Close at the heels of national recognition due in no small part to their new record deal with big dog Warner Brothers and an growing penchant for sleeker style glam-pomp, Foxy Shazam returns (well, close enough) to their home-town Covington, KY to play the Mad Hatter. After some pleasant but rather innocuous openers the mustachioed lead singer Eric Nally and the rest of Foxy Shazam (all seeming to sport equally eccentric coiffures) took the stage, poised to command and conquer.
FZ is a favorite in the Cincinnati area, having molded a local fan-base here who seem (regrettably?) eager on bidding them bon voyage to the small clubs and corner stages and up to the midsize venues, and it seemed all too obvious that Nally & Co. have outgrown these venues. Opening with “Yes, Yes, Yes,” and “Rocketeer” fusing both into a five minute rip-your-fucking-shirt-off artillery fire, this reviewer was flung with no apologies into a feral mosh pit in seconds. Their sound was tight, well-rehearsed, musical; shifting seamlessly from histrionic screaming to a soulful croon not unlike Supertramp or say F. Mercury. Shout choruses and fist pumping abounded through FZ’s set as they plowed through their greatest numbers off of Introducing and their forthcoming self-titled album due out this Tuesday. Anecdotal introductions preceded each song as mezzo-soprano voiced Nally would perch on top of a monitor, with a sort of anti-truth narrative that was neither sluggish nor pretentious.
And. It’s hard to not talk about FZ’s ethos without mentioning the concept of pretense. It would be easy to lump FZ into the oeuvre of affected, packaged, irony-laden bands favoring pastiche like The Darkness or Andrew W.K., and no doubt some will do so with good cause. But there is an acute sincerity to FZ’s theatrics, born from a little self-aggrandizement, and but a lot of passion and love. Easily noticed was the fact that Foxy loved the hell out of performing especially their newer songs “Unstoppable” and “Bye Bye Symphony”. During these for the most part unheard tunes, the crowed allowed for the fracas to cease a bit and listen and enjoy on a civil level, or what passes for civil at a rock concert in northern Kentucky. They sounded polished and professional and ready for something bigger.
The closer, crowd favorite from their debut album “No Don’t Shoot” re-ignited the powder keg of the audience, filled with crowd-surfing from both fans and the band which tore this tiny club apart (literally. The ceiling half collapsed and anonymous pipes swung down from the ceiling as Eric was hoisted in the air by the sweaty mass). It’s clear they’ve conquered this stage. It’s on to the next one, and the next one, and the next one.
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