[from St Louis MO] This band was a light-hearted lark. It was a
tight room with everyone on the same level. So my view was limited. But it was
clear the lead singer was horrifying and disgusting, hunched over and lurching
the whole show, with dirty hair flopping. Ragged clothes. He devoted a lot of
time to demanding beer from the barkeep, the audience … He told us: “I stopped coming to Memphis
because of the crime problem... I was committing too many.” Bah bum. He would
want me to relay these facts to you. And it was borderline corny. There was
also a depraved guitarist, a slagly drummer. Jam hardcore, sludge, Jesus
Lizard, Mudhoney. All of a sudden, it occurred to me they had no lyrics. But
then I realized there were words every now and then, but they were basic, like
“I’m a leper.” This band was not nihilistic. They were a symphony to self-hate.
To the extent that it felt rude to clap at the end of a song, and I caught
myself crafting little self-help plans for them. The effect was ruined just a
bit by my favorite being in the band: the dynamo in jean shorts and pearly
white slipper-shoes who had filled in for a car-accident-ed band the day
before. Remember he did a rock kick & the sparkling shoe flew onto the
green tarp above the audience?
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