Forward Fest Day Two: Where and why, exactly?

The deeper we get into Forward Fest and try to sort through its lineup in any kind of thorough way (seems hopeless, even with six of us running around trying to cover this thing), the more we have to wonder just how all these acts ended up playing the venues they did. (The short answer's probably because with so many bands and relatively few venues, shit's gonna shake out how it shakes out.) The Majestic Theatre, for example, is a nice spot and sported a great lineup through-and-through on Thursday, but pretty much all the acts, and the crowds they drew, would've been better suited to smaller spaces. It's equally unlikely that three instrumental-rock acts from Wisconsin would get to play the lavish, historic Capitol Theater embedded in the Overture Center, but that was pretty much a big, wordless centerpiece for us on Friday night. The three members of El Valiente, who were used to seeing cramped into a corner of Mickey's Tavern, spread across the Capitol's big stage and had a big space to fill (the 1,089-capacity had maybe 100 people at this point). The mix wasn't quite loud enough, but gave El Valiente's sound a big and pristine treatment, and as usual guitarist Eric Caldera's eerie, twangy melodies and drummer Joe Bernstein's chaos-tempting attack.

Milwaukee's Collections Of Colonies Of Bees (whose six-man lineup now includes two Madisonians) had a bit more success filling up the Capitol, both bodies-wise and sound-wise. Collections' instrumental first tingled to life in a crossing of rigid, patiently repeated structures coupled with gentle electronic friction—not a bad soundtrack for just gazing around at the theater's plush red seats, drapes, and cool-teal paint job. Dan Spack and Chris Rosenau's guitars and ever intense-looking drummer Jon Mueller worked off the friction between discipline and outburst throughout the set. For a band with two laptops on stage, Collections certainly found a graceful balance of analog and digital: In the middle of the last song, Rosenau's guitar and Jim Schoenecker's computer manipulation engaged in a tender duet, trading warm chords for sprinkles of digital feedback-glitter. It should also be noted that while we were watching this show, there was apparently an eating contest going on as part of the Wongz Walk showcase across the street--more on that show below.

Cougar's set got a lot of people to file up to the front, where the five-piece (which originally started in Madison) played its first live set since the release of its second album, Patriot. Guitarists Dan Venne and Trent Johnson (with lots of extra fretwork from Aaron Sleator, who also manned a sampler and synth) brought Cougar's melodic intricacy to the front on newer songs like "Rhinelander" and the straight-up feel-good jam "Endings." They sat down to double up on acoustic guitars for several songs, including "Lifetime Ranger," which got a stately boost when Todd Hill put down his bass guitar and took a bow to an upright bass. Still, the actual performer in the band was still drummer David Henzie-Skogen, who lunged into his cymbals and snare with a mix of jazz dexterity and math-rock aggression.

Stuck in the lobby
One thing was readily apparent at Friday's showcase from upstart promoters Wongz Walk: Rappers love stairs. The siren call of the Orpheum’s grand-lobby staircase proved irresistible to just about every performer on the bill who wasn’t tied down to an instrument. Das Racist probably made the most laps, but even YACHT got in on the act, straddling the banisters while the kids craned their necks. It wasn’t quite Danceteria, but if Wongz Walk goes back to booking shows at the Corral Room, they might want to consider investing in a StairMaster.

First up against the lobby's tone-murdering acoustics was Milwaukee's Pezzettino, whose accordion-driven charm met an echoey doom. The New Loud's synth-tinged rock 'n' roll quickly devolved into an ear-shattering skullfuck (not in a good way, and not necessarily the band's fault), temporarily chasing all but a few concertgoers out of the room. Mohawked vocalist Shane Olivio watched with a frustrated look as the audience migrated out the doors.

You have to hand it to Milwaukee’s Terrior Bute: While battling a room with terrible acoustics that made the vocals pretty unintelligible, the band managed to rock out pretty hard. Perhaps it was a bit early to see these guys; the crowd wasn’t quite matching the band’s uncaged ferocity. Still, they played as if they didn’t notice, and they fit perfectly into the bill's mixture of poppy syth-rock and violent punk. In a small venue with good sound, these guys would have brought the house down.

