DENTON'S WORST HOUSE SHOW: IS THIS EBOLA?

Throughout the years we’ve all attended our fair share of house shows and local venue performances - some bad, some good. This weekend’s house show was one for the record books, meaning the record book that we don’t ever open because no one reads it anyway except for a hearty laugh and reminder of nights we try to forget. Is this Ebola?

This past weekend hosted a 3-day album release celebration for local artists Heavy Baby Sea Slugs who just came out with their second album, "Fistula Missle" (which you should all check out here right now for future solo and group “ragefests.” Trust us. It owns.) Night two of this three day debacle, though originally scheduled alongside other local acts on Bolivar Street, was conveniently “interrupted” by Denton’s Finest, leaving no choice but for the congregation of followers to pilgrimage onward to another location hosted by new-found occupants of Crescent Street, one part of a two part street section affectionately deemed “House Show Row.” That’s when it happened.

Picture this: Two well-defined separate groups of party-goers with age as the number one factor; one with beards, thick framed glasses and slick hair cuts, the other with thick eye liner, absence of any sign of facial hair, and clothes found attempting to look like Thrift Store finds (Cut the crap, younglings. We’ve been doin’ this a while.) Two clearly very new-to-the-scene chicks begrudgingly asking for assistance on how to even operate a keg (because that’s pure rocket science, right?) while a cover of “My Sharona” gets ran through a meat grinder by some newbie wannabe pop punk band. Totally original. (Editor's Note: This cover actually sounds awesome to me, but I wasn't there.)


 Sponsor: Twisted Bodies Pilates & Yoga 

Sponsor: Twisted Bodies Pilates & Yoga 


Is this what is to become of the local music scene? Is this Ebola? Is this the end-times? One can only hope not.

We realize that each passing year brings in new students who seem to herd away our tenured Dentonites with fiery cattle prod in hand, however usually with a new batch of creative, enjoyable music.  This year seems different. The impression we’ve gathered from this house show alone, filled with unfamiliar young faces that force our locals to ask, “ Do you know anyone here? Are we the oldest ones around right now?” is that the future of Denton’s local music is now in the hands of some serious wannabe punks who are geared up to thrash about in the living rooms of their friends houses while the real musicians shake their heads in disappointment while finishing off the last of the free keg beer. 

 This is Ebola.

This is Ebola.