This past weekend, the Mid-Atlantic College Radio Conference, or MACRoCk, celebrated its fourteenth year with a collection of 86 independently signed or unsigned bands taking over downtown Harrisonburg, Virginia’s intimate venues. Organized by volunteers in the community and James Madison University’s WXJM 88.5 radio station, MACRoCk takes the best of their submissions received and features music spanning from folk to metal, and those lingering in all the spaces in between. With overlapping schedules, the most one person can see is what they cater themselves to, and what you will find below is my own valiant effort to distill the festival's varying highs and lows into something those of us who felt adventurous (or bored) enough to attend can be proud of.
Windhand
Let’s play the game of "how many distorted power chords can we stretch over five minutes?" At max, this band played about five; eight if you’re feeling generous. This caused the songs to blend into a never-ending drone of drowned-out vocals, nervous pacing and ineffectual attempts at breakdowns. Here’s a hint: you actually have to build up to a breakdown first.
MACRoCk's description says:
Stoner metal. Richmond, Virginia. Head bangs. Long hair. Everything you ever need.
Inter Arma
You’d think something was eating its way out of Inter Arma's lead singer from the sounds he was making. These were death howls that dug past the dense rhythm and rapid solos that his band mates had elected to bury him with. However, it was the lead singer’s wild-eyed, microphone head-butting antics that proved to be the most engaging part of the set, outshining both the howls he emitted and the deluge of repetitive, drawn-out formulas the band used to fill their songs. Thankfully, most of their sins were washed away by the head-bang-inducing tempo charges they used to ignite the crowd. As a whole, Inter Arma gave the audience a feel you’d want to get from a metal show: brooding and venomous.
MACRoCk's description says:
Black metal with a hint of Southern blues (if that makes sense). The sound is low, deep, and hard-hitting. A relevant take on sludge metal, they have extreme musical talent and a lot of attitude.
Woe
The guitarists' love for high-speed strumming and head banging not only made them appear as blurs, but also caused them to produce their own breeze. Fanned by a guitarist’s wavy locks, the audience was assaulted by pulses of textbook chord progressions that gave your ears hardly any time to process actual notes before turning it into white noise. However, this kind of white noise wasn’t out to kill you or put you to sleep. In fact, that layer of ridiculously fast noise came with energy spurts every few seconds. The addition of head banging to your exercise regiment was the only way to prepare for this breed of speed metal.
MACRoCk's description says:
Unholy black metal from Philly. Darker than the depths of Satan’s a$$hole.
Pujol
Complementary guitar melodies and energy-infused harmonies helped pull some of the Southern drawl out of this gritty garage band’s vocals until they were a little more punk. Bright and bursting tones electrified an otherwise stagnant stage presence that benefited well from Pujol’s ability to rely on their words and not their actions. It was clear that they were there because they enjoyed playing, which was only exemplified in the bassist’s parting words: “That sounded great! If I could stick my dick in it, I would.”
MACRoCk's description says:
Tennessee garage punk! His fun, fast paced tunes have made Jack White a big fan of his. There will be possible guest appearances by girls in flaming hula hoops and maybe even an entire Medieval Times fair during his set. Also maybe a black rabbit.
Turbo Fruits
Oh, where do I begin? With the dancing mosh pit that supported both the lead singer's and bassist’s crowd surfing? With the lead singer losing his shoe? His microphone? Almost his guitar? Before even starting off their first song, his strap popped off. And there was a goddamn good reason why he put it back on, with tape for reinforcement. Because after that, they trashed the joint. Their mixture of the best parts of blues, rock and Southern anthems almost made an amp crush the toes of yours truly. It also created a gritty, out-of-control spiral that drew over half the crowd into a dancing mosh pit that sang along even though no one knew the words yet. One of few bands I heard that day that actually had different approaches to each song, Turbo Fruits kept your attention while also saying “I want more, want more, want more, want more.”
MACRoCk's description says:
These gentlemen seem to be playing some of the most decadent rock and roll tunes. Straight out of Nashville they are at the forefront of rad tunes coming out of the mid-west.
Screaming Females
You’d never expect the petite, high-pitched woman in a black old lady dress and torn tights that revealed crude line drawings tattooed to her calves to transform into a guitar goddess - a goddess that tried to devour her microphone with every open vowel. Each song showed a variance in emotion and tone, and somehow managed to remain sewn together in a collective sound through ravaging guitar rips, poignant drum transitions, and complex, yet evocative bass lines. This will be Screaming Females' last year at MACRoCk, because next April they’re going to be too big to come back. They made up for that in advance, regardless of whether they know it or not, by being gracious enough to play an encore. If they had just ditched when their set was up though, we still would have left breathless.
MACRoCk's description says:
“Yo, I heard they sold their collective souls to the devil to be able to rock that hard.” “Nah, they sold it for some ice cream sandwiches.” “Aw, word.”