Luckily, the horrible sound was remedied a bit when Brooklyn/Milwaukee dance-pop duo French Horn Rebellion set up its own P.A. and was gracious enough to let all the following acts use it. For a couple of guys with only laptops and keyboards, FHR certainly brought a wild blast of energy. When the v-necked pair wasn't sharing vocal duties or cranking out batshit keyboard-solos, the duo took turns dancing in the crowd, literally jumping off the stairways in the lobby, and Robert Molinari actually pulled out a French horn and wailed out some melodies from the middle of the dance floor.

As the show trudged forward, Brooklyn's Das Racist pretty much gave a “Combination Pizza Hut And Taco Bell” caliber performance, to name-check their best-known blog-driven hit. "MC"s Himanshu Raps (wearing an American flag t-shirt) and Kool A.D. fumbled around with their beers as they slurred their way over a handful house and hip-hop jams. Despite the arguably half-assed performances, the crowd seemed to drink it up like grape kool-aid. During DR's set, we figured out that the irony-soaked rap duo—not even on tour, but flown in for the weekend—didn't even have any merch with them. No CDs, no records, no t-shirts, fucking nothing, which says volumes about the power of blog-hype. Surprisingly, the crowd flailed around wildly as the duo closed its set with an intriguing take on the Butthole Surfers' “Pepper.”

While he shares Das Racist's taste for parody, Rory Kane (the bling-addled alter ego of local musician Nick Turco) puts some shiny songcraft into his slick R&B beats, Auto-Tuned vocal melodies, and hysterically obscene lyrics about clubbin' escapades and "Beach Fuckin'." Again, shame about the room's acoustics, which muddied the set even as Nika Danilova of Zola Jesus joined in for a trippy soul duet. Kane was also trapped behind a table and a laptop that was giving him trouble, but the small crowd gathered around him still ate up his gold cape and such hip-hop-overkill anthems as "Let's Roll" ("rollin' up to the hottest club,/ Oh yeah, shit, I own this club!"). It actually seems well thought-out, both as a sick joke and a sugar-coated pop pleasure.

At around one A.M., ticket-holders began to spill in from the other showcases and YACHT's Jona Bechtolt and Claire Evans eagerly set up a laptop and scattered several freestanding signs across the lobby's balcony that read, “ Where does the spirit dwell? Not in heaven, not in hell.” (Even more bizarre was a short brochure that Evans referred to as a “mini-bible for our own religion,” which YACHT was selling at its merch table for five bucks). White microphone in hand, Bechtolt wasted no time bolting to the epicenter of the audience for philosophical anthem “Ring The Bell.” “Will I go to heaven or will I got to hell?” Sung Bechtolt and Evans as they danced through the crowd.

After a fearsome rendition of the George Michael-esque “I'm In Love With A Ripper,” a YACHT introductory video was projected on to the wall, where Bechtolt told the audience that he was born in Madison, that his name is actually pronounced “John-uh,” not Jonah, and he even gave out his home address in Portland (even showing a picture of it with Google Maps)—inviting the entire crowd to visit him at his apartment should they find themselves in the city. By set-closer “Psychic City,” Bechtolt had change into a white suit, the lobby was completely packed, and the crowd didn't seem bothered by the sound (did we mention how fuckin awful the sound was?) as it belted out the chorus alongside the Portland duo. After the show, Bechtolt and Evans sat at their merch table signing autographs while The A.V. Club pitied whoever was responsible for cleaning up the watery pile of gross on the floor.

Around the corner, the Orpheum's dark, sparse Stage Door theater proved a bit more functional all around, though it isn't exactly an ideal venue for anyone either—except for Delta 9, the Chicago producer headlining Friday's installment of the Reverence industrial/electronic showcase. After a night spent scrambling to find a PA (!) and shuffling around set times in his showcase after a late start, Reverence promoter Matt Fanale (who had to postpone a set from his own project, Caustic) looked pretty damn relieved to watch Delta 9 (given name Dave Rodgers) spin aggro-techno beats with almost mechanically quick wrists. With two turntables, a bag of records, and laptop sitting down by his feet, Rodgers summoned a bleak industrial battery, the rhythms switching from emphatic "1! 2! 3! 4!" hammering to chaotic gallops alongside rampant bursts of static and even a sample of a piano melody. The crowd was pretty small by the time 2 a.m. rolled around, but its bearded, black-shirted enthusiasm fit Reverence's friendly vibe.

