Photos by Mona Maruyama
It was 1° according to weather dot com’s TruPoint™ Feels Like feature (and as a point of reference, I don’t crawl out from under my duvet unless it’s more than 20° if I can help it.) That’s the only weather thing I trust, and I think it would get Ron Swanson’s endorsement. Visual mistress and Dig Boston extraordinaire Mona got my sorry ass out of bed and to the Middle East with the promise of cool dudes and rad tunes.
Before I get ahead of myself, I need to admit I was completely ignorant of everything I was about to hear. I went into this blind, like a sonic social experiment (putting that hard earned Sociology minor to work ????)
We got in there in time to see the last few songs that Boogie Boy Metal Mouth were throwing down. Listening to BBMM is like listening to the musical equivalent of a question mark, which isn’t exactly upsetting. The vocals over the deck scratching made for some wavy hip-hop, but the vocals over the guitar made it punk as fuck. Shout out to that noise.
But then it was time. Designer got up, stood on the oriental rugs, put a broken trumpet on the floor, and opened up their synthbox, misleadingly labeled “Slow Jams.” Deconstructed laughter samples poured out and I didn’t really quite grasp what was going on. Everything turned up real fast and in every basement in the world a pit would have formed – and it just didn’t happen. Maybe it was because there was too much space, maybe because it was a Tuesday at 11, or maybe it was because moshing is so last year, but the crowd just wasn’t moving.
That being said, their eyes were glued forward (up until the bassist just walked off the stage and started playing in the crowd at some point late in the game, at which point heads actually turned.) The guitarist jogged in place the ENTIRE set, clocking in at somewhere around a 15 minute mile (and putting my cardio to shame.) And, possibly the most impressive party trick I’ve never seen, the drummer took off his sweatshirt in one motion while keeping his sunglasses on.
A friend I’d somehow convinced to freeze her fingertips off and come along with me tried to explain that they sounded like “Sonic Youth meets System of a Down…but noise.” I’d have gone along the lines of the short lived but (personally) life-changing dance punk band Test Icicles reincarnated. I don’t know how these guys would feel about that. I’m just throwing it out there, for comparison’s sake. The breakdowns weren’t broken, or down. The drone sounds filtered into earsplittingly high pitched screams. Maybe it’s not for everyone, but it sure as hell is for me.
Fucking February 2014 Tour Dates
Below are insane photos Mona snapped. Drink in the visual nectar until you are quenched. And then drink more.
