Links:
Ant-Zen

I do have to say that my common bitch about people yakking through a show wasn't really an issue this evening as you couldn't even hear your colon rattling in terror much less someone else's screaming voice.

The local DJ was starting the noise as we arrived, filling the angular spaces of the club with spastic beats and bursts of raw sound, gearing us up for the tumult that was to come. We got settled, had a few drinks, and prepared ourselves. The show opened with Savak--the only American act on the bill--and while he certainly managed to blast some noise out of the PA, it wasn't anything terribly memorable. The low end was a rumbling repetitive thunderhead while the skittering static bursts over the top made me think he had a pair of rats whacked out on their own weight of Benzedrine chewing on live wires in the box up on the stage. But what Savak left us with was the inescapable notion that there is rhythm in any sound you hear--we seem to seek it naturally; even in the most oppressive noise, there is a pattern that our bodies naturally gravitate toward.

After a short break DJ'ed by Salt--Ant-Zen's resident label meister and graphic designer extraordinaire--Synapscape hit the stage and proceeded to bludgeon the audience back from the stunned indifference some of us had been left in by Savak. Definitely friendly with the bass end in the noise 'n' bass equation, Synapscape pushed back the rushing field of noise and focused more on a sense of melodic constructions. These two are the children of Einstürzende Neubauten who have stolen the pipes, the metal sheets, the shopping carts, and have begun a relentless assault on these structures, seeking to permanently pummel them out of their known shape into something new. The phoenix children of acetylene and steel. Frankly, either of them could kick Rhys Fulber's ass. And, as they beat us with their apocalyptic jackhammers, I noticed that if the beat is heavy and insistent enough even goth kids will mosh.

After another interlude with DJ Salt (who graced us with an elegant set that mixed material from the Ant-Zen and Hymen labels with Aphex Twin, Boards of Canada, and other recognizable IDM favorites), Olivier Moreau slipped up on stage and started a systematic destruction of the foundations of the building. Shortly before this tour started, Imminent Starvation announced a truncation of their name and the newly shorn Imminent roared into being as an immense freestyling construct of powerful noise and drones laced with lost beats and nearly recognizable sound bites (including Godzilla's roar!). Just as Synapscape notched up the sound and intensity from Savak, Imminent rose to the next level beyond Synapscape, pushing even greater densities of static and sound and mixed tones through the sound system. Largely improvised, the set was more beatless than one would expect from hearing his last album Nord (see our review), but clearly the Imminent sound nonetheless. Standing in the back, I unplugged my ears briefly and felt the full force of the gale being whipped around the room. It's not something that I recommend every day; but at least once in your life you should hear music that threatens to melt your brain and shred your internal organs and liquefy your lower intestines with its sheer brutality of its impact. And, as Synapscape joined Imminent for an encore that merged the terrifying intensity of both bands together (you can actually hear this conjoining on their recent EP, Screenwalking, from Ant-Zen which we also review this month), I couldn't help but be pummeled into an appreciation of the allure of noise and powerful rhythms as a panacea for the zombifying effect of 21st century's industrialized, computerized, steel and stone world.

-Mark Teppo
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Bob Mould
@
The Showbox
March 4, 2000
Seattle, WA

Links:
Bob Mould

Then a funny thing happened. Bob hit the "go" button on a DAT machine that sat beside him and the Showbox started reverberating with the rhythms of a techno beat. What? That's right. Overtop the generic house beat and nestled within the sound of electronic dance sounds flanging between the stage's speakers, Bob strummed his 12-string and sang and suddenly, to the surprise of all, became Disco Bob. Even the crowd--who were mildly annoying in the fact that they mostly consisted of young Microsoft couples holding each other close as they danced and swayed and sweetly nodded to the bitter angst of Mould's lyrics (they really don't get the joke nor the music, do they?)--suddenly stopped and gaped as they attempted to digest what was going down onstage. Bob continued to use the DAT as backing instrumentation for the final two songs that followed, and although this time around it was used to skillful effect (I quite enjoyed those last two), the damage had been done. Bob was no longer Bob--he he was Disco Bob. Maybe the time he's been spending writing scripts for the WWF has finally got the best of him, I dunno. He sheepishly left the stage and returned to encore with "Too Far Down" and "If I Can't Change Your Mind." Between songs he promised to finish wrapping up two new albums he has been working on and get them out as soon as possible.

