It took me half an hour to find the cluttered practice space that Tapes ’n Tapes shares with the likes of Cowboy Curtis and Dave King in a run-down St. Paul building. The room is so littered with speakers, amps, guitar cases and old lamps that I can’t take one step without tripping over something. The walls are half-carpeted in an ugly red and smothered with posters advertising old shows by local artists such as Seymour Saves the World and Happy Apple. There are also a few vintage items, including a poster of Teem lemon-lime soda.

The unkempt scene is a perfect backdrop for a band that looks just as tousled—a band that collectively bears the image of a stereotypical scruffy twenty-something who sports hoodies and wears his winter hat inside. They even have a young drummer named Jeremy, who has an uncanny resemblance to Harry Potter, complete with the glasses. Perfect.

As I speak with the members of Tapes ’n Tapes, I begin to realize that they manage their band with the same sort of care-free attitude that they apply to their shaving and the upkeep of their practice space. Lead singer, guitarist, and songwriter Josh Grier, who does most of the talking, says that they have adopted this attitude on purpose. They were “critically ignored” in the past for “being too serious.” Clearly not the indie way.

So now, Tapes ’n Tapes try not to take themselves too seriously. The less serious they take themselves, the more serious things seem to get. Seriously. Their recently released LP, The Loon, has earned them success not only in their hometown of Minneapolis, but also across the U.S. They have toured the West Coast to sold-out crowds, and are now embarking upon an East Coast tour that promises to be just as successful. This all from trying not to be serious?

Out of nowhere Josh’s eyes light up and his tone of voice shifts an octave higher. He excitedly begins to tell a story of how someone asked him yesterday if any loons were killed during the making of their record. The other members crack up. “It was a marked improvement from the first EP,” they say. Is this to imply that loons were in fact killed during the making of the first EP? “A lot of things were killed when we made that record,” insists keyboardist/euphonium player Shawn in a slow voice that suggests to me that he may not be kidding. “Trees, brain cells, skin cells …”

It is easy for me to see where much of the offbeat humor that characterizes their music comes from. And I can’t even find their real names on their website (they say their names are Tapes, ‘n and Tapes). Take one look at their biography and you will both laugh and be frustrated at a lack of actual information. But then again, this is what works for the Brothers Tapes: The day they go back to being serious is the day their music career ends.

The music itself possesses similar qualities of attractive carelessness. The songs off The Loon are extremely catchy and sometimes messy. Messy is good. While recorded with a certain level of proficiency by Erik Appelwick (The Hopefuls, Vicious Vicious), it is under-produced in a way that does justice to the band’s indie attitude.

The music resembles that of the Pixies, a significant influence on Tapes ’n Tapes. However, Josh states that when he writes songs, he consciously tries “not to have things sound like other things.” He tries to write songs that “might be cryptic in a way that’s not stupid.” He likes to tell stories, ones that have no bearing on personal recollection. His personal recollections would be boring, he states, but even so, the lyrics are simply meant not to detract from the music. “No one would call me an English major.” Music first, lyrics second. How refreshing.

Before I leave, Tapes ’n Tapes is generous enough to give a private concert. “Any requests?” they ask. I request “Cowbell,” a track that requires Shawn to take out his euphonium. They advise me to go get toilet paper from the bathroom and stuff my ears with it – this will be loud. I’m pretty sure I can handle it. Seconds later bassist Matt is playing the opening riff, and the band soon catches up. I realize at that point that I should have heeded their advice about the toilet paper. Josh plays a busy rhythmic guitar part on his Stratocaster as he screeches out the opening lines “Leave me now, in solitude and stress / I’ve been a better lover with your mother.” Jeremy is concentrating intently on his rim shots. Shawn looks slightly awkward sitting in front of his children’s keyboard (it’s for hip cheesy sounds) alternating between a marching band instrument and a tambourine, yet the image resonates perfectly with the band. At the song’s climax, Matt’s entire body seems to be convulsing in erratic spasms as he lays down the bottom and screams back-up vocals. The band is giving everything they have even with no real audience, which makes one thing clear to me: no matter what they say about a non-serious attitude, these guys are serious about music.

When I finally leave, my ears are close to bleeding, but it’s worth it. As parting words, the band tells me to include a word of advice in the article: “Stay in school. Don’t take Jeremy’s cue.” The only problem is, I can’t tell if they are serious.

