On Performing Loud Music at Oberlin
by Owen Neaman, Contributor
Noisy music is in Oberlin’s DNA. A Spring 2003 issue of the Oberlin Alumni Magazine describes one of the three times Karen O performed at Oberlin. It was in a Keep dorm room, and one of her friends was driven to tears by the intensity of the performance. Before the Yeah Yeah Yeahs even formed, O was demoing her songs in the TIMARA lab, where Liz Phair and Jon Theodore of The Mars Volta had recorded their first demos. Before Oberlin had a Recording Arts major, musicians were already scrounging up the resources to make a sufficient racket. And, long before the floor-rupturing and wall-rattling performances of Jane Remover and Bassvictim, noise rock bands like Sonic Youth and Big Black played Hales Gymnasium to similar crowds of deviants, inspiring them to make their own music. You can find flyers for basement shows from the ’80s featuring Oberlin students like John McEntire and Sooyoung Park, who later gained followings in bands like Seam, Tortoise, and Bitch Magnet (bands of Slint’s lineage). The most cathartic shows I’ve seen here were the loudest, and more often than not, performed by students. But this year, many people have asked me: where are all the loud shows?
For me, “loud” isn’t just about volume. Any experimental show at Hanson Records, TIMARA recital, particularly wild Jazz Forum, or Modern Music Guild concert has the sonic assertiveness of a 104-decibel ‘Sco show at a fraction of the volume. And music can be noisy without being pure noise. The discordant and dissonant, fuzzed-out and fucked up, electrified and dense—these are all elements that make music seem loud to me.
Between the musical depths of the Con, the school’s alternative cultural ethos, and the endless flow of inspiration from the touring acts that visit here, Oberlin is fertile ground for this kind of music. It presents an incredible opportunity for anyone even slightly interested in making loud music. Nothing affirmed this more for me than seeing Rox County for the first time last year: autotuned vocals that sounded like the musicians were short-circuiting, incessantly catchy guitar and synth lines that had a perpetual ring, and relentless battering of a rental drumkit. The year before, I watched Whaleshark fill a village house basement with wave after wave of guitar riffage and torrents of tight drum fills, paired perfectly with ethereal melodies played through a toy keyboard. Seeing these shows made forming a band and organizing concerts here seem attainable: the pool of talented musicians, the availability of equipment, the eager audiences piling into moshpits might as well have been a neon sign in front of me blaring “what are you waiting for?”
Oberlin’s scene has faced setbacks since last year, but there’s still a robust foundation for musicians who want to continue the tradition of loud, exciting music at this school. House shows and Bike Co-op shows are less common because organizers graduated, but not a day goes by without me hearing about someone who wants to organize a show. The Oberlin Police Department has also been shutting down many house shows and parties (which has been happening long before we all got here), but plenty of musicians still have shows in improvised spaces, particularly basements. Students’ interest in playing music together hasn’t waned: the gear co-op’s practice slots still get filled within hours of the Google Sheet going live every week, and—maybe I’m biased for thinking this—a lot of newer students seem interested in organizing shows. After watching slack-jawed as Rox County and Whaleshark tore up their respective stages, I mustered the courage to ask them to play Harkness with my band last December. I’m thrilled whenever I get to hang flyers everywhere, construct a jury-rigged sound system with my friends, and crank the volume high on a makeshift soundboard. It’s absolutely exhilarating. There’s no better place to get your start as a performer than a house show.
Things like stage fright and nerves never completely disappear, but the more you perform, the less nervous you get. When I finally started gigging with my band, I realized that people here root for the DIY shows. Feve nights and the routine jazz party seem institutional and permanent, whereas loud student-organized gigs in improvised venues are more novel and intimate. 2,800 students go here, and maybe two parties happen per weekend night if you’re lucky. People come in droves if you spend time promoting a gig. There's a warmth at DIY shows—if you’re performing with other people, the camaraderie will remind you that above all, you're doing this for each other. The audience knows this—if you make mistakes, have technical issues, but have fun with each other while doing it, people will appreciate it. You aren’t holding anyone hostage when you perform: they’re at a free show by choice. An irreplicable exchange of energy with the audience can occur at a stageless show: you feel invincible when people dance to songs you wrote in your room with your friends.
Forming a band at Oberlin is one of the most fulfilling things I’ve ever done. As exhausting as it can be, it’s rewarding to rent that gear, design that flyer, practice endlessly, and set up that concert because you want to do it. I’ll miss it when I’m abroad next semester. With a co-op that rents out musical equipment to its members for free, numerous practice spaces around campus, and inspiration everywhere, I implore anyone who wants to play loud music to throw everything at it. Now more than ever, it’s easy to find artists who want to help each other. Ask your friend about that basement. Join the gear co-op. Go to concerts that seem interesting even if you think they’ll be empty, and chances are you’ll meet like-minded people. Share bills with artists you love, or artists you want to hear. Soundcheck yourself, but don’t be concerned with perfection. Lug your amps out of your room and stuff them into the Rideline van. Buy good earplugs. When I come back, I will be at the front, if not in the pit.
