Short Panic

Short Panic

January 2024: Short Panic

The third edition of "The Gold" with funk-rock band Short Panic. They signed with us in August of 2023 and released their self-titled debut in December of 2023 after years of writing, playing shows, and finding an audience. 

Live Show Recap by Karla Hoffman

Bombastic, Funky, and Cohesive? These are but a few words that I would use to describe my most recent experience seeing Short Panic, a dynamic six-piece set of Grand Rapids musicians that provide swirls of funky grooves akin to The Talking Heads, the soft city-pop vibes of Masayoshi Takanaka, and lastly a tinge of jazz-fusion in a similar vein to something off of Frank Zappa’s seminal album Hot Rats. Now, I draw all of these comparisons, but after seeing Short Panic this past Saturday, I find that their songs are uniquely their own and that their music finds a happy medium between musical influence and creative ingenuity. Short Panic is a collection of six, talented and infectious musicians whose roots trace back to their initial meeting at GRCC’s music program in 2019. Their line-up consists of David on guitar/vocals, Joe on saxophone, Ben on guitar, Kyle on drums, Meg Meadows on vocals, and Solly on bass. Featuring their latest self-titled album, “Short Panic” their set seamlessly took listeners from fast up-beat funk tunes, to slow moody jazz. Meg Meadows vocals can only be described as effortless crooning, and Joe’s saxophone solo was nothing short of impressive. Short Panic is without a doubt the band to watch for coming out of Grand Rapids.

Live session from "Upstairs, Man"

Album Review by Merle Tee

Ahhh!!! Help me! I’m beginning to really PANIC!  Let’s just take a deep breath and relax, we have music to listen to.

So we’re here to check out the new self-titled release from Michigan’s very own, “Short Panic”, and let’s dig in firstly with;


And oh how sweet it is. Probably “too” short, but don’t “panic” there is plenty more to come.(Am I funny yet?) This is the perfect intro of “James Brown/Funk/Chili Pepper” guitar riffing, the sax blowing in the winds of the late night clubs, bass bouncing giving you a warm welcome to this fusion jazz party.


Well this would be a short album if this was the closer but thankfully again we are just beginning. We are introduced to a Mac Demarco-esque feeling, a lone stranger walking into an almost bossa nova, desert groove, asking for waters and traveling around to find nothing has changed when you get back home. Upstrokes and a Carlos Santana metamorphosis struts through evolving into a climbing sax tower of power, the bubble soon bursting and we’re back, left with our main character for the final bow.


Off we shoot and guitar-flang yourself into a 70’s disco car chase with wa-wa bleeding out the windows and fast action at every corner. Silky, sultry madness.


Hush my sweet park stroller. A beautiful, warm, sunny sax beckons you to leave the jazz club but not far. Just to the roof, gazing at the beautiful garden features of the city and dreaming of what could be while hush tones from the keys and bass push you along. You float and find another, twirling together in a mist of yacht rock relating in your struggles and a conquering sax takes you away, eyes closing on the couch of your musically blended party.


An angelic voice wakens you with rhode-reminiscent dreams, even just escaping, the warmth of knowing wraps all over you.


Bass stepping down a boardwalk of hands in pockets, dressed for success, shy but oh so confident. Your pace picks up and everything starts falling into place perfectly for the first time in your life. Melodies mimic and swirl each other in a magnificent dance of late night cool, cool jazz. The sun finally fades as the moon wails to life, rising in all its glory dancing with the stars.


A “Conan Mockasin” type speed knocks on the door as it slowly opens revealing a factory of undisciplined jazz robots. Grooves being made that make you want to bounce from one conveyor belt to another, letting your fingers swim in the beautiful sax, guitar, bass, and drums, creating a perfect cog. The machine leading you on a fantasy of a functioning funk factory.


A cigarette gets lit and jazz avenue sheds a shady lane for our damsel of the lounge scene. Walking on an escalator of fedoras slightly tipped, one legged propped up against the wall, nodding you to move along but letting the perfume guide your way as guitars slowly turn their cheeks to shut the door to the rock club.


Reaching the end of our destination we have stumbled and tripped into a cartoon jazz/funk town. Pinstripe suits, dice and tap shoes, and the coolest cats in the city. Dabs of Prince and dabs of Morris Day, we’re here to be funky and loud and everyone in the neighborhood will know about it. We will declare it until the spaceship comes down from SNL opening band heaven and smacks us around in disbelief.



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