Love Cuts

Vancouver's Love Cuts did their best to manage expectations for their all-ages set at the reclaimed Astorino's. Their festival bio consisted solely of a review that talked about how all-girl trios can't play guitar or sing. Their bassist, Tracey Vath, went a step further, making repeated references to her urge to throw up into a small puke bucket that she kept close onstage, something guitarist Kaity McWhinney claimed Vath had done earlier. Indeed, Vath had that sunken-eyed, puke-sweat sheen going all over her face, along with unstable looks of suppressing hurl during each song, looks that frequently elicited giggles from McWhinney. Perhaps exacerbated by her illness, Vath's vocals were flat and unstable, but the threat of imminent spew, combined with her nervous hopping about whenever she was able to choke it down far enough, made their set this evening mesmerizing. To their credit, McWhinney had a serviceable voice, and, despite a couple of sound and timing problems, their music, which is just a hint tighter than '90s slacker rock, in the vein of K Records indebted lo-fi twee punk, hit a good stride. It would do wonders for their already infectious energy of they picked up the tempo a bit and got more moshy.