Spank Rock and Win Win at Grand Central Miami
I saw these dudes at SXSW.
Sleigh Bells Grand Central 2011
What do you do on Halloween weekend, while visiting one of the most creative cities in the country? You dress up like a freak, and wait in line for tix to Of Montreal, who played The Warfield last night. The long line of freaks gained the attention of a number of Market St’s alcohol-starved panhandlers, that is until everyone’s attention was stolen by the 2000000 costumed bikers strolling-by on their October Critical Mass.
After escaping the spare-change-fiends, attendees found themselves inside a pretty cool opera house with a general admission floor. After a quick inter-stellar-moon-message Janelle Monae took the stage. What a trip, if you ever wondered what James Brown was like live, in his prime, this is probably a great example. Killer dance moves, rose pedals, boners, and an abstract expressionist jam session later, Janelle set the bar insanely high for the headliner. When they brought out the easel and canvas, part of me was hoping she would use that tuft of hair on her head as a paintbrush. Alas.
Of Montreal’s theatrics were totally on target. With more costumes than a Slipknot show, the bands sexual interpretive dance emitted enough warm energy to erupt a disco-stick. Totally fun set which, in the spirit of Halloween, included a cover of Thriller as an encore.
In the shadow of an uptown strip-mall neighborhood, past the city of Chicago’s dump truck parking lot, lurks a neat little spot called the Hideout. Last night Aids Wolf probably alerted the entire strip-mall community that something loud and wild lives in the backyard. Their three piece wall of sound melted-faces into something you’d find in a seripop poster. Which they happened to bring a large collection of. All that remained after the final notes of the set, were debris of fans, now turned skeletons with chunks of flesh hanging off.
“America’s first sports bar”, McGreevy’s, was overthrown by wildmen St Patricks Day weekend. It wasn’t the usual shitfaced-type wildmen, but rather actual living-breathing-instrument-wielding wildmen! Larry And His Flask left their hometown of Redmond OR for Boston (by way of a giant bloodthirsty wolf they had captured for transportation no doubt) to perform upstairs among Beantown’s filthy pub-goers. The guys had set up at the back of the room, and after a quick beard-rally, released their mighty powers upon the bar. Continue reading