Feeble Little Horse at First Unitarian Church in Philadelphia 9/26/2025
by TC Stephens
If you’re not walking out of a show at the First Unitarian Church (FUC) with your ears ringing and sweat covering everything, something went horribly wrong. “Thank you for joining us in the hot… room” deadpanned Lydia Slocum, vocalist and bassist of Feeble Little Horse (FLH) in her coy manner. Between the heat of the basement, blue and red gels haphazardly taped to overhead lights, and the band’s signature uncanny collages on their merch, the show couldn’t get more DIY.
Perfectly aligned with the DIY feel was opener Kassie Krut, an experimental outfit started by Palm vocalist and guitarist Kasra Kurt. Her two bandmates were a mirror image of drumsticks flying onto pads, both serious in stature and masked with matching sunglasses. Kurt sang and danced between them, her movements indicating the beat hidden beneath a clash of seething electronic percussion and dissonant synths. When she sang, she was hardly intelligible, her voice filtered through one of the many devices on the stage. It was hard to tell where half the sounds of their set came from, yet the chaos was mesmerizing and unexpectedly danceable.
At the FUC, artists walk through the crowd to get to the stage. Applause followed FLH as they approached, the room erupting by the time they got to the stage. It was hard to tell which came first — the moshing or the first note of “Freak.” Either way, the crowd was at their whim from the moment that note rang out, throwing themselves at each other while screaming the ad-libbed “sorry!” during “Chores” and waiting wide-eyed in anticipation as FLH held the silence that falls in the middle of “Sweet.”
Though noisy, FLH aren’t particularly intense. Each song was followed by a reticent “thank you” from Slocum, the occasional kiss blown into the crowd. “This next song is a cover…” she prompted towards the end of the set, turning toward guitarist Sebastian Kinsler — “What, you’re too shy? Alright, figure it out!” she yelled as they began their cover of “Call” by find my friends, Kinsler’s other project. No matter how loud they get, FLH remain grounded in a melodic, near-melancholy feel, their sound a clear reflection of their personalities.
Ahead of their final song, Kinsler and Slocum looked at each other, exchanging a few whispered words before turning back to the crowd. In unison and with intense focus, they together explained that they’ve played the last song, “down” from 2021’s modern tourism EP, in every set they’ve ever performed. If they didn’t, they posited, “something bad might happen.” The joint premonition and skillful synchronicity laid a silence over the room — “that freaked everyone out last night too.”
As “down” closed in a fit of distortion, FLH gently brushed their guitar strings against the ceiling and fake-smashed them towards the ground while smiling and giggling at each other, seemingly struck at the weight their music carries. They’ve put on, though somewhat ironically, the affectation of big-time rockers, but at the core they’re simply friends having fun, making the show resonate all the more.
Perfectly aligned with the DIY feel was opener Kassie Krut, an experimental outfit started by Palm vocalist and guitarist Kasra Kurt. Her two bandmates were a mirror image of drumsticks flying onto pads, both serious in stature and masked with matching sunglasses. Kurt sang and danced between them, her movements indicating the beat hidden beneath a clash of seething electronic percussion and dissonant synths. When she sang, she was hardly intelligible, her voice filtered through one of the many devices on the stage. It was hard to tell where half the sounds of their set came from, yet the chaos was mesmerizing and unexpectedly danceable.
At the FUC, artists walk through the crowd to get to the stage. Applause followed FLH as they approached, the room erupting by the time they got to the stage. It was hard to tell which came first — the moshing or the first note of “Freak.” Either way, the crowd was at their whim from the moment that note rang out, throwing themselves at each other while screaming the ad-libbed “sorry!” during “Chores” and waiting wide-eyed in anticipation as FLH held the silence that falls in the middle of “Sweet.”
Though noisy, FLH aren’t particularly intense. Each song was followed by a reticent “thank you” from Slocum, the occasional kiss blown into the crowd. “This next song is a cover…” she prompted towards the end of the set, turning toward guitarist Sebastian Kinsler — “What, you’re too shy? Alright, figure it out!” she yelled as they began their cover of “Call” by find my friends, Kinsler’s other project. No matter how loud they get, FLH remain grounded in a melodic, near-melancholy feel, their sound a clear reflection of their personalities.
Ahead of their final song, Kinsler and Slocum looked at each other, exchanging a few whispered words before turning back to the crowd. In unison and with intense focus, they together explained that they’ve played the last song, “down” from 2021’s modern tourism EP, in every set they’ve ever performed. If they didn’t, they posited, “something bad might happen.” The joint premonition and skillful synchronicity laid a silence over the room — “that freaked everyone out last night too.”
As “down” closed in a fit of distortion, FLH gently brushed their guitar strings against the ceiling and fake-smashed them towards the ground while smiling and giggling at each other, seemingly struck at the weight their music carries. They’ve put on, though somewhat ironically, the affectation of big-time rockers, but at the core they’re simply friends having fun, making the show resonate all the more.
