Medicine / Weekend @ Music Hall of Williamsburg – 8.16.13 Medicine / Weekend @ Music Hall of Williamsburg – 8.16.13


You may be wondering exactly what took me so long to get to telling you about the Weekend/Medicine gig (I missed Leverage Models, but a fat bald man mumbled something bitterly to a lanky kid about you being dancy and poppy and punky and multi-instrumentally which kinda sounds like a hoot so keep us posted on a next time) at Music Hall of Williamsburg. That’s fair. We’re a music site, after all. Our asses should be timely when it comes to recounting the goings on in our respective performance annals and, inasmuch as I’d like to treat you to a long-brewed consideration of analog post punk in the age of digital prowess or the power of shadows in the crumbling facade of LCD performance or the rare rave on a band absent for two decades returning to form with such stunning seamlessness it makes the mind reel but really, honestly, true as Trudy I’ve been trying to find a way to write about this gig without focusing on the terrible, terribly bleached sundressed bug-eyed twat blonde and her flip-cap fauxmo piece of shit compadre who all but knocked a woman with Parkinson’s over in a twee frantic drunk push to stand right in front of her (knocking her cane over in the process) so they could dance (I guess…when they weren’t tweeting) three bodies deep from the front but I can’t. Fuck them. Fuck them both right up the ass with a syphilitic awl crudely and cruelly until their spines collapse and their eyes fall out in long, slow agony as we turn their screams into a sonic pastiche whose funds we’ll use to fund clinical research trials and then we’ll get to hang out with motherfucking Muhammad Ali.


Anyway, yeah. The band’s were rad, though.

Weekend play the post punk cum thumping goth with a simmering glumness that should be bored and off-putting but encapsulates just enough legitimate pop melody (as evidenced on their most recently release, Jinx) to keep them just above and beyond the boundaries of self-pitying white privilege while still remaining effusively thunderous. Actually, they are so much better than their record. I want them to make money but I’d kill to see them in a basement.

Medicine opened with “The Pink” which filled my heart with so much gladness that I almost forgot they got to “Never Click” but they did and I really wish I could have just spent the whole set high and supine with my eyes closed while a porn dwarf painted feathers on my toenails and all the heavens crumbled to the dust of a teenage road trip to Boston once with the sun and the song and the promise, becoming but some luxuries still elude me and so I watched the band I once loved so well in errant loneliness play and they were tight and delightful but decidedly aged from the band I envisioned when I was fifteen and I know that’s just damn fine in my mind but in my heart of hearts (where is that, exactly?) I’ll always remember them as palm tree assassins in sunglasses making light shame of MBV and JAMC and their commitment to nothing. Have you heard their new record, yet? It’s fucking sublime.

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