But first…fun with late-night CNN headlines!
Oh, Carlos D. I knew it was only a matter of time before your sexual indiscretions (story halfway down the page) finally caught up with you! Does anyone remember when the car broke down at Curiosa and we watched Carlos D. pile into a wagon filled with underaged chunky girls in the wee hours of the morning? That was the highlight of the festival!
I was having a nice conversation with Ian last night about something that was probably of no interest to anybody other than the two of us, when I decided to double check what time the doors opened at Echoplex. To my surprise, they had opened at 7:00. I raced over there and found Australian avant-noisemaker Oren Ambarchi had just began his opening set.
The last time I saw Oren was when he was opening for Sunn O))) at the Avalon in New York last year. Perhaps it was that venues atrocious sound system, but I enjoyed his sonic manifestations much, much more this time. He sat behind a large table which was littered with portable mixers and effects processors. More pedals were strewn around his feet beneath the table. He sat with his guitar propped on his knee, occasionally milking a note from the instrument, but mostly twirling knobs and building walls of noise that were as far removed as possible from anything a guitar could ever emit. Watching him work is like watching a mad scientist hovering over beakers and burners, blending vibrant-colored mixtures to form abstract concoctions.
Between sets, I wandered over to the merch table. I only had six dollars in my pocket after the Maker’s, so I couldn’t afford anything. Boris actually had the gall to bring along some of the Rainbow LP box sets, which they’re selling for $245 a pop. I’d like to know what kind of person shows up to a rock club with that much cash burning a hole in his pocket. Maybe if I asked them nicely they could pay my rent.
I love me some Galaxie 500, but I’ve never been able to get into Damon and Naomi. It seems like music that should be right up my alley: bleak, dejected, dreamy pop songs. Nevertheless, I found myself slightly disappointed by their set last evening. The duo performed with a cellist, a soprano saxophone, and Michio Kurihara. Together they found sporadic moments of brilliance throughout their set, but there was nothing that would make me re-think my stance on their albums. I give them credit for their excellent stage presence, though. Lively banter with the crowd can save even the most dreadful of performances. The fact that I forgot to snap even one picture during their set should hint at how enthralled I was. I guess I was too busy giggling at the inappropriate text messages I was scribing.
Boris and Michio Kurihara ascended the steps of a smoke-covered stage shortly after 11:00, and proceeded to treat a tightly-packed audience to 90 minutes of epic doom metal, heavy psychedelic rock, and ambient melancholia. It was by far the best and most fascinating of the four Boris performances I’ve seen. Only a handful of recognizable tunes (“Pink,” “Rainbow”, “Just Abandoned Myself”, “Farewell”, and two or three more) roared from the group’s amplifiers. The majority of the set was devoted to new material or collaborative tracks with Michio. The highlight was what could only be described as a twenty-minute classic psychedelic rock exploration. What began as a wistful, plaintive tune sung by Takeshi exploded into a the heaviest of heavy anthems, highlighted by furious, dueling guitar solos from Wata and Michio. I don’t think I have anything else to add. Boris melt faces. Go see them. Bring earplugs to protect your babies (that’s a nickname we sonic purveyors have for our ears)!
The rest of the photographs from the concert will soon be uploaded to the main Swanfungus website, right after I get some lunch and return from the market. I’m out of bagels! I’M OUT OF BAGELS!