Coming out of Oklahoma, the Starlight Mints are about as quirky as a band can get. From the throaty vocals of frontman Allan Vest to the extensive use of unconventional instruments, it’s easy to make the assumption they are trying to be original in the shadow of another unusual Oklahoma-based band, The Flaming Lips. However, as long as they keep their focus on general weirdness, they keep themselves in the Lips’ shadow. I get the impression that their intent was for a comparison to be made: “Holy crap, did you hear about that cutting-edge band from Oklahoma? They are, like, the next Flaming Lips!”

With that said, the Mints’ upcoming release, Drowaton, is a testament to the fact that weird can be good. The album does not depart much from their first two releases, Dream That Stuff Was Made Of (2000) and Built on Squares (2003), which relied heavily on broad tonal palates and melodies that feel almost as nonsensical as their lyrics, but the formula works fairly well for them, so why change it up now?

The variety in the band’s orchestrations make possible many different musical textures, often within the same song. The melodies are unpredictable and sometimes infectious (i.e. the zany, whistled line of “Torts” or the awkwardly phrased hook to “Eyes of the Night”). The lyrics aren’t as story-based as they are image-based: “This cookie monster’s in the kitchen / He keeps you nervous, like screaming motorcycles.” Fun stuff.

While the large array of sounds keep this album interesting, they may also cause a listener to become overwhelmed. Sometimes less is more. But I do not suggest that the Mints change, I suggest that you take this album in small doses at a time. If devoured all at once, it may be hard to swallow.

Look for Drowaton in stores in April.

There is a small part of me that wishes to be a child again, even if for only a day. I secretly long to revisit the time in life when your crush could be won over simply by sharing your Snack Pack, outstanding homework always went on the fridge, and even the biggest, scariest obstacles could be tackled after a quick nap on a carpet square.

I was temporarily transported back to such a time with Paper Bag Records’ See You On The Moon! Songs For Kids Of All Ages, a delightful, surprisingly hip, compilation created to unite the young and old with music everyone can enjoy. If nothing else, it will make your child the coolest kid in school. Had my parents raised me on something like this and not heavy metal, I probably would have turned out better.

Low’s Alan Sparhawk opens with “Be Nice To People Who Have Lice,” a little folk ditty about the importance of loving your neighbor even if his hair follicles are buggin’. Sufjan Stevens re-imagines “The Friendly Beasts,” one of his childhood carols about the animals present at the birth of Jesus. Broken Social Scene weave a beautifully orchestrated take on (don’t laugh) “Puff The Magic Dragon.” Other pleasantries include Detective Kalita’s “Baby Brother,” about the strange curiosity experienced when a new sibling enters the picture, and Glissandro ’70s “Voices Are Your Best Friend,” a feel-good ballad of learning to love all ways of expressing our often unpredictable emotions.

Whether or not you have little ones, See You On The Moon! conquers over Kidz Bop-brand annoyances with a terrific selection of adorable songs for the child in all of us. The best part? The music is legitimate enough to stand on its own. See you there!

Documenting the career of an aging rock star is always a gamble. There’s a chance of severe disappointment, a chance that the hero in question can’t live up to the expectations set by the records that the audience knows so well. In the case of Jonathan Demme’s new movie, Neil Young: Heart of Gold, that gamble paid off big-time.

Filmed at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, Heart of Gold documents the two-night stand which premiered the material from Young’s latest release, Prairie Wind. With the exception of a few interviews at the beginning, the movie lets the music do the talking.

Young’s voice sounds great on the recordings, and his band is one of the tightest country-rock ensembles ever assembled. Guests like Emmylou Harris and long-time Young collaborators like keyboardist Spooner Oldham add a richness to the sounds of the new songs and classics alike. They also add to the nostalgia which permeates the movie.

Young recorded Prairie Wind after learning he had a brain aneurysm, and the songs on the new album are full of reflection, mortality, and loss. Demme’s not afraid to get his camera close and the shots of Young’s face show a man deeply involved in each word and each note of music. The “personal touch” of the camera work brings out the feelings portrayed in the material.

