Radio-Active Records' New Location Grand Opening, November 5

Photo by Monica McGivern

​Radio-Active Records' Grand Opening Party
With Little Beard, Luma Junger, and Möthersky
Radio-Active Records, Fort Lauderdale
Saturday, November 5, 2011

Check out a slide show here.

Check out video here.

Road trippers making their way from Fort Kent, Maine, to Key West will now be able to satisfy their musical needs as they cruise through Broward County without a search-and-rescue mission away from the main drag. 

The lights and sounds from Radio-Active Records' new home beckoned vinyl addicts and music nerds in from its new home on Federal Highway on Saturday. Nestled in a row of kitschy human and animal grooming shops, a tattoo place, pinball machines, and the sexy Cubby Hole and just blocks from Laser Wolf, the new location is fitting for a store of its kind. The recent move warranted a celebration, and in Radio-Active's low-key style, that's what the flock of music nerds received.

Most entered the store from the back, where the Nacho Bizness food truck resided. Inside, the racks bulging with records were being man-handled and flipped through furiously by the covetous. Each section was easily marked, and no one was obviously or snobbily glaring at anyone else's picks. The selection of second-hand records seems the largest for many miles, and the cash register was busily binging away. 

Photo by Monica McGivern

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In a cozy cove in the front of the store, Möthersky, Luma Junger, and Little Beard performed three sweetly short and somewhat loud sets. The young crowd listened to each band intently, heads bopping and toes tapping. 

Möthersky went up first. The two-man outfit includes Richard Vergez, who works at Radio-Active and graphically designs all its artwork. Amid knobs and pedals, one bass, one guitar, these two synthed out with otherworldly, dark sounds -- all very fitting for this bleak economy. There were a few technical difficulties at the beginning when Vergez made a joke about anyone having a good joke, then announcing that their drummer quit that day and that this was the best they could do. That actually was a joke. No problem; they didn't need the drummer. 

Photo by Monica McGivern

​Their music isn't littered with climaxes, but it manages to be dramatic anyway with slow moments that aren't uninteresting. Very masculine, it's like a slightly groovier Joy Division or a Robert Smith-less, early '80s live Cure. At the end of the set, bassist Kelvin Mitchell played his way out into the crowd.