The first time I ever heard Creepoid play was on Halloween weekend at Graveface Fest two years ago. I was outside the warehouse where everything was set up, drinking and waiting for Black Moth Super Rainbow when the Philly-native quartet took the stage. They started out subtle, unassuming, a couple clean guitar riffs as I continued drinking and talking to yet another person dressed like Heath Ledger’s version of the Joker. But slowly, there was this steady wall of sound growing denser and denser behind me until I could no longer ignore it. The warehouse was packed so I looked in through the windows and barely made out bassist Anna Troxell’s long hair sweeping over her strings as blue light bounced off metal, the reverbs building and building until the panes of glass vibrated. I knew right then that I had found something important.
Fast forward two years to July 2014, Creepoid now calls Savannah home, and I couldn’t possibly think of a more suitable, humid, and haunted stomping ground to compliment their noise. With a new self-titled LP released with No Idea Records, an RSD exclusive EP released with Graveface, and a four-month tour opening for Against Me!, the group has quit their day jobs and Creepoid is here to stay.
They kicked off their summer tour just last week, playing their first show as locals at Hangfire along with A.M. Rodriguez and Blackrune. It seemed they were still (understandably) working out a few kinks while adjusting to a new band member, but they made up for it with their usual raw, break-neck energy. Projecting their huge sound off the tiny Hangfire stage was no problem, proving themselves to be chameleons capable of making any venue their own, regardless of the size.
During the Hangfire set, the band unveiled a new song, the first written in their Savannah home, which they’re convinced, of course, is haunted.
There’s something so incredibly fitting about the drone of Creepoid drifting over the rafters of a rickety house in the South. The sound becomes a little more acidic, a little more intoxicating.
Their newest EP, Wet, shows this Southern influence already making its way through their melodies. It’s rough and dreamy, dark and dusty, and each one of the four tracks seems to hold a small piece of our city. Wet Bread and Truth are both looser, slower, chords dripping down fret boards like scratchy Spanish moss, feedback sidling up before overtaking everything, a container ship horn barreling through river fog. In Blurry Slumber, the lead guitar rushes in like harsh heels clicking between rutted cobblestones. It rubs together a little harder, rhythms crawling off the strings a little more asymmetrically in the most satisfying way. Blinding Halo only takes it deeper South. It’s Creepoid’s garden of good and evil, a short ambient track driven by a bare tattoo begging for the witching hour, the vocals rasping backwards, straight from the mouth of a root doctor and the belly of voodoo.
And if this sound was accomplished without even living in the South, just imagine what’s to come. Brace yourselves, Savannah, because this band is going to teach us more about our city than we ever thought possible. It’s a match too perfect for words.
Creepoid, welcome home.