Atlantic City is, to term it mildly, an odd place. Once the seaside jewel of prohibition-era New Jersey, it’s something of a time capsule now, towered over by hotels and resort casinos and flocks of seagulls, streets lined with buildings whose operational status is never immediately apparent in passing, often not even with careful examination. But despite the environs, Holdfast Records and Todd “Todd-o-phonic” Abramson curated a brand-new festival just feet from the boardwalk in AC. Starting a new festival is no easy feat, but the first inaugural Frantic City Festival brought together a dozen – well, 11, after the unfortunate cancellation of Car Seat Headrest – bands from near and far to give the bash about as strong a start as anyone could possibly imagine. Hosted by Fred Armisen and simulcast on WFMU, a radio station headquartered in Orange, NJ, the lineup united generations’ worth of post-punk, hardcore, noise rock, and indie for a wide-ranging celebration of music that, with any luck, will form a foundation for a recurring festival in the years to come.
A pair of advantages of a single-day fest is that there’s minimal downtime, and every act has plenty of time to shine from the day’s first set all the way to its conclusion. The first ever band to perform at Frantic City is Control Top, founded just up the expressway in Philadelphia. Part of a thriving punk and punk-adjacent scene there, in this trio they carry the fury of twice that many people, led by the high-energy singing and bass-playing of Ali Carter. Many of the band’s songs are anchored by airtight riffs fabricated between Carter and guitarist Al Creedon, and hail from the band’s debut LP Covert Contracts – in only 29 minutes, that record pushed them squarely into the spotlight for the post-punk faithful. Three songs in, Carter puts down her bass for a song she says is from the band’s upcoming second album, slated for release sometime in 2023. It hinges on a repetition of the phrase “don’t pray for me,” propelled forward by the drums of Alex Lichtenauer. She climbs down into the space between the stage and crowd during ‘Covert Contracts’, another, and sings one of the verses to one of the security staff watching cooly from the pit.
The album looks to be another conceptual piece in the vein of previous ones such as The Most Lamentable Tragedy and The Monitor – the latter of which just celebrated an anniversary. Though not included in the festival set, likely on account of length, ‘An Anomaly’ finds Stickles tackling the subject matter of Biblical scale, all while crafting some of the most thrilling rock music in ages. He promises the crowd mid-set “some proper Jersey music,” heading into ‘A More Perfect Union’, and even altering the Somerville zip code in the song to simply, “Atlantic City!” After ‘Dimed Out’ they close with a cover of ‘Glory Days’; more than ten years ago Stickles quipped lyrically “I’ve destroyed everything that wouldn’t make me more like Bruce Springsteen”, so the nod to one of NJ’s favorite sons is decidedly meta.
Armisen is both comedian and musician – including his spot as the bandleader for Late Night with Seth Meyers, and perhaps surprisingly his role as emcee finds him slipping more into the latter role than the former. In fact, it’s Casey who cracks the joke: “This little boy wanted to play guitar with us, so we let him do it,” he smirks, as Armisen borrows Deal’s guitar. Throughout the day Armisen offered introductions and sincere praise for each act as they head onstage, and afterward he could often be spotted watching each performance intently from the periphery of the platform. One gets the sense that, had he not been tapped to host, he may very well have attended anyhow.
Some songs he sings from a seated position, on the stage in the heat, and for their final cut he tucks his head underneath the arm of bassist Derek Fudesco, mic in his teeth once again, and Fudesco plants a brotherly kiss on top of Moody’s head. They’ve been playing together for the better part of twenty-five years, and that quarter-century of camaraderie is evident throughout. Across those years the band members established connections with many other acts from that corner of the country, including Dann Gallucci’s membership in Modest Mouse and drummer Coady Willis’ performances with acts such as Big Business and the esteemed Melvins. Moody is grateful that the band has persisted, saying, “If you told me when I was sixteen we’d be doing this with all these bands… I would’ve cried or something” – his voice breaks just a bit as he’s overcome with gratitude even now.
Singer Greg Attonito dedicates a song early on to “each and every one of your mothers”, and from their first record, The Good, the Bad, and the Argyle they play album-opener ‘I Like Your Mom’, a silly song lasting scarcely more than thirty seconds that in 1994 introduced the world to the band. Attonito confesses then, “It’s torture writing setlists” – and offers up a choice to the audience: they could next play their own ‘Here We Go’, or opt for a cover of The Kinks’ ‘Better Things’. When the familiarity vs. curiosity index of the crowd’s cheering fails to yield a definitive result, the band decides to play one into the other. Later on, they visit another enduring track from How I Spent My Summer Vacation, ‘Late Bloomer’ – a simple love song in spite of life’s circumstances that comes down to the line, “I’m no good / you’re no better”; in the audience, arms go around shoulders or alternatively in the air in time with the song. Attonito tucks a cigarette behind his ear and ponders the role of the thing as a prop.
Kaplan’s energy onstage is unmatched, and he plays the guitar as much by wringing noises from it in weird positions as he does by strumming it traditionally. Mid-set they dedicate ‘Black Flowers’ to the recently-departed Anton Fier of The Feelies, also from NJ, who had been remembered throughout the day with Feelies tracks often being played on the PA in between sets. The night draws to a close after nearly half a day of music with ‘Blue Line Swinger’, whose lengthy album runtime is pushed even further into a twenty-minute drone with varying levels of improvisation throughout. Kaplan kneels down during this portion and twists the knobs of his guitar on the ground to wrench more varied sounds from it, and then, at last, signaled by drum hits from Armisen and vocals from Hubley, the song launches to its conclusion. It’s a stunning feat of musicianship, and the only thing left to say is: “Well, that’s Frantic City, folks!” as the crowd departs into the night.
Review and photos by Collin Heroux