Giles Corey / Planning for Burial / My Mountain / The Whip Angels @ Cameo Gallery – 1.12.14 Giles Corey / Planning for Burial / My Mountain / The Whip Angels @ Cameo Gallery – 1.12.14


Since returning from Xmas at the haunted inn, I’ve been something of a malcontent and mumbling shut in so I’m not exactly sure what it was that tore me from the bosom of cheap beer and troubled sleep to trek to Williamsburg on a Sunday (I mean, lord knows I love me some drone and sad and violence but my couch is such a perfect place to be nothing. It has dogs on it and a TV nearby, throw blankets and I can smoke there.) but I did and I am glad not just because it proves I can exist between the poles of manual labor and twilight but because…well, Giles Corey. As you may recall I have something of a thing for the band that is the man, Dan Barrett and most all of the “No Fun. Not Ever.” chums that populate the grey illustrations of Enemies List and since I missed his last appearances in this fair city, I kinda figured I’d be a dick if I skipped on this one.

So, yeah. I guess I do know.

I also know why I got there at 7pm even though Mr. Barrett wasn’t slated to play until 11:30.

The Whip Angels

Having sold themselves successfully to me as alchemically, death centric, androgynous shoegaze self-willed sex objects I wanted to make damn sure I didn’t miss an inch of the Whip Angels performance so I got to Cameo nice and on time which wasn’t exactly a mistake because now I know not to believe everything that the internet tells me and found myself reevaluating the true events of melodramatic adolescent attraction while a small, dour woman mumbled something about death in the dark which lead me to issue the following texts:

“Suddenly missing all those pretty high school girls who used to cut Nick Cave lyrics into their thighs”

“Or was it Bette Midler?”

“It might have been Bette.”

“Yeah, it was Bette.”

My Mountain played next and they (he) were (was) much more enjoyable. Engaging at times as he twiddled his knobs and cords, issuing forth noise waves, drone melody and jazz fill underpinnings in a hoodie sans affectation. Not a live experience worth recounting or even revisiting (no offense, man) but a good, bleak bliss out for shit sure.

Buy the record and play it loud and lonesome.

Planning for Burial

Planning for Burial was a band I really wanted to see. Another one man act whose music I know to be big and black and crushing as fuck in the post rock, metal deconstruction way all the MGD kids (Pabst is so passé) are living these days except not pretty and pissed so much as a the wet howls of whiskey-stinking nihilistic crisis mismanagement. Or maybe he was just drunk. I mean, he was definitely drunk. Shitfaced, even. But the music was so fucking robust that it lent his stumbling implosion credence and vice versa. Good bad vibes abounding.

Giles Corey

Ben teases me sometimes about my infatuation with certain artists. He’s usually cool about Enemies List because I think he thinks, if given the chance, they’d kill him and eat his momma’s brains which they might. I don’t know them from Eve.

But yeah. Big fan. So big that I was a little nervous about seeing Giles Cory live as I’ve only ever enjoyed the music in deep, obfuscated intimacy. Hidden behind shrouds of referential mystery. Decoded and imbued with madness and binaural effects. Pale specters and ghost whispers. And I was concerned that the sight and sound of a real human being performing grave songs of such suffering would render much of their potency moot.

It didn’t.

In fact, the more Dan Barrett presented himself as a person (telling jokes, anecdotes and riffing on his own inadequacies as a songwriter seemingly incapable of performing his own music) the more enthralling his howling wind became. This was a real man, playing real songs about the horrors of living with depression and all its fucking mountain of absurdity. Some were furious, hateful even (particularly the new track which I believe was titled “Dan, You’re Such an Asshole”). Some were as slow and somber as a heart monitor. But each time the music stopped, Mr. Barrett smiled and spoke fondly to those in attendance, understanding that we were all here to share in this simple expression.

The artist was present and his art rose to meet him.

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