77 Apes and A Former Friend
café nine
New Haven
Feb. 4, 2026
Two striking elements set the bands 77 Apes and A Former Friend apart: a female drummer and a flutist. You don’t see that often at a rock show. The musicians brought dynamic force and texture to their bands, making it a thrill to watch them rock out on Wednesday night at café nine.
A Former Friend, hailing from New London, opened the show with a hazy blues song about a broken love, the wash of blue-purple stage lights adding to the mood. The flute’s undulating notes deepened the song’s wistfulness. Their set moved fluidly between jaunty and syrupy, pulling from their albums This Television Will Not Be Revolutionized, Just a Former Friend, and Songs of Dubious Persuasion. The piercing flute, played with finesse by Amanda J. Crawford, propelled the four-piece band and served as an airy counterpoint to lead singer Toby Fatzinger’s ocean-deep voice.
Fatzinger described the band’s Americana Gothic sound as born in Arizona and raised in Kentucky. You can hear it in the Southwestern twang to some of the songs. If you ever find yourself facing an outlaw in a spaghetti western-style duel, play the shadowy “The Devil From Laredo” as your soundtrack.
Crawford and Fatzinger have been playing and singing together for nearly two decades. A Former Friend emerged in 2016 out of what Fatzinger described as a “looming apocalypse” (read: Trump). The band sees their purpose as “speaking truth to power.” Hence, the cheeky “If You Love Me (You Won’t Move Me to Texas)” with lyrics that draw a firm boundary between affection and political compromise.
Believe me when I say/ If you love me/ You won’t move me to Texas/
I’d sooner be moved to tears/ Darling I won’t be messed with/ You don’t really wanna go there do you dear
It’s safe to say we know where A Former Friend’s politics lie. As they sang “Whole,” a song about helping someone develop conviction, they slipped in a blunt “Fuck ICE!”
That sentiment was echoed by the New Haven-based musically eclectic band 77 Apes – and it wasn’t just empty talk.
Wednesday night was their birthday show. The band was formed on café nine’s stage three years ago to the date. The only “gifts” they requested of show attendees were non-perishable items to donate to the nonprofit Integrated Refugee & Immigrant Services (IRIS).
“We want to share. We want to care,” said lead singer Gary Aronsen. Last year, 77 Apes released the EP Shout Fight Sing Cry Dance Love, selling it to support IRIS following their steep budget cuts. The album’s cover features each word from the title translated to Spanish and Arabic.
Aronsen explained that “Intoxicate” from the EP is about “looking for freedom in America but finding it at the bottom of a bottle.” Melancholic guitar chords reflecting the bleakness of the subject matter started the song, but the chords quickly ratcheted up to a speedy mariachi-like rhythm that perhaps mirrors the crazed feeling of living in these times. Aronsen’s raspy voice conveyed despair as he sang, All alone I reach for the glass/for one more drink/just to get through the night.
77 Apes’ set wasn’t all hopelessness and doom. Aronsen was in full rock star mode with stylishly slicked back hair (though it still flew when he headbanged) and sunglasses. His ease on the stage was palpable. In one amped-up moment, he jumped off the stage with his guitar to perform in the crowd. Watching him, you got the sense that this is a performer. Aronsen’s powerful voice tore through songs about love, perseverance, religion, New York City, and even the legendary Connecticut Melon Heads.
The band moved easily through rock, funk, soul, and everything in between, mixing originals with covers spanning decades. Drummer Lisa Tonner’s sticks were a blur throughout as she locked in the pummeling rhythms, acting as both anchor and instigator. Karen Carpenter would have been proud.
As the night wound down, 77 Apes delivered a solemn cover of Neil Young’s 1970s-era protest song “Ohio,” made famous by Crosby, Stills and Nash.
Gotta get down to it/ Soldiers are gunning us down/ Should have been done long ago
“It’s fucked up that we’re singing this song again,” Aronsen remarked. His rasp turned to a shriek as he added, “Fuck you ICE and all of your kind! Don’t you know you won’t survive?”
Sound was solidarity last night. 77 Apes and A Former Friend treated café nine’s stage as a site of communion where joy, anger, generosity, and resistance could coexist without dilution. Music still matters.
To find out where 77 Apes and A Former Friend will be next, visit their websites at 77apes.com and justaformerfriend.com.