Cozy in the Rotunda
The Overture's Rotunda Stage, where the marble and glass aesthetic of the upstairs gives way to carpet and fuzzy walls, lent a lazy, cozy feel to Eau Claire-based record label Amble Down's showcase early Friday night. Most of the crowd looked in stay-cation mode, flopped on the steps around the stage and holding drinks without lids (an Overture no-no). The three dues in headlining band The Daredevil Christopher Wright looked ready to join in the chillaxing, wearing shorts and t-shirts all around when they took the stage. But as the bare-footed brothers Jon and Jason Sunde traded flat-out gorgeous vocal harmonies with drummer Jessie Edgington, sometimes with hardly any accompaniment, their almost-tropical energy percolated through the room. Pulling the crowd into "We're Not Friends," with vocal flourishes of "hooray hoo-rah" and pausing later on to invite everyone to scream "blooood," it marked the first time in the night that the audience looked invested.

That's not to say the first four bands weren't good; they just weren't as good as that. Opener The Cloud Hymn displayed a patience in their music (and desire to play sitting down) that belied their youthful appearance, seeming content to drape the muted vocals, gentle guitar, and stately piano of set opener "Wide" over the listener and let it sink in.

We Are The Willows started their set on an incredibly high note, gathering in the center of the Rotunda to make their sparse instrumentation echo off the ceiling. To the uninitiated, lead singer Peter Miller's child-like falsetto might have been slightly jarring, especially on the chiming chug of "A Funeral Dressed As A Birthday," where it creaked and cracked under the emotional weight of extremely literal lyrics about a funeral. But seeing such a raw and unguarded voice coming from such a big, burly guy, it was impossible not to be moved.

More less-than-riotous crowds
Opening the Frequency’s late showcase, Jeremiah Nelson And The Achilles' Heel paired the local singer-songwriter with members of Blueheels, who suited his vocals as perfectly as possible with catchy pop-rock backing. Though the crowd was dwindling early on, each new Frequency patron was saying either “Hey, I like them!” or “Woah, this is a pretty good band!” Nelson’s new project seems like his most comfortable fit, and got him a better response than his ill-attended Thursday set at the Majestic.

When Flatbear took the stage at the High Noon Saloon, everything was perfectly in line, minus the audience’s attention. It became a horrendous obstacle trying to listen to the band over the crowd's chatter. Still, the Madison band played with a sense of professionalism far beyond their years. Jentri Colello’s voice was perfect in the mix, but it took some muscle to get far enough toward to stage to hear the band at all. Sadly, the band’s soft haunting soulful alt-rock didn’t seem like what the crowd was there for. With a bill like this, it was no surprise.

Margot And The Nuclear So And So’s featured only two members this time through Madison, and with the auspicious claim that they weren’t going to play “any of their own songs,” their set commenced for a crowd looking to rock out more than the band was going to let them. Still, the set was dark and intimate, hard to pull off for a crowd this size at the High Noon. Even so, the band’s cover of Weezer's “El Scorcho” forced anyone hearing it to sing along.

While Madison locals Sleeping In The Aviary were scheduled to open for Ra Ra Riot, the show’s late run-time called out Ra Ra Riot first (one of seemingly a bazillion schedule shuffles so far this weekend). Though the crowd, though responsive, wasn’t quite the sweaty dancing mess that we predicted, they were still more than willing to sing eagerly along to single “Can You Tell.” Ra Ra Riot, though not quite raucous, played a compelling and elegant set, and it sounded near-perfect in the High Noon.

Finally, Sleeping in the Aviary played to a select few who stuck around after Ra Ra Riot. What to say? There was purple tape, sprawled-on-top-of-an -amp guitar solos. and cymbal stands being knocked to the ground in front of an enthusiastic and moshing crowd. Strained for time, SITA left after less than ten songs, but they did play the most energetic set of the night.