Widely regarded as the father of psychedelic rock music, the inclusion of Roky Erickson (most famous as a founding member of the seminal 13th Floor Elevators) on the 2012 Golden Plains was enough to make any lover of psychedelic-rock squeal in delight, and squealing in delight at anything would be a pretty severe character deviation for most fans of his music.
UV Race’s Marcus Reichsteiner likes to talk, apparently more than he likes to play music, even in situations when he is expected to play music. He’s not expressing anything of particular interest, but he’s using a lot of words to say it. He’s unquestionably entertaining, however. “With this hat, everything turns into Dickie Knee. It’s great,” he announces, shoving his beret onto a mic stand after serenading it in the previous song. Their brand of gritty garage-punk never fails to impress, with brutal drums and infectious riffs stirring the crowd into an eager, albeit fleeting, frenzy. Sound issues unfortunately plague much of UV Race’s set, with the mic cutting out on several occasions. For those who’ve never seen or heard of the band before, this is hardly an adequate introduction. It’s quite a mess.
“I know you don’t know who I am, but I am Jegar Erickson and I am very pleased to meet you,” enthusiastically announces our second support of the evening. Meticulously dressed entirely in black and sporting suspenders and a bowler hat, it’s no coincidence that he shares a surname with the headlining man; he is in fact Roky’s son. His five-piece band quickly shoots through a handful of tracks, all of which feature sinister bluesy guitars and general lunacy.
Jegar’s lyrics seem mostly to be concerned with how desperately he wants to murder us. His panther prowl across the stage and menacing glares at the crowd fosters a foreboding atmosphere, but Jegar has an undeniable charisma that simply can’t be concealed, regardless of how thoroughly he drenches his lyrics in homicidal desires. Introducing keyboardist, Kaylie Bernhardt’s, breathy backing vocals, it suddenly becomes a fierce 50s-inspired rockabilly recount of hideously rampant sin.
With Jegar’s bluesy wail and heavily distorted, screeching guitar (which fittingly, often resembles distant cries of terror); one can’t help but place the band somewhere between The Dead Weather (Jegar’s desperate, yet oddly cool, vocals are definitely similar to Jack White) and Band of Skulls. The dual male/female vocals fit both, but the compositions lack the sheer shambolic nature of the former, yet are too erratic for latter.
Sharing Jegar’s backing musicians, the legendary Roky Erickson finally emerges while the band busts through a banging rendition of “Hey Bo Diddly”. Roky seems a little disorientated at first, but the moment he slings that guitar over his shoulder and faces the microphone, it’s clear he’s in his element. His very presence is awe-inspiring. His frizzy hair gets swept up the breeze of an invisible fan and elegantly dances with the wind around his ears. With the radiant red lights breaking through from behind, this is the kind of picturesque hair effervescence that many 70s glam rockers could only dream of recreating… but his hair is hardly what’s important.
“Cold Night For Alligators” immediately assures us that this man has lost very little of his tremendous vocal power. His range may not be quite all it used to be, but his unique, wailing, yelping, growling rasp has only improved over time. It sounds like he’s been boiling nails in his throat for the past 40 years, and tonight, they’re trying to tear their way out.
Each member of Jegar’s band can barely take their eyes off Roky. Their excitement seems genuinely to stem mostly from the fact that they’re merely in his the presence. Never mind the fact that they’ve been lucky enough to embark on an international tour before anyone other than their friends have even heard their original music; even Jegar is visibly humbled by his father.
Regularly, the band screams “Roky Erickson!” and gestures for the crowd to erupt into riotous cheers. Unfortunately, the band seems a little off for most of the night. It could be partially due to the fact that they’re lacking a distinct leader within the group, since looking to Roky for guidance isn’t really possible. He occasionally casts looks of borderline desperation at the band, as if he’s momentarily forgotten his place. However, what they’re lacking in cohesion they make up for in power, as there’s no denying this music has physical presence beyond the auditory.
Jegar, skulking slyly in the shadows at the back of the stage, hits the high notes that Roky seems reluctant to even attempt, while Mark Jorgenson takes over the guitar solos. However, it’s undoubtedly Roky’s voice that is at the centre of the show. “Two Headed Dog” inspires audience members to literally bow at Roky’s feat, while the huge riff of “Night of the Vampire” employs some impassioned crowd backing vocals, as the spooky riff treks sinisterly between Roky’s gravelly wails.
The crowd chants “Roky, Roky Roky, Roky” at multiple points during the night, the most notable instance understandably occurring immediately before the encore. Returning after a brief break, the almighty guitar crashes signaling the arrival of the 13th Floor Elevators classic, “You’re Gonna Miss Me” tear through the venue. Desperate to sing along as loudly as possible, the entire crowd descends into chaos. The admiration is absolute, as everyone attempts to absorb as much lasting magic from the moment as possible. Even though Roky steps too far back from the mic in the verses and doesn’t even attempt to sing the chorus, it’s still a special two and a half.
The band walks off stage and that’s it. Ending the set nearly half an hour earlier than scheduled, the audience is unsure about whether it’s safe to leave or not. The shower of bright lights falling upon us suggests that it really is over, and one can’t help but feel a little cheated. However, tomorrow, when we can’t get “You’re Gonna Miss Me” out of our heads, our memories of the evening will only be fond.
– Lara Moates
