Last night my pals and I braved our way through the snow to the living room of Allston's Problem House. We were in need of live music and had heard they were hosting a folk-acoustic show. It was a peculiar night simply because of the quiet nature of the audience. Each performer was like a preacher, their music a DIY sermon. At times it felt blasphemous to talk, let alone take a sip of my drink. I put my King Cobra on the tobacco covered table to my left, made sure my phone was on silent, and sat with others watching music being played. It wasn't until the violin-guitar duo, Dream Apart Ment started performing, that I started really paying attention.
Their voices were subdued, taking backstage to their eloquently gritty instrumentals. I had stopped watching the music and started listening. Try and imagine when a preacher finishes his sermon and the bellowing organs begin to play. I'm being dramatic of course, but that's what Dream Apart Ment was to me last night-- A relief in the most wonderful way possible. I didn't think once about grabbing my malt liquor off of the table. -margaret
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