The first time I saw Magic Milk was when Turbo Fruits played a now defunct basement space bathed in deep red light. A young kid got up to the mic in a leather jacket, slicked-back hair, and giant sunglasses. He sort of looked like a glam era reject with a hint of Fonzie. It ended up being a highlight of the night, simple garage rock tunes sang with soul, a harmonica, and tubes of paper confetti. The band was Magic Milk., and they've since gone through a slew of drummers, now with Maggie Laleman of Tiny Manatee behind the kit. She's a good fit here, and I hope she sticks around.
Magic Milk's songs are simple, and there's a heavy display of frontman showmanship here from singer Kenneth Alden, but it's not empty shenanigans. There's a heart and soul in these songs, and they're played with a serious demeanor, despite some ridiculousness. Sure, there's confetti, a chant, and he's got sweatpants on! Sweatpants! How he went from that put-together first day to sweatpants, I'll never know. You could easily laugh it off as a schtick band if you weren't dancing your ass off at the end of the night, completely fucking sold on the whole thing. I've seen this band over thirty times, and every single shitty audience eventually succumbs to these songs by the time it's all said and done.