Hobble

Hobble

Room 710, Wednesday, March 12 It is indeed a great jolt to the system to go from a Jeff "Skunk" Baxter guitar clinic to a Hobble show. One of the pet peeves elucidated by the former Steely Dan/Doobie Brothers guitarist at his SXSW workshop is using loudness as a crutch. Perhaps Austin's Hobble is guilty as charged, with their ear-splitting amps and blood-curdling screams, but the fact they're swinging that crutch directly at your head like a horny psychopath makes it all forgivable. Hobble is one of the most exciting acts to emerge from the Room 710 hard rock armada, and the local quartet delivered a hyperactive, scorched-earth showcase Wednesday night. Front and center in the Hobble arsenal is vocalist Oriah Lonsdale. For starters, the man-child was dressed resplendently in orange Chuck Taylors, striped tube socks, and black shorts. The group began with a twang-laden death metal spiel about gay cowboys. Lonsdale, meanwhile, flailed about the stage in spasmodic fits, occasionally jogging in place or falling to the ground. Once he gets going, Lonsdale looks like a cross between a young Iggy Pop and Jackie Earle Haley playing Moocher in Breaking Away. Only instead of racing in the Little 500, Lonsdale and his posse unleash their pent-up tensions in the form of a viscous, humid concoction of punk, metal, and hardcore. Next to the diminutive Lonsdale, the rest of Hobble appeared extra burly. Bearded, longhaired guitarist Mike Flaten played with studied, militaristic intensity, while clean-cut bassist Tom Ballantine contorted his frame every which way and provided comic relief between songs. "Excuse me," said Lonsdale before sipping from a bottle, "I must partake of my elixir." "That's urine from homeless people, folks," deadpanned Ballantine. As the set wore on, Lonsdale ripped off his shirt and serenaded the crowd from the Room 710 bar before hopping on Ballantine's shoulders for a piggyback ride. If Hobble can distill this energy into their upcoming second album, we're all in for quite a romp.