After an hour, the new songs begin to blur together. At this point, Heart of Gold turns to Young’s expansive repertoire and extracts a few classics to help the film regain momentum. Three songs from the seminal Harvest album solidifies the movie as a must-see for any Neil Young fan. Missing from the movie are the harder sounds of Young’s work with the band Crazy Horse, but those songs wouldn’t fit. Notorious for his chameleon-like genre switching, this songwriter has done too much over the years to capture it all in under two hours. By focusing on his “quieter” material, Demme has given us a look at where Young is at right now, not a definition of who Neil Young is.

The old material also points to two startling facts about this songwriter. First, his songs sound as fresh today as they did 30 years ago. And secondly, he had as much lyrical depth in his youth as he does now. One listen to the drug addiction elegy “The Needle and the Damage Done,” serves as proof.

Ultimately, Heart of Gold is a movie for Neil Young fans. The cinematography has its merits, but the music is the reason to check this one out.

There’s something about actors wanting to be rock stars and musicians wanting to be actors. As many of you may know, Outkast will be featured in a film, Idlewild, tentatively coming out this summer. And this isn’t the first. Before Eminem starred in 8 Mile, there was…Prince in Purple Rain! If Prince just worked at a car part factory by day, I’d swear they were the same damn movie. Yes, fair readers the connections between the two are all there: The much sought-after babe, the family strife, and the final nightclub showdown. Well, maybe not.

At the start of Purple Rain it almost seems like just a tripped-out concert video. We’re treated to static shots of Prince’s band in some of the weirdest ‘80s makeup and outfits. And then there’s the man himself, doing his hyper-sexual zany stage thing. We’re obviously meant to get the impression that Prince is the funkiest, freakiest dude in the world (which, in fact, he is). During the show, a girl named Apollonia sneaks in the club to audition as a singer/dancer. Apparently she’s like Helen of Troy, because every guy in the place can’t stop staring at her. This includes Prince…and the dreaded Morris Day! Yes, of Morris Day and the Time—the guys who did “Jungle Love” (oh-we-oh-we-oh). No lie—Morris and his sidekick Jerome are a couple of the most outrageously bumbling bad guys I’ve seen on screen.

The rest of the movie is basically random performances broken up with scenes of Prince fighting Morris for the affections of Apollonia, and each subsequently treating her like crap. Damn, if this movie doesn’t objectify women! Of course it also teaches us that beating women is wrong, showing us scenes of the domestic abuse that typify Prince’s home life.

Unlike 8 Mile, Purple Rain has only two professional actors, playing Prince’s parents. Everyone else is either in the music biz or newly discovered. It shows. I’d like to say the acting is bad on its own but I’m pretty sure the dialogue is partly to blame. Prince tells Apollonia that before he’ll help her career, “you must first purify yourself in the waters of Lake Minnetonka.” Is that not priceless? And dig the Minnesota reference.

In fact, that was one of the coolest parts of the film, from a Minnesotan’s perspective. Even better, the club First Avenue is really prominently featured. It serves as the battleground between Prince and Morris as well as being mythologized as the place where local artist’s dreams come true. It’s nice to see that kind of appreciation for a legendary local venue.

In all honesty, unless you’re really into movies so bad they’re nearly good, you might not enjoy Purple Rain as much as I did. But if you like to hear lines like, “your lips would make a lollipop too happy” said with complete sincerity (oh, Morris Day), this just might be your thing. The music is classic and if you’re a fan of the Purple-clad Funky One, then it’s a cool way to see a fictionalized look at the evolution of his music and his look. Hopefully it will tide over anyone desperately waiting for Idlewild. Outkast’s Big Boi and Andre are the rightful heirs to the George Clinton throne of mothership funkiness that Prince had previously held. Let’s just hope in following his footsteps they have some better dialogue. And maybe bring back Morris Day as a bad guy.

Camille stands naked, save for a nude thong and the metal rings piercing her navel and each nipple. A heavy bass pounds through the floor and into her rectangular dressing room as she slides into a black cocktail dress dripping in sequins of black and red, gold and white; sequins in the form of giant playing cards strewn across her hips and waist and chest; sequins that seem to leap under a stage light’s unfaltering glare.

Next, she slips two chicken cutlet-shaped pads over her flat chest and under the sparkling dress, glides a brush through her lengthy blonde locks, and steps into gold heels. She’s ready for the stage.

Except that she is not really a she. Camille is a man. A man who, for six nights a week, dresses as a woman and performs in drag shows at the Gay ‘90s in downtown Minneapolis.

“This is my career, this is how I make my living,” Camille said.

