Red With Envy & Inflatable Supermodel

After a long, sun-scorched weekend of relocating piles of household debris from a wrecked college house to a slightly less wrecked college apartment, the only three things I wanted in life were a cold shower, 16 hours of sleep and maybe a rock show featuring two crazy local bands. I guess sometimes you do get what you want.
Inflatable Supermodel experienced a short delay while lead singer Joe Manente procured his trademark pitcher of water, during which the rest of the band diddled around with an off-the-cuff tune spontaneously dubbed “Joe is a Bitch.” Once the entire band was on the stage and the pitcher was dumped over Manente’s head, though, the fan was on and the shit was flung.
It’s becoming unnecessary to say that Inflatable Supermodel put on a good set, but for the record, it was a weekday night during the summer, and they managed to fill the entire dance floor with dancing, moshing or just head-bobbing hipsters, including one guy in the front who seemed to have more than a healthy respect for Manente’s knees. Guitarist Zach Theiss was either pounding out manic punk riffs or manic ska riffs, and drummer Matt Eckhardt, who, it was announced, will soon be drumming for Socially Pink, attacked the kit like a true Ritalin freak.
Manente’s singing overpowered even the pounding bass, and never faltered even as he periodically jumped into the crowd to roll around on the floor (it was during one of these offstage excursions that the previously mentioned guy in the front jumped on top of him), and generally produced more photo ops than could be handled by one guy with a slow reacting digital camera. And, of course, no Supermodel show would be complete without the artful self-stapling and subsequent onstage bleeding. I bought a shirt for the cause.
And if the Wednesday night turnout for Inflatable Supermodel was amazing, the turnout for local head-slamming outfit Red With Envy was straight up obnoxious, spilling into the pool room and spreading toward the rear doors. The band pulled off the only one-at-a-time stage entrance I’ve ever seen by a local band and proceeded to bludgeon the crowd with a metallic, distortion-infused sonic pimp-slap. The highly Greek-oriented crowd started moshing almost before the music started, and at least one cell phone was on the floor before the mayhem had even reached its full height.
Chavez Jarrett’s lead vocals ranged from melancholy wailing to rabid screaming, and drummer Nick Harris, who looked strangely Hulk-esque under the green stage lighting, busted an all-out flailing-arms attack that threatened to blast his kit off the stage. The guitar’s echoing, trancelike clean tone gave way to a sort of rude, unhealthy distortion, and the bass player, who would not stop moving even for one stupid picture, provided the finishing touches on one loud, metallic kick in the ass. Everyone left happy, if a little sore.

– words and photo by Peter Kimmich

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