Cootie Catcher, Fib, Nina Ryser, Mopar Stars
House Show
Philadelphia
March 7, 2026
The other day I was having coffee with a friend and they were asking me what the house show spots are in Philly these days; it’s always changing. I’m way out of touch by my standards, largely a factor of not living here for eight months last year, but, considering how old I am, way more on top of it than most. Even so, my Maps app is like a house show graveyard, dotted with the saved locations of a growing number of defunct house venues – Nacho House, Glitter Galaxy, Planet Phitness, The Haw Den, The Lizard Lounge, Shoemakers, Couchtown, Goo Lagoon, Cafe Blamp, Tralfamadore... the list goes on and on. Some places only did a show or two and still had a name. It’s always fun for me to pass by an old haunt and wonder if the new residents have any idea of the great shows their basement, living room, porch or backyard (or kitchen!) once hosted. (Of course there’s still plenty of spots going now, some long-running, and one thing about covering them is there’s a little bit of a conflict of interest; I want to document this thing – which, let’s face it, is being documented elsewhere too, in pictures and videos shared on social media – but I’m not going to reveal where the show was here. That part at least feels like it honors the fact that doing this at all is a scrappy thing that needs to be protected and concealed to a degree.)
Anyway: this was a stacked bill in my neighborhood, at a long-running house show venue I haven’t been to in a long time. Bands and onlookers alike packed into the home’s unfinished basement featuring laundry machines and exposed vents, cobwebs on the ceiling, PVC festooned with string lights, metal pipes sweating from condensation dripping on me and everyone else all night, moths occasionally flying around. And a surprisingly powerful PA that got the job done! Vocals were clearly audible all night. Nina Ryser – of the great band Palberta, among others – kicked things off with a set of songs she releases under her own name, joined by Lucas Knapp (of 2nd Grade, Hour, and many engineering and production credits) on bass and sampler. Ryser’s music is endearingly inventive, a heady and surprising blend of her inviting melodic intuition and her experimental weirdo-pop sensibilities; case in point, the relentless minimalism of “Why Do I Ask," a song the duo played from Ryser’s 2024 record Water Giants, its two-handed keyboard figure racing forward, mirroring the anxiety of its lyrics.
Next up was Mopar Stars, a rollicking, super-tight punk-pop combo with sugary hooks and genuine chops. “This is my first time using a capo, ever,” lead singer Nao Demand (unreal cool name, by the way) said a few times, to mostly-joking boos. There was a bit, for some reason, where people kept throwing empty tall boy cans at the band while they were playing (I asked my friend for confirmation after one hit me; “We’re too old to be smelling like stale beer at the gig!”) and something about their blend of punk energy and good-time-AOR-rock had me scratching my chin a little – like we could have just as easily been at a brewery, like being reminded of Toys That Kill and Rick Springfield at the same time – but mostly I was stoked at how catchy and musical they were, especially Bill Magerr’s perfect SG riffing and Evan Campbell’s lockstep, propulsive drumming. “Happy National Cereal Day! ... it’s real,” Magerr was kind enough to inform us between songs. I checked, it’s true!
The touring band from Toronto, Cootie Catcher, kept the energy up with a sound that was like a strange, smart blend of 90’s pop/rock production – complete with MIDI-controlled fake vinyl scratching – and twee and indie pop, all delivered with an amusing insouciance and several references to the Dickhead Consortium or the Dickhead Pavillion or the Dickhead Factory, I forget which. (And the requisite we-planned-no-banter mention of cheesesteaks.) I was hyped on their brand of electronica: triggered drums and samples and driving, nervy rhythms with melodies by turns bubblegum and snotty. I wish I’d gone into the set knowing the songs; with them, the proper mix of the album versions sells the music better than the limits of basement sound could.
Anyone who kept their energy up – whether artificially or perseveringly – for the show-closing Fib was rewarded: theirs was the most fun set of the night by far. (Especially the moment at the end where shirts came off and Black Sabbath covers took over and all hell broke loose.) I half-wondered in the ensuing mayhem if someone would be brave enough to try crowdsurfing in this shallow basement, mere seconds before it happened. Before they channeled Sabbath, Fib’s stuff was excellent post-punk, mathy and tricky, the spastic rhythms and clustered chords like dry, spicy fruit, bringing to mind Omni, Wire and Futureheads. Didn’t know Philly had a band like this, and didn’t know I needed it! They had winning bonhomie and showmanship, a dialed-in group that was forceful and playful and got the crowd to absolutely go off. It’d been a while since I had that much fun in a basement.
