Lock Up Your Daughters: The Yelling is Coming to Town
While standing underneath the glowing chandeliers of Crash Mansion, I felt all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in unison. That voice. It was a voice that conjured up images of hard liquor, drag races, sex, bar fights, and young kids sneaking out at night. The voice of Nathaniel Cox makes you want to rip off your shirt and worship the Devil…in a good way. Cox, the lead singer of the Yelling, came alive as soon as his fingertips grasped the microphone. This well-mannered young man, whom I had met earlier nursing a Pabst Blue Ribbon, had transformed himself into a wiry rock god.
Backed up by the murderous guitars of Robert Davis, whose style was obviously heavily influenced by Led Zeppelin’s Jimmy Page. The crowd, which for the most part ignored this young band when they took the stage, had their hair blown back by heavy thudding blues with all the power and tenderness of a tidal wave. Like a raw nerve, Chris McKee provided the pulsing bass that provided a throbbing backbone to this wall of sound, the hair covering his face making him look darkly brooding, the way a bass player should. On the drums, stripped to the waist, a wild haired, South African Michael Hilewitz kept a beat that made itself felt in every fiber of your being. I stood there stunned. These young men had found that same gorgeous illicit raw feeling of rock n roll and created it in their own image. And by God what an image it was.