The Lyric Oxford

C Spire Tech Experience ft. Passion Pit

C Spire Tech Experience ft. Passion Pit

The Weeks, The Lonely Biscuits

Thu, April 27, 2017

Doors: 7:00 pm / Show: 8:00 pm (event ends at 11:55 pm)


Tickets to be picked up on the day of the show at The Pavilion.

For more information, visiit

Passion Pit
Passion Pit
To Whom It May Concern,

Go back to the beginning of Passion Pit, because we have never left that time. Rewind. Musicians are tuning up in the orchestra pit at the Met. This is too close to now, but this sound is important. Rewind further back. A group of kindergarteners run and shout on a playground. We have gone too far in the past, but this sound is also important. These are sounds that will percolate through Michael Angelakos' pop project.

Now it is 2007, Boston. This is it. The right then. Michael sits
with a laptop in his apartment. He is in college and 19, filled
with excitement and frustration, happiness and dread. Like we all are then and now. He is making pop songs. Pop with two capital Ps and a big O. Pop songs for his friends to dance and party to. He pours these feelings into these songs. This is Passion Pit. From the very beginning, this is the purpose of Passion Pit, to make his friends feel good. Through the process, he inadvertently discovered something else. These feel-good songs were a strong and easy vessel for stashing his insecurities and emotions. And this is the duality of Passion Pit.

Jump to 2014. Michael is bouncing around in a music studio. The music he has made is blaring over the monitors, a looped
sample of religious chanting, sped up into a swirl until it sounds like children in a schoolyard. Drums boom, like timpanis in the orchestra pit. He is singing over the top, as if on stage, pacing and jumping as if he were performing, making up melodies and lyrics on the fly. Chris Zane and Alex Aldi, coRE: KINDRED producers and engineers, watch in the control room, waiting for Michael to break through with the right melody. This is
how Kindred is written. "Every other time you set out to make a masterpiece, you never do," Michael says. "This time I just wanted to make a good record."

Ask Michael and he will tell you that Passion Pit is a character, this 19-year-old him with his back against the wall, his life a blur. He slips back into this skin to deal with all the things that he wasn't able to deal with then. He slips back to investigate the dark memories that he has never gotten over. "I keep going back to this," he says. "Sometimes I don't want to, but you have to for Passion Pit."

This time, slipping back in, life was not so blurry. The music that poured out of him became more simple and clear. He finally had fun making this record. It made him laugh, more than anything else in his life. He played with pop-song tropes he had previously found annoying—sing-along choruses, even Auto-Tune—to make them not-annoying by exaggerating them, inverting them, scrambling them in typical Passion Pit fashion. The new songs are direct and color saturated, like films from the '50s. Songcraft was crucial. Just cut the bullshit and write a good song, he told himself. Though this being Passion Pit, nothing is ever so simple. This is complicated minimalism, meticulous construction built around unfettered vulnerability. In taking a shortcut, Michael inevitably ends up on the scenic route.

The lyrics bundle universal truths of everyday life, dressed
up and performed like a musical. Michael's falsetto machetes through the flowers of keyboards, vines of loops, and thorns of hooks to the front and center. There is a newfound, brazen sensuality that allows us to slip into his body with him. "Pop is certainly an art form, but it's also a really powerful platform," he says. "Instead of going on Twitter or sharing everything on social media, I just make music."

The timeline of Passion Pit is like zooming out on a pixelated
image. Chunk of Change is a few basic shapes of bright primary
colors. Zoom out to Gossamer. An overloaded impressionist field
of a thousand dots. Zoom out even further to Kindred. The big picture has come into focus. We have been looking at a
family portrait all along.

Kindred is an album about family. Not blood relations, but the community of friends we build for ourselves. This is our family. "I've gone through my entire damn life feeling like I can't connect with a single person, but always wanting to so badly," Michael says. You dive deeper and deeper, the world gets darker, then what you finally realize is everyone else is down there in the dark too. We are alone, but alone together.

Brent DiCrescenzo
The Weeks
The Weeks
"If my Southern heart's still pumping blood/I'll bury my money in the mighty Mississippi mud," sings The Weeks' Cyle Barnes on Dear Bo Jackson's "Brother In The Night." "If my Southern lungs won't let me breathe/I'll wait for the cicadas and I'll let 'em push it out for me."

With that powerful verse, The Weeks stake a claim as heirs to the timeless tradition of Southern rock. Dear Bo Jackson, the Nashville-based band's Serpents and Snakes debut, sees them enriching their already well-seasoned sonic stew with the classic flavors of soul, R&B, funk, and heavy boogie to fashion a forward-facing sound all their own. Big brass, lush strings, and twangy pedal steel have been fused into their distinctive sludge pop, with Sam Williams' greasy guitars and the highly charged engine room of bassist Damien Bone and drummer/Cyle's brother Cain Barnes. Throughout the album, songs like the aforementioned "Brother In The Night" and the exuberant title track see Cyle Barnes rending his throat raw as he testifies dramatic and truthful tales of modern Southern lives, always full of hope despite often punishing circumstances.

"The South is a different beast than the rest of the world," he says. "We've all been aged and worn in a very fine way because of it. I think even if we didn't want to write about the South, it'd still come out in our songs."

Born and raised in Jackson, Mississippi, The Weeks came together in 2006 and instantly came to define the sound of Southern Rock in the 21st Century – their grunge-powered, high-octane anthems rich with a bottomless Delta soul far deeper than the boys' teenage years would suggest. Like any great rock 'n' roll outfit worth its salt, The Weeks played as often as humanly possible, with countless club dates across the Southeast and tours alongside such like-minded acts as Local H, North Mississippi Allstars, and the one and only Meat Puppets. Their extraordinary energy and outsized performances – not to mention a series of well-received independently issued releases – earned them a fervent fan following and ultimately, a deal with the like-minded Serpents and Snakes Records.

By summer 2010, it had become clear that sleepy Jackson could no longer contain the mighty Weeks. The band left their old Mississippi home for the bright lights of Nashville, and, as Williams says, "it's been non-stop ever since." Serpents and Snakes reissued the band's second full-length outing, Gutter Gaunt Gangster, earning them reams of national applause, including naming the collection among its top 10 "Outstanding 2012 Albums You Might Have Missed."

Where that album – like all The Weeks' previous recordings – was recorded fast and on the cheap, the band opted to take a more leisurely tack in making its follow-up. They spent six months at pre-production, resulting the most fully articulated demos of their career. When time came to record the album proper, their search for a producer led them to Paul Moak, a Grammy Award-nominated producer/engineer/mixer and perhaps most importantly, a fellow Jacksonian.

Our shoes are tattered and torn, but our feet are dry. As for our places in history, we will run naked through your streets before we sit decorated in your halls.
The Lonely Biscuits
The Lonely Biscuits are an alternative rock band hailing from Nashville, Tennessee. The band is comprised of Grady Wenrich (vocals, guitar), Sam Gidley (drums), and Nick Byrd (bass). The Lonely Biscuits formed in August 2011 at Belmont University, where Grady Wenrich and Sam Gidley were roommates. Bassist Nick Byrd lived on the same floor and joined the band in January 2012. 
The Lonely Biscuits first started gaining attention on college campuses around the country, while they were still students themselves. The last four years the band has been headlining small clubs across the U.S. and opening for other national touring acts.
Venue Information:
The Lyric Oxford
1006 Van Buren Ave.
Oxford, MS, 38655