At 38, she’s the longest running cast member of La Femme, the troupe of queens who lip synch to Cher and gyrate to the Black Eyed Peas for raucous crowds and the dollar bills in their pockets.

Gay ‘90s is blasted on message boards across the net for catering to a predominantly straight crowd. But on any given night, the labyrinth of bars and dance floors connecting the three-floor warehouse hosts a mix of homos and heteros, drag queens and wannabes.

Gaggles of high schoolers from the suburbs descend on the club for 18-plus nights each Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday. Mid-week, a group from Minnetonka sits in a burgundy booth lining the wall; the boys decked in the heterosexual uniform of collared button ups or tees, the girls in candy-colored halters and tanks.

Two booths down is Didi, hair flipped out in a dramatic white-blonde swoop. Sipping a drink, Didi perches on her seat as Roxy Marquis’ lean frame jerks and sways to “Hung Up,” a Madonna dance track that tugs at each tendon until your legs bounce and head bobs in sync with the infectious beat. I wish I had a body like that, Didi thinks. I wish I could do that.

Did I mention Didi’s a straight man with a wife at home?

On-stage, Camille finally struts forward on five-inch stilettos. Her mile-long legs rival Heidi Klum’s. Except in the knees, knobby lumps just a hair too large, betraying a masculinity that can’t be masked by the stroke of a razor or swish of a skirt.

As “Luck Be a Lady” thunders from the speakers, Camille’s deep red pout mimes, “Luck if you’ve been a lady to begin with.” Her arms, a little too muscular, swish grandiosely through the air. A man in a flannel shirt clenches a dollar bill between his teeth and leers up into Camille’s eyes, which are shrouded in a black fog of eye shadow and faux lashes.

A long bar stretches from the stage toward the door. A business man, with a carefully coifed tuft of hair spiked up in front, stands with a petite blonde in a University of Minnesota sweatshirt. To their left, a man with a paunch and a beret gambles on a video screen jutting from the dark wood surface. An antique Model-T hangs from the ceiling directly above, strings of Christmas lights illuminate shelves of alcohol, and two bartenders scramble to pour drinks renowned for their ability to knock customers off their stools.

“Mix your milk with my cocoa puff, milky milky cocoa,” lip synchs Nina DiAngelo, Gay ‘90s (unimpressive) entertainer of the year, as Fergie’s mantra to her lovely lady lumps thumps forth.

Resembling a Dallas Cowboys’ cheerleader after a brutal attack from a renegade be-dazzler, Nina’s bead-encrusted bra quivers for the hooting crowd. Her humps may be artificial, but they produce the same affect as any XX chromosome woman.

How exactly does one achieve zen? For the historical Buddha, Siddhattha Gotama, the regimen included years of meditation, self-starvation, and deliberate destituteness. Sure, you’re probably barely subsisting on Ramen and tap water, but it takes a special kind of dedication to voluntarily live on a single grain of rice per day.

There is much wisdom to be attained in understanding Siddhattha Gotama’s journey from prince to enlightened Buddha. And, as we all know from our childhood hours spent with Mr. Roger’s World of Make Believe and Sesame Street, puppets are one of world’s the most effective vehicles for education. This is where the In the Heart of the Beast Theater comes in. Now through March 26, GOTAMA: A Journey to the Buddha graces the stage Minneapolis’s much-celebrated puppet and mask theater.

GOTAMA is an original artistic exploration of the first 35 years of the life of Siddhattha Gotama. Directed by Andrew Kim (selected as Best Director by City Pages in 2001), written by Masanari Kawahara, and designed by Aditi Brennan Kapil, GOTAMA follows the historical Buddha from birth to enlightenment. During pregnancy, Siddhattha’s mother had a dream in which she was bathed by spirits, and a white elephant walked around her three times and entered her side. This dream was said to prophesize Gotama’s greatness, and in what was heralded as “the last birth,” Prince Gotama was predicted by the Sages to become either a great king or a great teacher.

King Suddhodana saw a future in royalty for his young son, and Siddhatta was forbidden to leave the palace walls so as not to be exposed to the Four Sights (the old, the sick, the dead, and the holy) which would inevitably inspire him to become a teacher. Though the food was plentiful, and the women were beautiful, Prince Gotama knew that his leisurely, care-free existence could not bring him true or lasting satisfaction.

