Which came first: the chicken or the egg? Philosophical questions may seem like an unusual way to start a Friday night concert, but when asked by a man in a pink suit backed by seven guys in white jumpsuits, the questions seem relatively normal.
Little Brian is a 14-piece band from Austin, Texas, that includes a variety of guitars, keyboards, brass instruments and even a man in a chicken costume. When they swarmed the tiny stage of Hailey’s in Denton on Jan. 18, the band was most notable for its charmingly obnoxious stage presence that consisted of lighted spectacles, top hats, ski masks, pink boas, helmets and plastic axes.
By this time the whole crowd and I should have known this night was going to be anything but normal.
Little Brian started off with the funkadelic tune of “Animal Cruelty,” a body moving, foot grooving, lyricless blast back to the ’70s. Emphatic bass lines accompanied by harmonious trumpets resembled Sly and the Family Stone. “After I heard the first song, I thought I had Little Brian figured out,” said John-Michael Krakoski, a student at University of North Texas. “They were just crazy dudes who liked to jam out.”
However, as the set continued, even as early as the second song, the audience was once again cast in a fog of astonishment as to who Little Brian really was, or at least what they were trying to pull. The next song the band played was a mix of ska and funk with heavy metal breakdowns, the kind that make you head bang into full body bends. From that point on, there was only one way to even remotely describe this band: thrash funk.
“Thrash Funk,” also the title Little Brian’s only released album, is a melting pot of musical genres. The album ranges from bass-infused funk to brass-dominated ska and from intense metal breakdowns all the way back to pop punk riffs that you can gleefully jump around to.
For two hours, the energy of thrash funk engulfed Hailey’s inhabitants in what appeared as a musical feeding frenzy. Fans fled on stage, trombone players dove into the crowd and intoxicated women shook what their mommas gave ’em.
And just when things couldn’t get any crazier, Little Brian awakened the “Children of the Grave.” That’s right; they did a mind blowing, head banging cover of Black Sabbath followed by a cover of “The Ocean” by Led Zeppelin that left everyone swimming in sweat and excitement.
As I stood up straight and collected my thoughts for the first time in what must have been an hour, the commotion of the bar softened and the man in the pink suit (occupation: carnival barker) took to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen. I give you… Little Brian!” Unbeknownst to me, Little Brian was a person. Not an inanimate object or classification for a group of 14 musically talented men; he was a man with waist-long, curly hair in a matching white jumpsuit and ski mask.
For three minutes, Little Brian shred on his guitar almost past the point of what is humanly possible. It was the kind of shred that sends birds to flight and has hardcore kids questioning their idols. He rounded out his solo and the show with the brutal slaying of the chicken and a roar of applause.
When Hailey’s emptied that night, anyone who had witnessed the show had answered those philosophical questions. Which came first: the chicken or the egg? Who cares, let’s rock!
