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Gonzo Report: Dread and joy with The Ophelias at The Music Box
The band functions more as a collective than as a group of individuals.
The Ophelias' singer Spencer Peppet in Hell is Empty.
“I developed into a bit of a shut-in during Covid,” Kayla tells me outside of The Music Box in Little Italy. “Then I transitioned, and the nerves were amplified. But when the ad for this show came up, I didn’t even think, just bought the tickets.” Kayla is here to see Ezra Furman and is unfamiliar with the opening band, The Ophelias. But she figures if Ms. Furman is cool with them, they must be good. And, just as important, in line with Furman’s values of equality, pride and safety for the LGBTQ community. Kayla is first in line and enters immediately when the doors open, hoping to get a good spot in front. A man named Mike wears a black T-shirt with the iconic image of a missile lodged in the moon's face from the 1902 film A Trip to the Moon. It takes me a second to realize it’s a shirt from a band called Idles, which he recommends. I recommend the film Hugo because the story of A Trip to the Moon drives the Scorsese film.
I head to the smoking area to wait for Ophelias guitarist/singer Spencer Peppet to text me for a video interview. A patron named Ashley is sitting in the area, but I never ever see her smoking. That’s cool. I smoke enough for both of us. It turns out she just felt like getting out, and doesn’t know anything about the bands playing, having just learned their names from me. She tells me her pronouns, and I call her dude a few times, like I call everyone, catching myself. She gives a small smile and says it’s San Diego and that’s just the vernacular, thanking me for asking her pronouns to begin with. I’m getting a lot of that tonight, the thanking, reminding me that not everyone will ask about or respect them. Peppet texts me and invites me to the upstairs area for the interview. There’s some hesitation on security’s part — something about needing to get a supervisor to let me up there — so we just chat on the patio, with Ashley joining in a bit before Peppet collects her bandmates for the night’s performance.
Within minutes of The Ophelias taking the stage, the crowd grows denser. The majority are hearing them for the first time, but the support and applause grow as they sing songs about the death of platonic love, Salome (the Biblical figure), and confusing undiagnosed OCD with premonitions. I'm struck by a line from their song “Becoming a Nun” that says, “I’ll see you in 25 destructive years.” The band functions more as a collective than as a group of individuals. Bassist Jo Shaffer, a former classical guitarist, doesn’t just fill the spaces. She creates a link between drummer/co-founder Mic Adams, and a bridge to violinist Hannah MacNeil’s haunting notes and guitarist Tori Hall’s alternating bites and textures, her bass vibrato creating an ambience reminiscent of Bauhaus’ David J. They project a feeling of togetherness and camaraderie, each shining but never diminishing the others. Still, Peppet commands attention whether playing the guitar or holding a microphone — often far away from her mouth, because the power of her voice demands it. I’m reluctant to make a comparison for such a unique group, but I can’t help but think of Alanis Morissette a few times. It’s the power, and the way Peppet moves like she’s possessed, both seemingly at oods with her quiet speaking voice.
I check out enough of Furman’s set from inside the venue to inspire an exploration of her music in the coming days. But when Peppet verifies that the line about 25 destructive years is a Twin Peaks reference, my nerd-in with The Ophelias commences on the smoking patio, along with Ashley. I was right in seeing them as a collective, as many members do things together outside of music. Shaffer directed a horror film called Hell is Empty; Peppet acted in it. She mentions it because of her and Peppet’s love for the 1976 version of Carrie. When I remark that the title character’s mother (an Oscar-nominated performance by Piper Laurie) was the most horrifying aspect of the film, she brightens visibly and says that the character in her film was a riff on Carrie’s psycho mommy. Later, when I pull up Hell is Empty on Tubi — ready with the healthy dose of skepticism that’s part of being a horror fan — I’m pleasantly surprised to find she nailed it, and that the direction is reminiscent of a '70s documentary.
A shirt I spy that says something to the effect of “I saw The Ophelias and All I Got Was an Overwhelming Sense of Dread” makes me chuckle. Not because it’s catchy, but because I feel an overwhelming sense of joy. I’m happy Kayla bought the tickets and broke her shut-in cycle. I’m happy that I found a few new bands to check out. I’m happy that Ashley and I were able to chat. And I’m happy that a band writes songs with depth and intelligence without sacrificing raw emotion.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Gonzo Report: Dread and joy with The Ophelias at The Music Box
The band functions more as a collective than as a group of individuals.
