Cole Berggren; Milkspiller; Rubber Band Gun
Launderette Records
3142 Richmond St.
Philadelphia
November 22, 2025
Before we begin: I think everyone should read this article. Well-written, thoughtful and heartfelt, and on top of all that, informative! These days I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means when we think of the “health” of the “music industry” and how when we talk about “music” what we’re really talking about, the bulk of the time, is “recordings." The only ways we’ve found to monetize an event, a moment in time, are 1) to charge admission and 2) to document it and sell (or rent, if we’re being real about what streaming is) that document. Blah blah. The point is: I think that recordings are great, but shows – especially small ones – are great in a way that remains relatively independent, relatively uncorrupted, and that’s mostly what I’m here to write about. Is it too drastic, or stupid (or merely too soon?) to say that recorded music, as we know it, is over? Yeah, probably. All I can say is: if I had to choose between a world without shows or a world without records, I think I’d lose the records. The map is not the territory.
Now. Back to indie rock. People have written think-pieces about why people do or don’t dance at shows for as long as there have been think-pieces. It’s a debate that’ll never get settled because it’s a total case-by-case thing. (That’s art, baby.) I bring it up only because it crossed my mind at the gig, the peculiar indie-rock-show phenomenon of people standing around like they’re on the fucking trolley. Generally, if I’m standing for a long time at a show, I’d like the music to provide physical excitation, and if it’s more of a heady thing, I’d rather be sitting comfortably. I actually like being uncomfortable at a show to a degree; ever since I was a teenager I’ve loved the physicality of a crowd surging toward a stage, the rush and the blur of energies. You just don't want to be too uncomfortable and uninterested.
I considered all this stuff while making idle conversation with friends and acquaintances at the back of Launderette, while Rubber Band Gun – duo mode, with mastermind Kevin Basko on baritone electric guitar and drum machine and singing, Emily Moales on keyboard and singing – set up, doing some deep gardener squats (flat-footed! I’m told this makes me a physical freak?), trying to stay limber on par with my eagerness. I was eager because I love RBG. (Full disclosure: they’re friends of mine.) Maybe this is very dad-rock of me, and after all, a lot of RGB’s musical sensibilities skew retro (old analog drum machine? check; bluesy bends and tape-y wow and flutter and lo-fi bossa nova and swinging phrasing? check, check, check, check) but I loved how effortlessly Basko and Moales got the room tapping their feet and swaying and bobbing their heads, winning new converts.
The duo mostly played songs from Record Deal with God, Haters and Lovers, and Zero Love Songs, those first two released earlier this year. Basko’s one of our most prolific record-makers. He writes catchy, pithy, downright fun songs fully steeped in rock ‘n roll and AOR-era Rock and Pop classicism. The music was too subdued to get the room full-on dancing, but there was only low-level timidity among the audience; the people were still drawn out of their shells, thank god. If I saw this sold-out crowd, packed together tight, waiting for the trolley on Baltimore and 45th, collectively swaying like that with their hands in their pockets and smiling, I’d be like, I don’t know where y’all are going, but take me with you.
Basko returned later to play bass with Cole Berggren’s band. Berggren’s a consummate pro – he plays keys and banjo with Waxahatchee’s touring outfit, and I’ve seen him shred on stage with the likes of Bonny Doon and MJ Lenderman – and it was a joy to see him fronting a rock combo. The magnificence of their sound was the way the guitars rang and clanged and flashed and sliced through the air. The Springsteen lyric about “guitars just like switchblades” came to mind, and frankly there was a bit of a vintage E Street quality to it (particularly when Berggren and lead guitarist Fabi Mera went twin-Telecasters-mode, but also whenever Berggren switched to piano, which he plays with steamy swagger). The rhythm section – Basko, and Ian Lydon on drums – was holding it down, working up a lather, building up in dynamics but never overwhelming, neutering or even dulling the guitars. Too often, ham-fisted drumming is like a sonic demagogue, taking up too much real estate, devouring the clarity of everything else, making it sound all pre-chewed; this band had a real strength-in-numbers approach. Everything was crystal clear, but gritty and warm.
And the room got warm! We were all shedding layers as Berggren’s band shredded; he laughed between songs, “It’s way warmer than I was expecting.” Winter sucks, and it’s not even winter yet! Loved that we all came out and sold this show out, tossing sweaters onto stacks of vinyl, and probably burning some calories from moving and grooving. (And squatting, if you’re me.)
