Night One of The Noise Pop Festival, cont’d: After jumping back into Glenn’s hatchback, we sped off to The Independent to catch the next act. It was packed. Rib-crushingly, lung collapsingly, I-Didn’t-Know-Armpits-Could-Smell-That-Badly packed. Which proved, in its own masochistic way, to be quite awesome, as tight and intimate quarters often force you to get to know your neighbor before you violate (maybe purposely) their personal space. Like most of The Soundtrack of Our Lives‘ shows, the audience tonight is of the fanatical, saber-rattling twentysomething sort, and chances are if you asked anyone, they’d have said they were indeed here for TSOOL (DUH). Dig a little deeper with others, and they’ll argue that Nico Vega completely owned the show and will soon be the toast of the California indie rock scene, or at least a band with a frontwoman who deserves every accolade hurled her way.
