Dead Sara could only of made a much more lasting impression if they handed out cigars and strong bourbon from a tartan Cadillac. However with a set cut from innate cruise control it was more often given over to an animal intensity that was shaping a blindingly stellar performance. It was a bedazzling achievement. The rough tones from vocalist Emily Armstrong swayed between hugging the crowd and just bleeding through the bands heavy crust rock. It was fancy. It was also sensibly juxtaposed with an astringent style that contributed to their commanding disregard for mainstream tropes to be considered bright and refreshingly hot.
Dead Sara paired sultry and effervescent nicely despite their set opening on the melancholy spectrum. They quickly set off the emotional fireworks and burned the ice to the ground; evaporating silence like steam at a hot spring and taking the stage with a reasonable yet confident insolence. And while making an endearing case to come back, they returned the stage to Kill Hannah with only genteel reverence, leaving with great aplomb to a recently excited crowd.
We dance to the sounds of sirens. Kill Hannah were a strange entity existing in the limbo between a teenage dream and Gothic fashionistas, not like that mattered. Every song was a floor filler. Their set went through their back catalog like it was easy to assert a presence as song writers. The plethora of singles and class tunes retaining the strength of character that remains unfettered by their humble image. The set list was flawless. It was tighter than Hellhammers’ drumming at a drumming convention for avant-garde drummers.
It’d be hard to pin down an exact song of Kill Hannah’s that wasn’t moving. Amplified by the duty of care they exhibited beautifully and directed masterfully at the crowd. Their diligence was rewarded, and if it wasn’t for a few duffers every now and then their entire set would of been perfect, unbelievably so. With such powerful songs the playful warmth made between the stage and crowd brought a swath of feeling that encased the room in ecstasy. They were the heroes of self-perception.
Photography by Ladi Dorman.