I've always had a soft spot for Bob--always will. And I would prefer to chalk up the disco number as a one-off; a prolific songwriter working out new material and ideas on a crowd, not a sign of things to come. To that end I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

-Craig Young
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Grandaddy
@
The Crocodile Café
March 22, 2000
Seattle, WA

Links:
Grandaddy

At one point, a woman slipped off her bra and threw it around Jason Lytle's keyboards, a sure sign of fan devotion. Lytle, lost behind his keyboard or too embarrassed to acknowledge it, sang sweetly on. After finishing their set, the crowd howled until the band came back on for an encore. Finishing that, the crowd once again shouted for these lo-fi space rockers to retake the stage. Sheepishly returning (as if playing a second encore to a demanding crowd were a crime!), they offered up one more song and then modestly and sincerely thanked the crowd for such support and admiration. This was definitely something you don't see in a half-packed bandroom at the Crocodile Café on an average Wednesday night. All signs of a band whose music is worth searching out--and whose shows are worth making the time for.

-Craig Young
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Links:
Jollymon

But before bowing out, the 'Mon were able to privilege the crowd to some tasty (might I even say, groovalicious) tidbits from their 1998 release, Stoned Nation Radio, as well as some newer tunes apparently marked for release on a new album in May. Amid their sonic madness, they used a spark grinder that shot glowing flint onto the band as they played, and left this audience member feeling Kiss-nature awestruck. Matching their fabulous costumes and stage show, the music was equally fun and upbeat. Jollymon pride themselves in being too psychedelic for the hard rock purists, yet much too heavy for the hippies. Add to this school of thought a scratching DJ and a high libido, and you get the idea. Following the show, though there was some dismay at the briefness of the affair, there was a resonant feeling among both Michelle and myself of gratification. Due in part, I believe, to the professionalism with which they handled themselves in less-than-perfect circumstances. A fun live band to both see and hear. And fear not: they don't suck.

-Al Cordray
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Links:
Peter Murphy

Both Peter and the rest of Bauhaus (who went off and became Love and Rockets) wisely eschewed any direct lineage in their post-Bauhaus outings, taking the opportunity of reformation to branch out their musical styles. Peter discovered Middle Eastern rhythms and began to craft delicate, mournful songs that highlighted his most deliciously sonorous voice. Songs like "Deep Ocean," "Crystal Wrists," "All Night Long," "The Sweetest Drop," "Cuts You Up," and "Strange Kind of Love" were love songs for the nocturnal, elegant ballads of darkened rooms and despairing hope. All of which translated poorly to the live venue.

That isn't to say there weren't moments that made me glad to be sandwiched into a corner of the sold-out show. The simple and delightful shadow dancing with the strobe and the white sheet that accompanied "Disappearing." The allowance made for guitarist Peter DiStefano to actually break free of the restraints hindering him and actually build some interesting sounds during the outro of "The Sweetest Drop." The stark elegance of Peter's face during his interplay with a handheld spot light. The simple pleasure Peter seemed to be enjoying with his new band during most of the songs.

However, the overwhelming letdown of the show was the constriction of the numbers to a flat zone of sound, the loss of the minimal and the elemental from his material as it appeared on the studio discs. I've listened to these songs for years and, in this live setting, they were in some cases nearly indistinguishable from one another. Lost and mashed and turned into flat, boring, unimaginatively instrumented five-minute time slices. That is not the Peter Murphy I know. And while I'm happy that he has come back from exile and is regaling us once again with his musicianship and presence, I am saddened that this has been watered down and turned into a pop show more suited to the "I need something a little more risqué than Ricky Martin" set.

-Mark Teppo
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Links:
Yo La Tengo

-Craig Young
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