Rocket to Nowhere started off this lonely Wednesday night to a crowd of their girlfriends and a buddy. It was the guys' first night out, though, and as they put it, they were “still working out some kinks.” So I’ll try to be nice. It is said that when you undergo brain surgery, you can’t feel the drilling into your head. But I could definitely feel Rocket’s set of guitar-driven, growling rock boring slowly but surely into my skull. After introducing a song called “This is My Life and I Hate It,” I decided it was time to start drinking.
A pitcher of High Life later, California’s Dry Rot took the stage. When the drummer of a band opts to wear the type of ear protection they offer at shooting ranges rather than just little plugs like everyone else, you know you’re in for a ride. The lead man crouched meditatively at the head of the stage like Liam Neeson when he was fighting Darth Mal in Star Wars: Episode I. Then the rage ensued. Dry Rot crashed into its set, and the singer went wild. He paced the stage and screamed like he had just found out his girlfriend had been cheating on him -- with his brother. He must be the most calm, reserved guy in actual life, saving every ounce of frustration and anger for the stage. Fucking wild.
Then it was out to the patio to scope the crowd, check voicemail and maybe bum a cigarette. Strangely enough, I saw a girl changing into a bathing suit, hanging out with a girl who was already suited up. Upon further investigation, I discovered this was Karen and Lisa Dread from the next band, Turbo Knife Fight, throwing an impromptu swim suit party. Lisa swiftly put me to work coloring flyers for her skirt business and then went off to sound check.
After coloring for a while, I went back inside to watch the fight of the century: Turbo Knife Fight. Once the act kicked in, its similarities to the Pixies wouldn’t stop banging off the inside of my head. The band's like a punk rock, surfer Pixies with Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs on the mike. Then as if to solidify things, the band covered the fucking Pixies, “but a little faster,” as Lisa disclaimed. At that point, the camera went into the bag, and the dancing started, it was unavoidable.
Finally Green Fuse took the stage. These guys have been playing together for five years, but are sort of elusive, not playing out too much. So I feel sort of lucky. The guys were explosive, recalling an earlier, better age when the members of Sparta and the Mars Volta were actually in a good band, At the Drive-In. Fuse alternated between hard, fast and loud to smooth, technical and mind-blowing in a matter of milliseconds. The outfit's transitions were fucking tight, like a dolphin’s asshole. They played a short set, ending the night smooth but hard, like a double shot of whiskey. -- Taylor Sullivan
Personal Bias: High Life puts me in a good mood. That pitcher may have been the turning point of the night. Random Note: Despite what my new friend Mary says, it takes more than just not being color blind to fly a plane. By the Way: Lisa Dread will be at Cervantes’ Masterpiece Ballroom on Sunday for Heatwave, a fashion market, where she will be selling her custom skirts.
