Terminal 5 used to be Club Exit, which I knew from radio ads and little else. Think a guido meat machine and you’re probably not too far off the mark – it’s not this venue in Greenpoint, though. It’s an interesting venue – loud but not too painful, cool and crisp and security was pretty good in terms of not beating people up and whatnot. Not that this was that sort of crowd, far too educated – and rail-thin – to engage in such ROCK AND ROLL shenanigans.
However: speaking of beatings, there was a whispy mustachioed type (who probably owns several fucking scarves) who repeatedly pushed his way through the crowd. And not like a pushy little girl, but just walking forward, oblivious to his surroundings. It’s funny how this band attracts one asshole per show – perhaps this guy was related to the shoe hands man from 77 flavors of awesome? Maybe he was just tripping his brains out? We’ve all been there, unable to pay attention to the rigors of social interaction, to the myriad rules and regulations that sometimes seem impossible to follow and completely meaningless in that context.
Either way, fuck him. Let the cancer gods do what they will.
Black Pus – being Brian Chippendale of Lightning Bolt – was ridiculously good. He was yelling these little guitar bits into a delay sampler, which was hilarious – warming up on air guitar while yelling into a mic. He also had some kinda drum-triggered synth doing dirty bass. A few moments of fiddling and then he would play his brains out. It was a really short set of about thirty minutes, with no filler. Scuttlebutt goes that a new Lightning Bolt tour will be around this summer. This is a good thing.
I don’t have a camera, and I’m not really into taking pictures, so you can get better stuff off of Brooklyn Vegan’s site or this flickr feed if you’re into that sort of thing – you can almost see the top of my pate if you squint hard enough. Anyway, Boredoms played on the floor, on a stage. Three drum kits, a guitar/sound tech and Eye, who opened again with those awesome light-sensitive egg things that acted like the coolest sounding theremins you’ve ever heard. (Let’s be honest – Theremins are kinda dumb for the most part.) Best of all, the guitar tree from last summer was back! Every time that motherfucker would hit that shit with his sticks you could feel the audience freak out.
I did a lot of screaming and I apologize if I was too annoying – again, let the cancer gods do as they will. Joe later said that most of the audience seemed bored, like a free jazz fan at a non-free jazz show, but I was far too drunk on ecstatic abandon (and drinking) to really notice. That a delightfully polite little mosh pit had opened up was just plain cute. It was many things, but delightfully cute is what it mostly was.
The first song was about an hour. I think. They’re still firmly in the “junk caught in the unblinking eye of god” period of work. The second song was maybe 35 or 40 minutes? I can’t really tell you. I also skipped on the encore, which was no doubt also super excellent, because I am old and my life is a travesty.
But I don’t take notes at this sort of thing. I’m there to have a transcendent experience and bop like someone who weighs much less than I do, not re-mediate a mediated experience for an alienated audience. Also, I have a terrible memory and I tend to be very bad at describing events to others.
For example, what was it like? Uh…they played on three drum kits and Eye screamed and hit the guitar tree and played droney synth screams and everyone was happy. There. Satisfied? Of course not.
But that’s what happened. Go see Boredoms! Don’t be the asshole who shoves people! Don’t wear shoes on your hands!
And don’t make fun of my royal blue totebag. I like it. I said I was buying it for my wife, but I lied.