Small Talk, Klept
Friday March 14, 2025
House Show @ The Peanut Gallery – Savannah, Georgia
Review and story by Jeffrey Howard

“Small talk makes me wanna die” — modern proverb.

I think you’re already accustomed that “show reviews” are not, indeed, show reviews. This is the Jeffreyshow and that’s how it goes. I’ve been called Jeffrey, Jeffrey Howard, Jeffrey KickBright, KickBright, Kick, and most recently walking the streets of Savannah, “Mr Bright”. Call me whatever you want. Take heed, only my mother is allowed to call me Jeff. She named me so she gets the only pass.

The address for this house show organized by local DIY purveyors Big Blue Booking seemed familiar. It was on E 38th Street. Now, the first house I moved into in Savannah a year and a half ago was 645 E 38th and this address was just a few numbers away. For me, 645 was a good luck number as it was the first digits of my childhood phone number on Cavendish Road back in Winter Park, Florida. That was in the days right before mandatory area codes. I love a good “sign”. That’s when you know without a doubt things are meant to be.

On my old street for instance: early morning before work there was a car accident that defied gravity. I’m not sure how, but a car was completely turned over. Like, how???? One cannot drive fast enough on 38th to do a flip. The street is narrow and cars line on both sides of the street. They did it!

More neighborhood stories: there’s a man who worked on a red boat. For months it was being restored little by little. The street cleaner comes twice a week in this ‘hood. It must be time consuming to move the boat from one side of the street to the other. 

In general, the neighborhood is mixed race with a conglomeration of high rent condos, Airbnbs and gunshots. Don’t go too far down east 38th because you might question where you are. The closer to the west side you’ll find long time residents, young artsy couples, student group houses and late night booty music parties. Of course, the soundtrack is always dogs constantly barking. There’s always THAT neighbor.

This is also nearby an intersection that took me to HER house, just around the corner. I would affectionally call her just that — my “wonder around the corner” because she was literally that. I timed the walk from my front porch to hers. It was delightfully short. Sometimes her cat, Lana Del Rey, would also greet me with a meow and follow us inside. 

Our close proximity made it easy for us to be “porch bandits” leaving each other gifts. One time I arrived home to a gift bag of books and other items. I admit I cried on the spot. Never had a woman made me feel this way— ever.

It was so early on in our courtship, too. I was certainly trepidatious about starting something new. I had gotten out of a long term relationship and even the thought of dating anyone ever was not on any To-Do list I had created in my head. I didn’t want anything with anybody. But this….. she was different. I’m sure people say stuff like that all the time but no — this was so ravenous I wouldn’t be ignoring her. She’s the kind you marry and that’s why I altered my direction.

This corner house, The Peanut Gallery, had some issues I remember — It was a typical old Savannah two-story house with its own high up porch.  Porches are so high here — is there that much flooding? Is it just a style? I don’t know. I haven’t been here long enough to know the area architecture. 

The people living there had been thrown out at some point. There was garbage and belongings all strewn about the street. I stopped, poked through but took nothing. Eventually, there were workers restoring for weeks. Then it seemed to be turned over to actual residents. Interesting art objects would appear in the windows. The still unfinished remodeled porch, with no railings, seemed to invite a weariness. I always wondered what was inside.

I get dressed at home after coming home from work, dolling myself up in my favorite Levi Signature jeans (I have at least three pairs) with my 1984 Prince ‘When Doves Cry’ tour concert t-shirt under a vintage blue denim jean jacket with several buttons decorating it with my favorite snake skins cowboy boots. The ones that are falling apart and got for one dollar from one of my all-time favorite thrift stores in Andrews, North Carolina. The shop when you never knew would ever be open. Maybe only for three hours between 11am and 2pm on a Wednesday or sometime else infuriating. It’s across the street from Dean’s Music — though I can’t tell you if they are still open…..

I decide to walk over instead of biking. It’s not far from where I live now and I’m trying to stay on foot, taking in details of the city. I pass a gate entrance on 37th Street with a huge “J” marking the property. I take a picture and continue on. I still find it funny I live between Jefferson and Howard Streets.

I arrive. The show is in the back yard. A gate with an above sign decreeing it “The Peanut Gallery” hovers inviting. It’s cute. Bands are setting up. The third band that was on the flier cancelled, Chris Casey, whom I really wanted to see. It’s this dude and he just released a song called “Cow Killers” that is an instant Southern Rap/Rock banger. Have you heard it? You gotta hear it!

There are a decent amount of people there. I scan the crowd. I am looking for anyone I know and also, HER. At first glance I don’t see anyone. SHE is not speaking to me since the incident at the previous First Friday when I was vending outside the vintage store next to her tattoo shop. It was the first time she walked past me like I didn’t exist.

HER house is nearby she’s liable to meander along any second. She knows everyone — or at least everyone knows her. As they should. My eyes keep darting over to the entrance wishing I could just relax and just enjoy this first band.

The first band is called Klept and are interesting in several ways. Immediately they remind me of Thinking Fellers Union Local 282, the great New York art rock whatever band from the 1990s on Matador Records. Klepts songs are complex, sometimes skipping a beat or two with fine tuned precision and then blasting into a freak nit whirlwind. Thrown in some screamo parts and they’ve landed something totally unique and interesting. 

They have a new release out — it’s out just in time for this show. I enjoy them immensely.

I mix in the crowd. I meet the bass player from Small Talk. His name is Bryce and is super nice. I am introduced to them by a new co-worker of mine who I would find spot looking around more closely at the crowd. I can’t remember her name in the moment so I am afraid to say what I think it is out loud. My work desk is too far away from her spatially to exchange any meaningful connection and I feel quite a bit stupid for not knowing. I should ask but I don’t. I do get to know her a little better and I feel good about that.

Another friend shows up but they’re looking for ANOTHER house show nearby. There’s cool stuff happening all over town — even on the same Friday night.

Evidently this was the last breakup show for Small Talk. The flier called it a “funeral” — I like that idea. Close friends and fans did dress up all in black! Some band members were moving away from Savannah for the reason of the occasion. This town is a college town (SCAD) so creative people of all ages come and so do their bands, music and other creative endeavors. 

They’ve been around for a few years going back to 2017, according to their Bandcamp releases. I listened to them briefly beforehand enough to know that yes, I would indeed love a slow and loud dream pop shoegaze band. Oh yes sir!

I recognize the drummer from being in the one-person drum band Nosebleed. Now that project blew me away when I saw them a few weeks ago at El Rocko for Cougar Fest. I am finding a lot the same musicians are in a million different bands around town — just like everywhere else in the country.

Small Talk are fantastic and hit all the sweet spots of quiet drones with loud delays and feedbacks and those hard dancing breaks. The crowd dances and screams between songs. It’s sad because they will be no more and more people won’t get to experience them. I may be coming in late but I’m a fan.

Walking home, I’m searching the sidewalks for ghosts. Halloween decorations are long gone in the countries most haunted cities but I’m sure skulls are half buried silently screaming. I can feel them at least. A Lone Star beer at Over Yonder/Moodrights makes the walk back home less lonely. I also stop at Starland Yard for a photo booth picture. I’m a slut for a photo booth so I do not resist! Looking down at the cracks in the concrete I see graffiti. It reads “mirth”. The strong association I have with that one word hits hard. The ghosts may catch me yet or is it another sign?

Links:
Small Talk — Bandcamp
Klept — YouTube
Big Blue Booking — Instagram
The Peanut Gallery — Instagram
Chris Casey — YouTube of Cow Killers