Clearly, the secret of Titan has spread fast. Last night, fans packed the basement of Lit Lounge to mark the release of the band’s new album, A Raining Sun of Light & Love For You & You & You (Tee Pee Records). All present were blanketed in overdrive, delay and natural phase as the band tore their way through a ferocious, forty-five minute mix of space rock, kraut and sludge; imagine the finer elements of Hawkwind, Amon Duul 2 and Black Sabbath. Titan slayed.
The evening opened with a duo called Blues Control, which consisted of a female keyboardist and a male knob-twirler/guitarist. They used a microcassette recorder run through a series of effects and a mixer to build rhythms over which to create nice ambient sounds and fuzzy guitar leads. Pretty cool.
The next band, White Hills, were quite incredible. I read about their new album on a recent issue of the AQ mailing list, and greatly anticipated their set. It was tremendous space rock with excellent guitar playing. Like the Stooges rhythm section with off-the-wall, acid-drenched guitar solos. I can’t stress enough the super-loud, overblown guitar. It was really something to behold. After they finished their set, the girl seated next to me and exclaimed that she couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen such a talented guitarist. I really couldn’t think of any retort, so I agreed with her. Without a doubt, I recommend White Hills. Their new album is called Glitter Glamour Atrocity.
After a lengthy set-up and two line checks, Titan dove into their first tune. They stood juxtaposed to amplifiers that nearly touched the ceiling and homemade pedal boards with infinitely blinking LEDs. Heavy and huge, with (again!) incredible guitar work. How lucky I was to see two mesmerizing guitarists in a span of two hours. I guess I’ve gotten too used to seeing meandering art-rock guitar. Watching Titan is like surviving a deadly storm. It’s a brutal cacophony. Drums rolled without relent, the keyboard spiraled with the guitar and bass like a tornado, picking up intensity, slowing down to a blissful state of relaxation, backbuilding, and finally relaunching into the cosmos. The energy was enough to rip right through the ceiling. It felt like I was ricocheting off bumpers in the world’s most druggy pinball machine.
They announced their last song, and in an instant took-off into some nether-region as their guitarist whipped himself into a frenzy, generating beautiful raygun squeals atop a proggy keyboard lope and a speedy one-note bass line. This went on for several minutes, until without warning they stopped on a dime, thanked the crowed, and flipped off their amplifiers. Whoa.
Outside, temperatures had dipped below zero. I’d never seen New York City so indelibly empty…but man, that surge of warmth emanating from the basement of Lit was a perfect antidote for a winter weather advisory.
