Author’s Note: This show was loud. This show was bright. This show was fucking terrifying. And I almost didn’t go because I very much value being alive and able to walk the street with both eyes and front teeth in tact but I did (duh) because to let a history of mental illness prevent me from me from experiencing the sonic tectonics of this bill would’ve been a sin not easily forgiven.
Below, you’ll find the gist and the grist of who happened that night and some evidence of why I’m still shocked I survived.
I don’t know how or why I got it in my head that Primitive Weapons were born of some post-punk commitment to aesthetic ellipses and borderline artless skronk but holy fuck, was that assumption wrong. These dudes are metal, man. Hair-slinging, fury whips all full of bowl-curdling growls and ball-swinging riffage. If I didn’t know they were Brooklynites, I would’ve sworn they were Mason Dixon grease freaks burning hard the old fright of young men lost in a wilderness of skin lamps and strychnine.
“Do you think he likes The Stooges?”
“Ya goddamn right, but he went to great length to pay homage to Eric Burdon’s epic badassery before faithfully ripping the fuck out of ‘Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.'”
“Was it good?”
“Holy shit, dude.”
Mutoid Man is a weird little beast of a band. One part Converge, one part Cave In and one part audio engineer, the band offer themselves as a brain-melting pledge to uphold the stone truth that there is no problem that can’t be resolved with some good, old-fashioned face-melting ripper RAWK! so long as said RAWK! is played by death-head, jazz coupling mathletes with a soft spot for scorched earth policy. So, you know, like a total party band for the wolf pack brats grown up to get down in the blood of erstwhile punks.
The Dillinger Escape Plan
Full disclosure: I don’t really care for the Dillinger Escape Plan. I know that people love them (like fucking LAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHVVAAUGGHH them) but I don’t have a place in my brain for their raging Feynman plays Zappa plays dead dynamics and haven’t really since my mom bought me Calculating Infinity as a college graduation present…or was it Christmas? Whatever. Suffice it to say, it’s been a minute and though I’ve seen them since they switched singers (in a shoebox on the Lower East Side with my favorite bygone VA junkies, City of Caterpillar) they only really exist on my radar as a touchstone of extremity.
But holy shit, dude.
I mean, I’ve known plenty of artists who seemed more than ready to die on a whim for the right artful echo but I have never seen something, somebodies so desperately and fearlessly unhinged. I’ve certainly never seen some dude jump from a second story balcony TWICE! I’ve never heard “Sunshine of Your Love” sound like it was designed to preface the Hadron’s great godless negation of space time.
I’ve just never.
But now I get it.