It was seeing Abronia that got me out, straight up. Prison and Vague Plot, I didn’t know either of them — and this was Prison’s record release, so the lameness is on my end, to be sure — but I’ve been writing for nearly a decade about Abronia and going on about how unique their sound is in psych and heavy Americana and so on, and this was the first time they made it so far east from their home in Oregon. And as it was an afternoon show (4-7PM) with no cover to boot, the barriers to my seeing this band were as low as they were ever going to be, and even though it was Sunday and I’d gone out Friday and had a good time, the urgency was there to make the trip into town.

Plus, I had a ride. I’d been talking earlier in the week about how much I wanted to see the show and The Patient Mrs. hearing that and hearing as well the underlayer of how much I loathe driving to/in New York, offered transport. The Pecan came too. It was a hard get-out-of-the-house, but those will happen.

My first time at Mama Tried, and my first time seeing all three of these bands. That felt like an immediate win, and I was there early for the early start in the back yard area of Mama Tried. It was hot in the sun but I was okay at a table in the shade, and I watched Vague Plot’s soundcheck before the show itself started. I hadn’t heard them prior but for like 30 seconds which doesn’t count, but even from that I knew most of what they do is live and at least partially improvised, so I figured this would be the right context to be introduced anyhow. By the time 4PM hit, they were already jamming as a soundcheck with traffic up on whatever highway that was for a backing drone. Some more people came but there was a break before the actual start. I was antsy, for a change. My wife and daughter went to a park.

The outdoor stage was kind of a courtyard and pavilion, with a slanted, transparent roof over wood lattice, a couple sheets taped up to cut the light and heat on stage, I’d imagine, and a wood deck leading to the concrete wall of the next building behind whatever amps are stacked on the little ledge, I’d say precariously but it was fine. Tables and chairs were set up on a concrete patio, like a hang out spot, family joint, kind of a hideaway, which I enjoyed. I made myself say hi to Abronia, against my general inclination, and nobody told me to get it, so I’ll say that went well.

The show started soon enough, and man, was it awkward to take photos. Like, you’re the only one standing and also you’re me. I’ve had nightmares like that. I grabbed a couple shots like the middle-aged blog-having loser I am and sat the fuck down, feeling my age but enjoying Vague Plot, who reminded a bit of mid-aughts Elektrohasch-type jamming — sax put me in mind of Hypnos69 — prioritizing guitar and atmosphere but making it happen organically. Abidingly mellow, proggy and heavy born more of the bass and drums than the guitar tone, which was adding the dubby float to the plotted-seeking procession. They busted a kick pedal but had another in seconds and there was no stop in momentum from there. They looked like they could go for hours. Sirens went by.

At one point I looked up amd bees were dancing with flowers, which seemed like an endorsement, but things got more Floydian, even as Vague Plot built around that core groove, keys taking over where sax left, or the guitar turning down-home sweet and classy. They seemed like a band who probably like different kinds of music from each other but who apparently agree on enough to function as a band. I dug it and wondered what their studio stuff could sound like.

Quick changeover clearing the stage and then Abronia and their very large drum — aptly called Big Drum, steered by Robert Grubaugh — got going. Fronted by Keelin Mayer, who handles sax (and flute, though that didn’t make an appearance) in addition to singing, with James Shaver and Eric Crespo on guitar (the latter also backing vocals), Rick Pedrosa on pedal steel, Danny Metcalfe on bass and Grubaugh behind thumping away, they were a curious proposition in a setting with so much concrete, but I’d waieted a long time to see them and I was super-glad they made the trip. Brooklyn was fourth on the tour behind Columbus, Pittsburgh and Baltimore, the band supprting their 2026 album, Shapes Unravel (review here), and I marvel at the logistics involved in getting six humans to do anything, let alone journey to the other side of the continent together and play a killer set, so yeah.

Granted, I would have earlier if given the opportunity, but watching them play, the way their sound conjures expanse, I wasn’t sorry to be seeing them now for the first time. The new-album stuff was fresh in my head, and they hit it, some heavy prairie vibes and Mayer’s command topping it all. With sax in and out, a thread continued from Vague Plot, but Abronia brought their own kind of tension, nighttime, outdoors, more wolves than traffic, but the setting made it all the more of a trip, and the depth that their albums have always carried came through and the sense of dynamic, intermittently volatile, was even more palpable while the Big Drum held the groove. They get called psychedelic, by me too, but I’m not sure they’re that so much as they are spacious and explorational. I’m really, really glad I had the chance to see them. I hope it won’t be their last trip east.

Prison played last, honoring as noted their new record, Big Rigs on the BQE. Paul Major of Endless Boogie in the lineup, my understanding was their lineup varies by show, but they played as a six-piece, which hardly made it seem like anybody could be missing. The listed stop time for the show came and went before they were underway, but it was their party and I think it was an imaginary curfew, not that any aren’t. Two guitars, bass, drums, plus hand percussion and keys, they were into the jam almost before the set even started, and I don’t know if they were making it up on the spot or not, but the vibe was locked in and the vibe was there. Some added effects, pedals manned offstage, effects swirling this way and that, sometimes jazzy but always rooted in rock. I’d believe it if you told me they made it all up on the spot. It had that could-go-anywhere feel, no less the second time the bowl-of-shells shaker came out, and the effects manipulation of the vocals was another level of freaked out. Persistently weird, and enjoyable for that as well.

The drums took a breather at maybe the halfway point but they were all back at it soon enough, a little more cosmic but maybe it’s all groove either way. Some more uptempo moments in the reaches and at any moment it was all about a hair from derailing, but Prison kept it together with a due sense of fuckery and I left hoping it wouldn’t be the only time I ran into them. I had wondered if the crowd in front would stand for the last band, but people stayed seated, which meant I didn’t realize how sweaty I’d gotten until I moved again to head out. The Patient Mrs. picked my sweaty ass up and carted it and the rest of us home. Would I have made it there on my own? Probably, but I sat in the back seat while tired The Pecan snuggled into the side of my left arm and that was just fine too.

—

It was super-weird taking photos. Very weird. I didn’t want to get in the front and stand because I would’ve been in the way, even for just a minute, and the crowd was mellow but everybody had their phone out and I try not to be the asshole screwing up everybody’s video so I can get my shot, like it’s so frigging important me and my bigboy camera. Screw that. I got what I could from the sides and a little ways back. When Keelin Mayer came down from the stage, it made my night. Shades of Sean Clamfight on Friday in Jersey. She also went for it.

Thanks for reading. Go see Abronia if you can, East Coasters. Tour dates are here.