Akron Family + These Arms Are Snakes // Neumo’s // 15 December 2006

These Arms Are Snakes have been together for something like three years, playing extensively, and touring like crazy, yet this is the first time that I’ve managed to get to one of their shows. I walk in late in their set, and they’re in full epic endgame mode. Lead singer Steve Snere’s shirt is unbuttoned as he flails frantically around the stage. Screaming, crawling on the floor, throwing himself fully into the music, he’s pure performance. Later, everything gets quiet when he steps out of the spotlight and mumble-narrates, bent over, occasionally smashing beer bottles into a bin.

It’s just a short interlude before their finale. The spectacle is saturated with danger. Meters of mic cords are looped around his neck between lyrical explosions. As if this isn’t enough, the ladder into the sound booth becomes a part of the makeshift pyrotechnics. Steve strands the crew in the loft and sets it up mid-stage so that he can climb above the rest of the band and have a better look at the audience. He seems to deem them suitable for crowd-surfing, stepping down from his perch to throw himself back into their adoring arms.

The pairing with Akron/Family seemed mismatched, yet admirably eclectic. Between bands, the audience churns over as Michael Jackson hits blare over the speakers. A chance to launch into their set at the moment “Billie Jean” ends is missed.

I’d always wondered exactly what an Akron/Family show looked like. Contrary to previous reports, they spend most of the show on their feet, rather than sitting comfortably on stools. The way it goes is pretty much like this: manic chanting gives way to a wall of sound built from three guitars, a pounding drum set, slide whistles, multi-part harmonies, and occasional ivory recorders. Later, singsongy melodies take over for a few measures and various band members seem to become overtaken by spirits. Shuffle, lather, rinse, repeat. Someone holds up a sign saying that they, too, went to Thai Tom for dinner, getting a laugh out of the band.


It takes a few songs, but eventually I notice that through it all, a kid stands in the shadows shaking a maraca. Blank-eyed and overwhelmed, the acolyte maintains a stony face while keeping time. It turns out that his name is Tyler and it’s his birthday. A rousing chorus of the birthday song is elicited from the audience, complimented by silly string attacks and confetti popper explosions.

At times, watching the show feels like an exercise in endurance. Between the previously-described song structures, there is a fifteen-minute instrumental free-jam breakdown. The converts in the audience — bearded, wearing heavy eyeglasses, and fuzzy hats — seem more into it than I am. Yet, I was too curious to see what would come next, if these primitive hymns would spark a new revival, whether the tribal fusion breaks would turn revelatory. They certainly sorted out the true believers. As it comes to its not entirely inevitable conclusion, we hear “That’s our new album performed in it’s entirety.” Although I want to believe, and even though I’m not transported to new planes of existence, it’s still worth noting: wow.

They play a few older songs (but not “Running, Returning”, disappointing me but sparing my eyes) and then recruit their families and other audience members to join them onstage. The Chinese River Dolphin has gone the way of the dinosaur [nyt]. Driven to extinction by pollution and a billion people’s need for hydro-electric power, it has gone extinct. To commemorate its passing into the annals of zoological history, they pay it tribute with a show-ending spectacular. More of the chanting and instrumental marathons multiplied by several makeshift tinsel streamers, freestyle amateur tamborining help them lead us into space riding on the backs of mystical dolphins. Yes, it was all weird and challenging, but kind of worth seeing, too.