17 OCTOBER 24-30, 2024 westword.com WESTWORD | CONTENTS | LETTERS | NIGHT+DAY | CULTURE | CAFE | MUSIC | FIND MORE MUSIC COVERAGE AT WESTWORD.COM/MUSIC Beyond the Beat ITCHY-O BRINGS THE WITCHING HOUR TO DENVER WITH THE TENTH ANNUAL HALLOWMASS. BY EMILY FERGUSON “Get in the van and put on the blindfold, please.” It would have been the most polite kidnap- ping ever, if the kidnapee — that would be me — hadn’t already been privy to the plan. I was waiting at the Alameda light-rail station near that incongruous Herbert Bayer sculpture when the dusty van rolled up, its driver’s face obscured by a mask. The passenger hopped out of the car, smiling at me and carrying a silk, muted-gold tie; he told me to get in the van — an order that would typically kick off a horror story — with complete gentility. “It’s probably best to sit in the middle seat, too,” he added sheepishly. “That’s the one with the seat belt.” At this point I normally would have run, but I knew these guys (kind of) and their reason for secrecy: They were taking me to an itchy-O rehearsal. Itchy-O, a mammoth music collective com- prising sixty members, is perhaps the most unique group in the underground Denver mu- sic scene. Its members, hidden under witchy hats and mysterious masks, are serious about secrecy. They’ve remained anonymous since itchy-O fl ooded the streets with renegade concerts in 2009, and this was the fi rst time an outsider was permitted into their rehearsal space. It wasn’t any old re- hearsal, either — they were preparing for Hallowmass, the group’s annual immersive concert series that will celebrate its tenth anniversary with three nights of ethereal, primordial mayhem at Truss House at RiNo Art Park. And it all begins, appropriately, on Halloween. The three of us were silent as the van trudged along to wherever the rehearsal space was. Some turns and bends, a hill or two, and al- though I’d lost track of time when we parked, it wasn’t a long drive at all. Still blindfolded, I was shep- herded by my new friends to the en- trance, where I heard a garage door roll up after several steely knocks. I was guided into a warm room redolent with the earthy smell of incense, and my hands felt a metal folding chair. “Go ahead and take a seat,” I was told. “You can remove your blindfold now.” My eyes blinked open to a pair of thick, closed curtains, which were slowly parted to reveal a room fi lled with drums of every sort as well as a multitude of people clothed in black, masks completely covering their faces. It was as if band camp went goth. But even though everyone was wearing masks (some wore glasses over them), I was eerily aware of eyes trained on me. A pair of earplugs was handed to me with a gentle warning: “You’ll need these.” And oh, I did. Once the group got going, rolling out the song “Jaywalker,” the sound was over- whelming and powerful, but also hypnotic. Cymbals, emblazoned with itchy-O’s em- blem of a seven-pointed star, shimmered and slashed across each other with the players’ synchronized movements; nearby drummers uniformly struck on taikos with perfectly extended arms before folding them back across their chests, sticks neatly clasped to their sides. Beyond the drums, there was a bassist and a guitarist, as well as elec- tronic effects; the space was small, so some members were without their instruments, only mimicking the movements they’d normally make. Many were so elated to perform that headphones, glasses and hats would fl y off, until the conductor would call for a pause with a whistle. When it came time for me to leave, I didn’t want to; I was enthralled. There’s something mystical about not only hearing but feeling the rhythmic drumming and electronic infl ections; you understand why drums were integral in shaping the earliest re- ligious ceremonies. And that’s just what itchy-O wants to present to its audiences: an intangible, spiritual sense that only music can achieve. These aren’t just concerts — they’re ceremonial rites. “There’s a real hunger in culture for a return to this primal, spiritual experience: to get out of ordinary consciousness,” says Benjamin Beardsley, itchy-O’s media liaison. “Rhythm is an an- cient tool for creating altered states of con- sciousness. The fi rst thing a mammal hears is the beating of its mother’s heart, so there’s something visceral about big rhythms. And itchy-O takes it even further, getting into brain entrainment technology and the vibra- tions that nervous systems resonate with. So it really is a real wedding of the ancient and primal with new cutting-edge technology.” Beardsley is the only person involved with itchy-O who will reveal his name. The rest of the bunch are both faceless and nameless. The art is more provocative that way, ac- cording to the ensemble’s original architect, known rather mysteriously as the Founder. “We want to create a spiritual experience here,” the Founder says. “And the way that we do that is not by seeking attention individually.” You could say itchy-O began with a heart- beat. Before it became the phantasmagorical, consciousness-expanding behemoth it is to- day, it began as a dark ambient solo project in the early 2000s. The fi rst track the Founder made under the moniker involved layering the sounds of animal heartbeats that he had found on a vinyl record. Over the next few years, somewhere between nine and a dozen members joined, making itchy-O’s sound bigger. And then in 2009, “it took a real turn,” the Founder recalls. “It was real hard for us to get gigs at the time here in Denver. What we were doing was really weird. Not that ‘really weird’ was out of fashion, but maybe we didn’t feel as welcome in some of the circles.” The solution? Make it even more in-your- face weird. “There was a decision to make it mobile and take it to the streets and play wherever we wanted to,” he says. “So we fastened amplifi ers to our backs and strapped on drums and did just that. And it caught fi re.” Armed with giant drums and garbed in spooky attire, the members burst into spots ranging from Bar Bar to the Under- ground Music Showcase and First Friday art walks. “The thing MUSIC continued on page 18 Hallowmass is more of a ceremony than an ordinary concert. JACQUELINE COLLINS Last year’s Hallowmass was held at the Mercury Cafe. ITCHYO/FACEBOOK
