Holloys illustration by Teira Johnson

The Holloys produce sound structures; similar to the way sand and wind, over thousands of years, can hack away at rocks and produce eerie and precise architectures.  They are diligent: slowly chipping away at a beat or a riff until it is transformed and made sculptural, an integral part of a landscape.  The crowd at the Echo swayed like kelp, minor spastic dance moves manipulated by a hidden current.  This is a misunderstood scientific process.  The dancing that results is an equation yet to be solved.  In the midst of it all—moving purposefully around the crowded stage like a chemist or a priest—is Jim Brown, who has formulated the theory that the band’s music is teleported to them from some awesome, spiritual dimension.  The music could potentially be just one of his peyote visions.  Shit, we might be one of his visions.  It’s best not to over-think it – the Holloys don’t settle for boring questions.  Mostly they want you to dance.  And when they clear the stage, everything continues to exist, so I think everything is okay.

And soon, the stage is repopulated by the Phenomenal Handclap Band.  They do indeed clap their hands at some point.  Beyond that, though, they conjure cosmic, stoned funk.  Imagine hippie robots with afros landing in a ’70s porno dance party.  They are like awesome saturday morning cartoons—as a side gig, they probably drive around in van solving space crimes—with repeated rock star pointing, hippie regalia (beads and headbands), and all that great hair.

—Gerard Olson