I Can Level Anything I Want

November 10, 2013

Written by: Jason Ribadeneyra

I Can Level Anything I Want

level anything sunny shot

This week’s words come to you straight from some young mid-town writer rocking the pen from behind the name “Wynona Wryder” (pronounced Why-Known-Na.)

So the story, my side of it at least, goes something like this. I bumped into this one walking towards the venue where my band Level Anything was set to play what turned out to be our last Brooklyn gig. I saw that she was taking turns studying an iPhone with a therapist’s squint and then scanning the distance for clues as to where she was supposed to be headed. I stopped and asked if I could help her out. She eyed my guitar case for a second before shooting me a frustrated glance that thankfully turned to warmth when she opened her mouth and said, “Maybe.” ¬†This is where the story tilts towards dumb luck because as it turns out she was goin’ my way like a Lenny Kravitz song. “C’mon, walk with me,” I quipped.

As we made our way to the venue I don’t remember too much being said in the way of small talk (no matter what it says below.) She didn’t even respond to the inquisitive look I shot her when she introduced herself as Wynona Wryder and handed me a business card with nothing on it except that name written in cursive and what appeared to be a scribbled out contact number. I noticed she’d written an email address on the back with a black sharpie. “Fair Enough”, I thought as I held the door open for her, all gentleman like and stuff. She instantly claimed a corner stool and I lost track of her, momentarily of course.

We were the first act up that night and I can still remember being somewhat distracted as she stood up front, stage left, scrawling from time to time in what appeared to be an unlocked old diary and giving my choice in t-shirts what I took as a disapproving eye. “Focus”, I told myself as I prepared to start our third number “Rewards Out,” but I noticed that even Gregg (Swiatlowski, drummer) sat rigid behind his kit in the presence of what was becoming increasingly clear to be a stone-cold journalist and worse yet, a possible blogger. We ¬†finally found our voice during the chorus of “For Abba” and played the rest of, what I thought to be, a great set. As I thanked the 16 people in the audience I surveyed the horizon, hoping to catch her eye but it was too late. “Wynona” ghosted. Shit.

After wrapping up the final cable and closing my 4-string guitar case I heard a girl’s voice say “Goodbye Lance” and I looked up to see Ms. Wryder making an exit. I was at a loss. “Lance?” I said to myself, “What’s with that?” but before I could attempt to make sense of things I witnessed her walk out the door, and send me a look though the front window that burned into my mind like a solar eclipse. I sprung up and bee-lined out onto the sidewalk but she was nowhere to be found. Later the next day I sent an email to the address from the back of her card. I did my best to explain how I “run” a music blog and how it’s always been too weird an action for me to write about my own stuff for obvious reasons and how I was hoping she could send me her take on the night to run on CME. I thanked her in advance for the review, however it painted us, hoping that would seal the deal. I wanted to ask her a million questions. Talk about a million things. Who knows. Maybe soon I’ll get an answer.

Anyways, here’s her review of the show, un-edited and un-filtered. I wouldn’t have it any other way…

J.R. 11-ten-13

Level Anything

level anything back

by Wynona Wryder

Today’s “Mood Music” review comes to you straight from the armpit of Crooklyn, from a pothole of a place called “Shea Stadium” in a part of Bushwick that still has it’s training wheels on. After my failed attempt at writing what I thought would be a riveting expose” on bestiality (the assigned topic being Animal Husbandry… apparently these two things are not synonymous), my editor decided I should try my hand at something “less cerebral”- to which I say, what’s more cerebral than almost hemorrhaging from standing next to an obnoxiously loud speaker for two hours?
In any event, I was up for the challenge. While looking for directions to this dive on my phone I ran smack into the singer of the band I was supposed to see, Level Anything. He was a lanky fellow with Vidal Sassoon hair who told me his name was Lance, which I later found out was a lie. I tried not take personal offense to this, although I’m not sure why he would just make things up. Weird.
He started getting into the history of his band and why they’re “the best duo since Hall and Oates, may they rest in piece”
but I found it hard to concentrate because his t-shirt was inside out and things like that tend to distract me. We went inside and I met his better half (a Mr. Swahilikowski, if my memory serves me right), who spent the majority of the night molesting a drum kit and not really saying much. “He’s more of a silent partner,” said Lance. The lights were just dim enough to get into a healthy amount of trouble and the place smelled faintly of pork fried rice. I was getting hungry.
They played a short set, only five songs, and I must admit I was impressed by how great they were. I wasn’t expecting much from the looks of them – especially the long hair who couldn’t even master putting his shirt on correctly. Memorable songs include “Rewards Out” , “Somewhere West” (with lyrics describing Utah and the DIY meth epidemic from the sounds of it) and my favorite of the night “Race.” Another song “Foriegn Cars” spoke of finding the lord in Boston, confirming some suspicions I had about this Lance guy.
Just as the Adderall and my attention span were wearing off I heard sirens wailing (a “Rewards Out” premonition come to life) and three of New Yorks Finest were suddenly on the scene. Apparently, there was a small group of underage boys celebrating a Quinceanera and getting boozy in the corner. That explained the pork fried at least.
As I made my gracious exit, I heard Lance yell something about leaving him alone in the land of crayons. Not sure what that meant but I have plenty of paper if he needs it.
by Wynona Wryder

Level Anything – “Race” from Jason on Vimeo.


  1. Good one Lance.
    Or Jasen…

  2. I did not make those comments. Unless my split personality disorder is raring its ugly head again. Who knows… Thanks anyway, Lance. It’s been real.

    • levelanything says:

      Leave yr number in here for me Ms. Wryder would ya? I almost figured it out from trying different variations of numbers that you didn’t black out completely on yr card. It’s taking up much of my evenings. That’s not weird is it?

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