[Sydney, Australia]
Right off, their sound was cheerful, optimistic, little bells ringing in the
background – so, right off: god awful terrible. When you’re nostalgic for those
times when you hung out in grandma’s library with a shoot-out in the
background? Jazz with thump? Metal for the retired? I don’t mean to slur
diversity but two of their guitars had no end on them – why??? Maybe you get stuck
on an elevator and happen to have your chopped-off guitars, so you play some staccato
elevator music? The staccato backbeat – them and the last band – I don’t even
have words for my distaste. Not withstanding the value of melody or groove, the
staccato with this band felt especially like an afterthought, a legitimizing genre-shifter.
Without lights and bass, they would have been the stage band for a 70s-cop show
in southern California. Like the Transiberian Christmas albums my mom told me to
establish she was rock. So I was angry. Two muscle-bound guys muscled in in
front of me. There was one in a tank top and then a pal looking more
hipster-hiker with a man bun – the air got sweet with cologne. Most Muscle said
something like: “That harmonicas fucking sexy as fuck!” I must have the harmonica-part
wrong but they can’t use me as their excuse for the rest. And, then no lie, I swear to you, the
hiker-one said: “My body’s on fire right now” and did a Who air-guitar-swoop. The
crowd was completely and totally into them. The main band member said some unintelligible
nerdy stuff and everybody clapped. So, I got to experience a new subculture – I
can’t name it, I don’t want it, but good to know I’m just an ant in the wilds
of culture. I will say they had ridiculous guitar skills – they spent unusual
amounts of time playing the necks. I found myself sort of getting into them (King
Crimson, Yes) and so I left.
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