OF NOVAS

Living in a half-breed of urban and rural life in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, the OF NOVAS, indentured servants of progressive rock, have finally fine-toothed their sound. Continuing the pre-show huddle with maybe praise to the higher powers that be, the now three-piece group, round their nerves to steel and embrace the meadowed crowd. First, the trio stands as droids; frequency high, elaborate noises begin to furl. Next thing you know, rock becomes roll, and deep within the guitar is a faint delusion that you may want to buckle your seat belt. After about seven minutes of pure jazz, jazz, jazz whispers Russ White, Hush, hush, hush. Cam Chiles brings in heart palpitations meant for mourning, the song then carries the bar even higher to the top for all those who thought the Mars Volta had a drummer good enough for pure rock. Each air pump of the bass drum sends anyone back to instead endure any thunderstorm that might happen to be waiting outside. Kyle Boshers rocks side to side and back and forth, cradling each bass line as it pours out into the bewildered crowd, just as acid rain left the skins of the ancients with a burning sensation in the groin. Each note gathers bringing forth emancipation of lost chord progressions and funk-rhythms. Next, the guitar screams some minor key into a Dirty Winter, the bass line reminiscent of disco halls, but without the cocaine and straight to the bathroom sex. Rearrange us, Rearrange us, Rearrange us in the sun, Russ saunters out as if hes catching up to the bad storm brooding over emasculate prairie fields. Dirty Winter is metal the way the Talking Heads might do it. The last song brings tears to the eyes of the audience so needy of great lyrics screamed with insanity. Now I see you I break, rumbles alone in the air until all instruments conglomerate with the intensity of a bear: thunder! Need I say more, Ive had better luck getting grandmas teeth back in her head than to make it out of this song alive? Cam brings forth monstrous rhythm section while Kyle rips out the Natives heart. Meanwhile, Russ springs off into the meadows of the audience with another penile-felt venture into the unknown notes of the world. The OF NOVAS is a bird flying over meadows to say its not water. Just as the Meat Puppets had to go back to the country, the OF NOVAS had to go back to the shantytowns to bring back the heart of punk with their blend of thinking mans philosophy shoveled right in with the mix. Imagine a world with no food coloring, getting wreck-less, or the OF NOVAS. You cant can you? (Written by Ken Lovett)body, div, p, strong, td, .text, .blacktext10, .blacktext12, a.searchlinkSmall, a.searchlinkSmall:link, a.searchlinkSmall:visited{ color:rgb(2,2,2);