: a cheeseburger. So I staggered home to feed my forming hangover and fall into my couch. It was hard to believe we had played a rock show seven hours earlier. Ultimately it was a good day, but next year I'll bring sunscreen and take advantage of the bottled water.