Gonzo Report: Dread and joy with The Ophelias at The Music Box
The band functions more as a collective than as a group of individuals.
The Ophelias' singer Spencer Peppet in Hell is Empty.
“I developed into a bit of a shut-in during Covid,” Kayla tells me outside of The Music Box in Little Italy. “Then I transitioned, and the nerves were amplified. But when the ad for this show came up, I didn’t even think, just bought the tickets.” Kayla is here to see Ezra Furman and is unfamiliar with the opening band, The Ophelias. But she figures if Ms. Furman is cool with them, they must be good. And, just as important, in line with Furman’s values of equality, pride and safety for the LGBTQ community. Kayla is first in line and enters immediately when the doors open, hoping to get a good spot in front. A man named Mike wears a black T-shirt with the iconic image of a missile lodged in the moon's face from the 1902 film A Trip to the Moon. It takes me a second to realize it’s a shirt from a band called Idles, which he recommends. I recommend the film Hugo because the story of A Trip to the Moon drives the Scorsese film.
I head to the smoking area to wait for Ophelias guitarist/singer Spencer Peppet to text me for a video interview. A patron named Ashley is sitting in the area, but I never ever see her smoking. That’s cool. I smoke enough for both of us. It turns out she just felt like getting out, and doesn’t know anything about the bands playing, having just learned their names from me. She tells me her pronouns, and I call her dude a few times, like I call everyone, catching myself. She gives a small smile and says it’s San Diego and that’s just the vernacular, thanking me for asking her pronouns to begin with. I’m getting a lot of that tonight, the thanking, reminding me that not everyone will ask about or respect them. Peppet texts me and invites me to the upstairs area for the interview. There’s some hesitation on security’s part — something about needing to get a supervisor to let me up there — so we just chat on the patio, with Ashley joining in a bit before Peppet collects her bandmates for the night’s performance.
Within minutes of The Ophelias taking the stage, the crowd grows denser. The majority are hearing them for the first time, but the support and applause grow as they sing songs about the death of platonic love, Salome (the Biblical figure), and confusing undiagnosed OCD with premonitions. I'm struck by a line from their song “Becoming a Nun” that says, “I’ll see you in 25 destructive years.” The band functions more as a collective than as a group of individuals. Bassist Jo Shaffer, a former classical guitarist, doesn’t just fill the spaces. She creates a link between drummer/co-founder Mic Adams, and a bridge to violinist Hannah MacNeil’s haunting notes and guitarist Tori Hall’s alternating bites and textures, her bass vibrato creating an ambience reminiscent of Bauhaus’ David J. They project a feeling of togetherness and camaraderie, each shining but never diminishing the others. Still, Peppet commands attention whether playing the guitar or holding a microphone — often far away from her mouth, because the power of her voice demands it. I’m reluctant to make a comparison for such a unique group, but I can’t help but think of Alanis Morissette a few times. It’s the power, and the way Peppet moves like she’s possessed, both seemingly at oods with her quiet speaking voice.
I check out enough of Furman’s set from inside the venue to inspire an exploration of her music in the coming days. But when Peppet verifies that the line about 25 destructive years is a Twin Peaks reference, my nerd-in with The Ophelias commences on the smoking patio, along with Ashley. I was right in seeing them as a collective, as many members do things together outside of music. Shaffer directed a horror film called Hell is Empty; Peppet acted in it. She mentions it because of her and Peppet’s love for the 1976 version of Carrie. When I remark that the title character’s mother (an Oscar-nominated performance by Piper Laurie) was the most horrifying aspect of the film, she brightens visibly and says that the character in her film was a riff on Carrie’s psycho mommy. Later, when I pull up Hell is Empty on Tubi — ready with the healthy dose of skepticism that’s part of being a horror fan — I’m pleasantly surprised to find she nailed it, and that the direction is reminiscent of a '70s documentary.
A shirt I spy that says something to the effect of “I saw The Ophelias and All I Got Was an Overwhelming Sense of Dread” makes me chuckle. Not because it’s catchy, but because I feel an overwhelming sense of joy. I’m happy Kayla bought the tickets and broke her shut-in cycle. I’m happy that I found a few new bands to check out. I’m happy that Ashley and I were able to chat. And I’m happy that a band writes songs with depth and intelligence without sacrificing raw emotion.
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