Singer was a fairy queen complete with gauzy wings and wand. She made gifts to the house of toy instruments and odd curios and asked the crowd to play along.
Songs were tightly sewn together by throbbing bass and frantic rhythms. Energy. Really a fine band. But the singer sounded like Joan Baez on methedrine.
Celtic ambiance and mournful tunes. Really dug the flute, but too bad there was some kind of low-frequency hum that drowned it out and buzzed the speaker cabs.
I scrambled to pack. Pirate shirt, leather pants, aspirin, condoms. Forget a notebook. After so much drinking, I’d couldn’t hold a pen straight. Tape recorder.
If the music isn’t important, they should make more of the stage show. If the stage show isn’t important, then they should add more samples, loops, whatever…
They were loud, rambunctious, and wonderfully satirical, even self-effacing. It takes a lot of guts to make fun of yourself and still pull off a great show.
The singer had a style that was part lounge singer and part epileptic seizure victim. Maybe that’s what got people’s attention. The bassist was really hot.
La Gritona are one of Boston’s few good bands, easily levitating over the usual indie swill and three-chord power-pop pablum. Too bad this was their last show.
Sirensong wasn’t my thing. I could hear that the singer hit all her notes. Yes, they had a solid drummer. But it sounded like the same song three times.