By: Ilya Ratner
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| YoungBlood Brass Band trumpeters - Photo by Ilya Ratner (Click for set) |
Six dollars is slightly less than enough for a pack of smokes in New York, it will almost get you two gallons of gas in California and it might get you a happy ending in Thailand—with an additional bill from the nurse with the sanitized swab. Six dollars is what I paid to see the Youngblood Brass Band, one of the hippest bands I’ve caught in my life. No kidding.
Six brass horns and three sets of drums and cymbals get you something much more fulfilling than a happy ending with extra, unwanted condiments. It gets you soul, funk, jazz, hip-hop and a touch of Dixie. As soon as the first trumpet blew a long spine-piercing note, you could tell it was going to be good. You could tell you would be smiling all night long. You could tell this wasn’t going to be another generic shindig with a bunch of self proclaimed bad-asses. This was a band of true blue musicians who made you want to pick up an instrument and enrapture someone with music.
Their eclectic set should’ve never ended. I could’ve stayed and listened all night. They were symbiotic—in tune as a band and outstanding as soloists. Charley Wagner and Mike Boman exchanged red-hot trumpet solos all night. Jerome Harper and Matt Hanzelka scorched, trombone slides jutting back and forth. The alto sax would ring in beautifully, full band and solo; and all the while the sousaphone’s booming harrumph thundered.
I heard Tito Puente; I heard The Roots; I heard Dixieland and samba. I even heard my high school marching band, but blooming and boisterous and much, much better. I couldn’t stop moving. My heart rate kept speeding up. The Triple Rock was on fire.
The percussion line stoked the frenzy. Choppy rhythms—layered and superbly orchestrated—kept the audience dancing all night. Swiveling hips, flailing arms and grinning faces filled the small room and the band fed off the fanfare.
Everyone in this band had razor chops, and together they were a musical body evolved—D.H. Skogen was that body’s soul, the glow in Marsellus Wallace’s briefcase. Every time he stepped forward from his humble spot in the back, the band and the crowd radiated. He was MC and percussive pyromaniac, rhymin’ with as much passion and style as the best. With him this band is an RPG, without him they may be something less explosive.
If you get the chance to see these guys, don’t miss it. Bring your grandmother—but be prepared to watch her shake. Bring your uncle so he can grow hair on that bald spot. Bring all your friends and all of their friends. And bring more then $6, because I’m guessing that won’t be enough.
Location Info:
Triple Rock Social Club
Artist Info: YoungBlood Brass Band
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