Siddhattha’s trusted charioteer Channa, played by a Julian McFaul, accompanies Prince Gotama on his journey to end all human suffering. Prince Gotama soon learns the facts of life that the palace walls had shielded him from for so many years; we all grow old, we all become sick, and we all will die one day. He then made the decision to leave his wife,

infant son, and the pleasures of palace life behind to live the life of a monk. He studied meditation and wisdom and spent six years practicing extreme forms of self deprivation.

Despite the harsh realities of the flesh that it portrays, GOTAMA is a performance full of warmth and beauty, and the original music (from Laura Harada and Tim O’Keefe) is as odd as it is enchanting.

Film fans and filmmakers—opportunity has officially knocked. I recently attended the third offering of “Fearless Filmmakers” and was not only blown back by the quality of the local films shown but also by the potential connections available to those who attend. Hobnobbing at the after-party were directors, producers, actors and investors of all levels. I’d call this a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, except it’ll be happening once a month.

“Fearless Filmmakers” is an event put on at the end of each month by Project Spotlight, a local non-profit group “dedicated to enhancing the lifestyle of creative artists within fashion, film, music and arts.” These guys are passionate about creating opportunities for people working hard in their respective arts and “Fearless Filmmakers” is just one of the ways they’re showing that passion. According to founders Sasha Patel and Bobby Marsden, it’s about creating “an event, a party to celebrate and honor local” filmmakers. Their aim is to give the Hollywood VIP feel right here in Minnesota. And I can testify that they’re doing a good job.

The evening starts with showings of locally produced short films and/or music videos. The short films (and one music video) that I saw offered up WWII action, vampires, stop-motion animation and a comedy involving a cynical cupid. Each was amazingly well-done from a technical standpoint and equally entertaining; something for everyone. There were also some memorable performances, especially considering the micro-budgeted nature of these films.

But that’s just the start. The night ends with a posh after-party where local film fans and aspiring filmmakers can meet the cast and crew of each film and network with other like-minded individuals. At the event I attended, champagne and free appetizers flowed like wine (if in fact that’s possible) and a wide range of tunes were spun. For $10, plus whatever you drink, this was a fun and not-too-expensive way to spend a night out.

Project Spotlight is looking for short films from university students, especially at the University of Minnesota. Patel and Marsden know the U has plenty of aspiring filmmakers and they’d love to see some quality work submitted. They admit they can’t show everything that’s submitted, but the members of Project Spotlight want to help young filmmakers make their movies the best they can be and will try to find a venue for them and maximize the audience. That kind of opportunity is, at the very least, worth looking into. Young Scorsese, find some quality equipment and get shooting. Minnesota may not be Hollywood but there are still ways of getting a low-budget epic to the masses.

Check out www.project-spotlight.com for the next event. Films can be submitted to films@project-spotlight.com.

Despite the weather, a full house braved the frigid temperatures on Feb. 17 to see The Pines at the Cedar Cultural Center. The venue, as always, had an intimate feel and the weather outside only made it warmer. The bartenders told jokes about bartenders and the crowed milled around with steaming cups of tea and cider. Conversations about the weather filled the chilly concert hall until the first note was heard from the opening act, The Spaghetti Western String Company.

The avant-garde ensemble wowed new and old fans alike with their unique style. The band, which defies an easy definition, played a mix of folk, jazz and bluegrass which erred towards the baroque. The musical dynamics of the award-winning group were phenomenal. Each of the musicians had a simple, rhythmic part while the lead drifted among banjo, mandolin, violin and the occasional guitar. The band, which has a history of writing film scores, was very skilled at creating a mood. “The Theme of Red Balloon” featured a driving banjo part and time changes that mimicked the bouncy, floating feeling of the red balloon. The nearly all-acoustic performance was punctuated with one startling beautiful vocal song, titled “Luna Marinara.” Like the band’s name, the song was a nod to founding member Mike Rossetto’s Italian heritage. The mandolin player, Nick Lemme, sang the operatic tune with such resonance it sent chills up my spine. The quartet ended the set with an eerie song that made use of strange distorted vocals via an old baby monitor.

