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.

The Swedes that comprise The Soundtrack proved that along with death metal and the chef, they stand close to becoming one of their home country’s chief exports. At times the keyboardist kept wheeling on his chair, looking like he was going to fall off, while Scott Lundberg lumbered around stage in his usual Friar Tuck-meets-Alastair Crowley getup, which constitutes a large part their entertainment ratio. Glenn did his best to focus his camera in the hovering cloud of pot smoke and capture some great shots, and both of us stumbled home somewhat, er, under the influence that evening. TSOOL were spot-on in choosing a frontman like Lundberg to sing for them –  it’s a large, thundering mammoth of a sound, who write catchy pre-punk melodies largely influenced by the British Invasion of the sixties.

But about that Nico Vega…

Make what you will of the uber-poppy “Gravity” and some of Vega’s other songs that are just kind of plain and meh. Everyone was focused on Aja Volkman, on her voice, on her dynamic stage performance — striking Jesus Christ poses while dressed in the blinding virgin white of Mary Magdalene. An angel and a devil, like Linda Blair right before her head spun. The bastard child of Janis Joplin and Axl Rose and Siouxsie Sioux and even a bit of Etta James and Bjork. She is so…strange. And, at times, even borderline creepy… but when she sang anything, shining especially on songs like “Burn”, “Coal Miners’ Song”, I found myself kind of just unable to look away. The dynamic between her and guitarist Rich Koehler, who bend and twist all over each other and spend much of their performance literally intertwined, got the crowd pretty worked up.

So despite two worthy opponents going head to head, it was all too clear who emerged the victor tonight. Amazing music, an amazing performance, and a worshiping crowd propels 2nd-in-line Nico to the head of the pack. To be honest, it wasn’t even that close.

Words by Jeff Nau, Photos by Glenn Williams