Evil Sword (‘SKIT SPLIT’ album release), Kilynn Lunsford, Nina Ryser
Ruba Club
416 Green St.
Philadelphia
April 3, 2026
Self-described as “Philadelphia's preeminent papier-mâché rock band” – and described to me by friends as “kind of a Philly institution” – the visionary outfit Evil Sword transformed the live room at Ruba Club last night. Evil Sword, unbeknownst to me pre-show, is a long-running group that’s contained many members over the years but these days is whittled down to Kate Ferencz (vocals, percussion, blasts of trumpet and whistle) and Ben Furgal (electric bass, vocals). And this was no ordinary show: celebrating the release of The Skit Split, a new collaborative album with the New Orleans puppeteer Miss Pussycat, the performance was elaborately theatrical and fun as fuck. Picture homemade costumes and props, songs made up of unpretentiously elaborate schoolyard-chant-y insouciance, loud clanging kitchen percussion and metal bowls flying all over the place (I wore one that came my way as a silly helmet for a spell, for kicks, but also maybe subconsciously for protection…). Picture a giant wish-granting rock that spits out a childish prince prone to destructive acts. (Shouts out to Holden Linton in the role of prince, reprising the deeply-satisfying, cathartic antics we’ve covered here previously.) Imagine the Poncili Creación brothers if they were the Lost Boys in Hook weaned on the No New York compilation and you’re within spitting distance of just how immensely colorful the vibe was. (Which I hope gets across the point that you truly had to be there. Get to the gig!)
I didn’t know Kate Ferencz was involved in the project; I’m a fan of their solo work, but this was somehow my first time consciously seeing them perform. Ferencz commanded the stage with wide-eyed ferocity, childlike abandon, and a vocal style that brought to mind many favorite performers, like Sue Tompkins and Lydia Lunch. As crazy-imaginative and committed as the whole production was – down to the costumes, puppetry and narrative, something to do with a talking rock that grants wishes – the musicianship could have stood on its own: Ferencz’s wild rhythmic delivery and the interplay, along with Furgal’s batshit inventive bass playing (scratching the wound metal with picks and fingernails, chunky string rakes, big broad gnarly riffs, and saving the two-handed tapping for the finale) had enough showmanship and industriousness to rival bands with many, many more members.
I have to talk a little about the band that played right before them. Kilynn Lunsford – a four-piece of guitars, keyboards, drums and bass, with Lunsford in the center – had a snarling, thrilling, inexhaustible momentum that totally bewitched, bewildered and bothered me. The music was all over the place: insanely tight, HARD-hitting syncopated drumming, emphatic bass that was often slapped and always slap-happy, cacophonous six-string freakouts and wicked vocals pushed through constantly-fiddled-with delay throws, all enhanced with visual stagecraft, incredible strutting and mean-mugging and air-punching tenacity. It was freaky throughout, really, but also hard-driving and rhythmic, taking at least one lesson from Sonic Youth (Steve Shelley’s really the key to making the whole thing work). Speaking of SY, I couldn’t help thinking, watching them, “This is like the perfect Night Music band that somehow never existed until now?!” I thought of Pere Ubu, Lounge Lizards, Butthole Surfers, DNA, Teenage Jesus… basically I was completely enamored. Especially when the lead guitarist – looking like a real Texan punk, tall as hell with a cowboy hat and clad in dark red and black – played a whole song banging out chords with a stainless steel whisk. You should have seen my shit-eating grin. What a show, man. Mad inspiring, bold-and-brash brain moves throughout the night.
