Three Imaginary Girls

Seattle's Indie-Pop Press – Music Reviews, Film Reviews, and Big Fun

Cober. What can I say about Cober? "It's hard to get over a woman with that low of a vocal range," said April, our visiting imaginary girl friend.

You could definitely say that. Then I thought: perhaps that's part of the point; you're not supposed to get over this band easily, like a malingering broken heart for some twisted, unworthy soul from your past who you just can't shake. It thunders and booms and it remains. Is that good? Is it bad? Does it matter? It just is. It's Cober.

Frontman Sheila Bommakanti has a voice to intimidate. Dark and low, lower than you would think possible, and loud, dark, brooding, direct. It's powerful. It's nothing I would ordinarily choose to listen to at home… well, maybe unless I were in a really bad mood, or really wanted to intimidate my neighbors. But it's definitely interesting. Definitely unique. Ponderous. I was frightened, yet intrigued.

Sounds like? Think heavy metal with a bronzed-gothic edge. Concrete Blonde. The Damned. April suggested that her vocals sounded like 16 Horsepower.

I heard driving bass, pounding through my foamy earplug protection, with simple repetitive guitar chords floating through. They resonate like sullen heartache. It's like grunge's dark bastard step-daughter who sulks in her room. With her guitar. And, according to their web site, her mandolin and her harpsichord. Hmm, didn't hear any of that during my five or so song listening stint. Too bad…

{aside: it was at this point that it became crucial to get french fries. My first thought: Oh god, I am spending *way* too much time at Graceland if I am now taking to eating here. My second thought: my GOD these are great fries! Fresh rosemary, and thyme, and cumin? Who knew they took such culinary pride? But anyhoo…}