After an intermission of praise The Spaghetti Western and more hot tea, The Pines took over the stage and thanked their friends “The Spaghetti O’s.” The bands have played together and collaborated for several years on albums and in concert. “The Pine Nuts,” as Rossetto affectionately named them, were the perfect foil for The Spaghetti Western and warmed up the crowd with a foot tapping, bluesy sound. David Huckfelt and Benson Ramsey expanded beyond their normal duo with an onstage accordion and piano player and Ramsey’s little brother on keyboard. The Pines, who are signed to the Iowa-based Trailer Records, are a mix of bluesy grooves and folk influences. Ramsey’s raspy vocals lend an ethereal feel to the band’s mostly bittersweet love songs. The band strayed from their normal low-fi, high-energy shows with the extra two members. The change would have been a disappointment, but the additional musicians helped create the wall of sound that The Pines normally achieve with a faster rhythm and more distortion. The set sounded more like the band’s studio albums and less like their boozy bar shows. The slower pace made it easier to meditate on the poignant lyrics and song writing. The foot-tapping rhythm made songs reminiscent of Nick Cave romance and somber folk music easier to swallow. And somehow the band made their rendition of “You Are My Sunshine” sound somber with a slow, waltz rhythm.

Midway through the set The Spaghetti Western came back on stage and performed a collection of songs with The Pines. The two wildly different styles combined flawlessly showing the members history of collaboration and fantastic stage dynamics.

Amidst an intricate network of cables, switches, laptops and blinking lights, VJ Neverwas leans over and picks up a very low-tech, half-empty Culligan water jug. The microphone captures the faintest taps and rattles as Neverwas delicately explores the clear plastic with his fingers, testing its percussive potential. What begins as curiously crisp and hesitant consideration of the container’s surface quality, seamlessly melds into an enchanting swell of deep tribal beats. Every slap and every slosh is then fed into a soundboard where electronic musician James Patrick recombines and loops them into a larger, shadowy sculpture of sound. It’s suddenly clear that every tap, every slosh, every accident, and every intention encountered during this performance was meant to be absorbed, experienced and appreciated.

This opening piece embodied everything unexpected and vulnerable that an improvised performance entails. The audience was adequately primed for Improvised Explosive Device’s very unique brand of real-time audio-visual experimentation. This Minneapolis collaboration of artists has been described as a “spontaneous visual and aural remix of microhouse grooves, surrealistic dream cinema, and virtuosic skronk funk that has not been seen or heard anywhere before.” Their groundbreaking approach redefines music by combining electronics with acoustics, found sounds and imagery in a strange brew of conventional rhythms and conceptual sound and video structures.

The collaboration showcases film artist and musician VJ Neverwas on laptop imagery and guitar, Electropolis’s Michael Ferrier on tenor sax and various electronic devices, James Patrick on laptop manipulations and live mix, improvisational video artist Mark Henrickson on Jitter (a very techy real-time editing software), Chris Bates on bass, and Greg Schutte on drums. Together they create an ebb and flow of beats and dreamscapes that teeter between tempo and ambience. Henrickson describes IED as an “opportunity to explore sound and image spaces that we otherwise wouldn’t have a chance to explore.”

Explorations at the Southern Theater performance included a recut of Leonard Bernstein’s West Side Story, in which the film was remixed into a melodic frame-by-frame analysis of its hypnotically precise and electrifying choreography. Other, slightly more horrifying incarnations included a piece juxtaposing footage of American soldiers escorting a family from their home at gunpoint with an equally terrifying clip from TV’s Trading Spouses, in which “Mom” screams with murderous buck-toothed rage in the name of Jesus.

According to Neverwas, the fusion of live video and musical performance is not only progressive but necessary. “It is important not to separate them,” he says. A pattern of sound vibrations and a pattern of light photons both have the same power to evoke emotional reactions if executed in the right combinations. IED’s imagery and sound mixtures are engrossing and provocative, a loaded amalgamation in the vein of what Neverwas describes.

The name of the group has been subject to some controversy among individuals with a deep seated anger about the events of the last two to three years. To name your band Improvised Explosive Device, after a homemade bomb designed to cause death or injury, most certainly has many contemporary connotations that are genuinely upsetting. But the group’s performances are very much a plea for peace and understanding. Neverwas sees the public’s response to these three words as a sort of lingual acid test, and looks forward to a world in which the band’s title sounds outdated and irrelevant. “I’ll do anything I can to bring down the current situation in a peaceful way,” Neverwas says.

IED also performed at this year’s Spark festival. If you were not fortunate enough to catch them this month, keep an eye out for them at local gallery shows in April.