Dispatch from the First Agit-Reader Presents...
Hitches. Shows like this, with bands this idiosyncratic, don’t exactly go off without them. As no one wanted to play first, the spot was designated for Dayton’s Gluons. Luckily, the line-up consisted of groups that get-it-and-get-off and as a consequence, leave the crowd wanting more (i.e. 20 minute sets) – so the fact that the Gluons were fashionably late, with zero to little contact with “promoter," didn't matter all that much. They missed an exit or something. Good thing when 10:45 rolled around, it was easy to transport their minimal rig (four tiny amps and a couple of guitars and pedals) right onto the stage. I’m more than happy they showed, as the crowd that eventually formed was treated to their blistering blast-pop. I’ve mentioned a post-Braniac fuzz about them, but here they reminded me of Ween back when they were Ween (i.e. the Pod) – a duo of terminally stoned freaks wafting in sinister noise and doling out hooks with little care about fidelity or how loose the flange pedal might be. Ear to ear smiles all around, though Gluons might be a bit green live, you could focus in on the mess they made and realize there’s a great vision here in both song-craft and sonics. You’ll be seeing them again soon, and on time, and hopefully, twice as high.
For many, Haley of Circuit des Yeux could potentially be a buzzkill. It’s the shell of the entire U.S. Girls/Zola Jesus/XXperiments sphere that’s a tough one to crack open and enjoy. That black egg of the apocalypse is just now boiling for CdY, coming into her own both by herself and with Cro-Magnon. This night she kept it simple with a sampler, a loop pedal, and a mangled guitar – oh and that voice. But she also went berserker with the simple set-up. I adore the 8-bit beats getting hammered by the moan and scream, the echoes of madness, and the challenging doom riffage. Thanks for taking the night one step closer to oblivion. That’s the highest compliment, as that’s where the bar wanted to be at one point.
By the time Deathly Fighter positioned their death star on the stage, things were getting blurred. This was one, lengthy, groove into that communal oblivion. I don’t think that there was a non-bobbing head in the place. You can nod off if you wanted to, but I wouldn’t trust the dreams that might have formed. I like that this (a one-off improvisation by DF) could be interpreted as intercept techno (wherein the dueling MOOGs were caught before they were launched out the speakers and manipulated ever so slightly) or as a psychedelic time-warp back to what? Harmonia in the Train Station? I’m excited to see what the trio can whip up in the Lone Star state next week. Should be very interesting. Don’t sleep on Completely Dusted.
And finally, the grand finale, the fullest Psychedelic Horseshit has looked in months. Would you call it primed? Ryan Jewell as multi-instrumentalist (he’s fucking on the floor with tablas this time out!!!), Andrew Graham on concentrated moonshine freak-folk, Rich Horseshit getting horny all over again, and Matt Horseshit flailing about like a pissed-off octopus. I think the pressure to top Magic Flowers Droned has formed a diamond, as these songs sparkle in the chaos of such a unit. At this point I was blotto, but I do remember how memorable those last ten minutes were, one beautiful line pounded over and over.
Stay tuned. We’re doing this every month.