All I know coming into this show is that Cailtin’s kind of a bitch or maybe she’s sick but it sure is hard to find good leggings now that American Apparel’s closed. Been that kinda day. All out of time and place and just trying to make it by with some hops and Houellebecq (thanks Zamile) but these youngish somethings to my right are working hard to have a good time reconnecting over wheats and ales and who am I to fault them for that but with all the estranged familiarity chatter I can’t focus on the intellectual detachment of this post-ironic tome so I have to go and wait over an hour before the first band plays a goddamn note.
Back in the days of 40s and Anthony, I used to speculate that the perfect grindcore band would be two basses and a drummer one or all of whom would screech. None of that six string masturbation nonsense. Just garbage disposal brown notes churned out blindly for maximum insufferably. Turns out that structure’s a perfect recipe for postpunks dedicated to the cloudy resonance of Joy Division’s nervous sex appeal.
I love Pop. 1280 because I will always hate myself in some capacity for not throwing my pale body furiously into the hopelessness of NYC’s scum cum shithead scene while I still had the chance to fuck up in the last gasps of its dopesick vanity. Also, they’re good. Really good. Mean and slithering and hopelessly dedicated to the nightmarish luxury of 20th Century living and I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve got my shit together enough to see them but I’m glad that, when I did, their singer took a swing at me.
I went into this show expecting to see a half-naked domitrax steal the air out of the room with her raw and relentless purpose. I mean, that’s kinda what happened back in Texas before I turned the lights out. But that was Texas. This is now. And now Hether Fortune is…well, I don’t know what Ms. Fortune does these days with her sexual ownership and I’m in no place to speculate but goddamn if she doesn’t seem changed.
I’d like to think that she was happy then (she was certainly astounding) but tonight I saw her smile often and effortlessly and I can’t remember what made it into their set all those states back but this gig was a flurry of shady delights. Head bangers and hand wringers shimmering black metallic; recalling late night Pyramid make-out movies where all the poisonous pleasures of the world succumbed to the strange wonders of post-adolescent lust.