Living The It List Part II: Friday 2/16/07

Is it a triumph or a sad state of affairs when the best venue in North Texas is a modestly sized house in Southeast Denton? The answer to that question probably depends on your perspective and philosophy regarding DIY, underground non-traditional venues, experimental music, and noise, etc. For many casual indie rockers and music fans who already pride themselves on being too cool for the mainstream, these guerilla music movements represent a threatening fringe that might possibly unleash some sort of artistic statement that isn't immediately graspable, or worse, push them closer to the center of the mainstream that they supposedly despise. The threat is usually unfounded, however, because various sects of noise, experimental, and improv usually welcome outsiders with proverbial open arms and are glad to have anyone participate as either observers or contributors to their projects. The whole notion behind freeing up the rigid structures of Western 12-tone, four bar, G to C and so forth practically lends itself to a naturally friendly atmosphere where everyone is invited and nobody is expected to slave away under the tyranny of click tracks, tuners, tasteful tone and perfect pitch. However, these musical safety guards are by no means forbidden in The House of Tinnitus, and out of the handful of shows I've caught at the venue, I've witnessed more diversity in performer and performance than I would probably see if I spent an entire year hanging out in a traditional venue. This isn't to necessarily damn the rock club itself, but I wonder what the harm is in having an establishment that is sympathetic to the endless possibilities of what is considered music all over the world, or at least simply another cool place to catch a show.

Another unexpected occurrence in repeat visits to Tinnitus is that I have actually seen relatively few acts that would legitimately be considered "noise", especially by enthusiasts of the genre. I felt like the show on Friday probably came the closest to being an outright noise show, but even then, the whole story was much more nuanced and complicated than that. Truthfully, each act was so different from the next that you would find it difficult to find a blanket genre term for the night, period. SDS (aka Shortwave Death System) started the evening with a fascinating set comprised of manipulating the frequencies of short wave radios and looping them in real time along with prerecorded loops of radio buzz and chatter. Chance was a huge element in this set since you never know what kind of right-wing propoganda, religious fanaticism, and grotesque commercial advertising nuggets are going to tear themselves away from the static and reveal all of their shrieking paranoid glory. Different short wave models were used one at a time, determining what would take shape in the shifting signal blizzard. As chaotic as this sounds, it was a relatively calm, almost soothing set that climaxed with SDS dropping out the signals altogether while staring intensely into the crowd. It was the high point of the act, where SDS became a sort of snake charmer with frequencies in place of serpents, creating deep uncomfortable chasms using pure silence. It was a beautifully jarring ending to a mostly tranquil performance.

The least expected performance came from Denton's Brokenizer, who as I mentioned before, includes the man known as Sinevil of the folk and blues trio, Burnt Sienna. I didn't know what to expect from Brokenizer and I was wowed along with many others in the room at the originality of the music, concept, and even instruments. The music was performed on mostly homemade implements along with turntables, strategically damaged compact discs, vinyl and treated vocals. The group, whether or not it was intentional, reflected the aesthetics of homemade innovators such as American composer Harry Partch or freakish electronic minimalists Crash Course in Science, both known for actually making the instruments used in their recorded work. The consistent and slightly distorted beat also had similarities to that group's rhythm. The compact discs and vinyl were cut with scissors and had attached pieces of tape to cause the needles to skip and produce the beats, and the result was a practically danceable arrangement with strange little cog pieces clicking away as accents. I felt privileged to catch what I'm assuming was a rare set, but hopefully will happen again soon.

Church of The Apocalypse broke the quirky charm of the evening provided by the first two acts with a numbingly repetitive set of what seemed like the first two notes of a doom metal riff repeating infinitely over a hissing yet subtle feedback undercurrent. The riff originated from a twelve string bass that was then pushed through a factory's worth of pedals, preamps, and other sound molesting devices. The delay, distortion and other effects boxes rendered the music practically unrecognizable as having come from a bass guitar. I overheard a funny conversation that went something to the effect of:

"Dude, do you know what a blank model preamp is?"
"What?"
"And do you know how expensive they are?"
"?"
"Well, he has two of them!"

It's geeky conversations like these that only add to the fun of a live experimental music performance. Church of The Apocalypse took repetition to the point where it almost hurt but the music only gained power and momentum that hung in the air like a black cloud when it was time to pack up the pedals.

There was a lot of excitement built up over Goat's performance. At this point, it's late in the evening and the mood and sobriety of the BYOB crowd is starting to unravel. Since Tinnitus is a house, you're often uncomfortably close with complete strangers, sometimes strangers cutting themselves and bleeding all over the carpet. The difference between this and any bloody fight I've witnessed at shows over the years was that this had a certain G.G. Allin self-desctructive charm missing from those violent spectacles I saw at Trees at 16. I honestly thought the blood was fake until I was clued in by a fellow show-goer. Goat produced the most obvious straight-ahead noise that night and their sets are so notorious for their brevity that I saw some people thinking they had missed out because they caught the tail end of the sound check. As soon as the noise assault began, Goat was cheered on by enthusiastic clapping and hollering, the way you'd see an audience encourage a soloist in old jazz clips. The direct support of audience to performer during the set was actually touching and a direct refutation of the theory that noise music is the willful blockade of communication with the audience that more "standard" music provides. And even if that blockade is an attack on said communication, who's to say that this isn't in fact where the art and beauty lies in a given piece or performance? To see a crowd throw fists and cheer this on is confirmation that people do actually enjoy that which is often deemed "unlistenable" or purposefully difficult. Goat's short blast of a set was a thrill to take in, but their speedy explosiveness would give way to an artist that instead chose the slowest possible path to punishment. Thankfully, everyone at Tinnitus was ready to take it.

The extreme to which Black Mayonnaise took the basic idea of heavy was ridiculous and I mean that as a compliment. Obviously this is a focused effort, seeking to make music that barely crawls on its own slimy belly. Before commencing, the man behind Black Mayonnaise turned on bright red strobe lights and a smoke machine that made the small living room feel like a nightmarish arena nestled deep within the pit of Hell. He then made the simple combination of distorted bass and drum machine sound like a row of tanks rolling through a wall of sheet metal. The time lapse between sequenced bass drum thud and snare hit stretched for an eternity. Head banging was almost out of the question, and the people attempting to do so could randomly be seen with head thrown back under the nanosecond flash of the strobes and not come down chin to chest until five minutes later. For the duration of the set everyone seemed to be drowning in a floor to ceiling flood of codeine cough syrup while the digital beats sounded more and more alien under the rising bass rumble. Vocals blended in to the cacophonous ooze and the place erupted into rapturous applause when the smoke cleared. Black Mayonnaise won't soon be forgotten by anyone lucky enough to be have been there and it was almost unthinkable that someone perform after them.

I didn't really get to experience Blast Beat as much as I wanted to. Visibility was limited and much of their performance is visual as well as physical. The screeching havoc they produced was so loud people were clutching their heads and in one case, covering their ears with duct tape. Fluorescent light bulbs were smashed and by this point the carpet was a salad of blood and glass. They were polite enough to clean up after themselves at least. The group is releasing a split 12" with China's Torturing Nurse on the local Dada Drumming label. I wish more artists would do splits with groups from China if only because it would certainly be more interesting than an Itunes only EP that I'm supposed to give a shit about according to the label spam in my inbox.

The dance party began as soon as all the live music was finished. "Fuck tha Police" was a great way to close the evening, and it made me think of the manner in which the uninformed among us view the people who would attend a show like this, namely as stuffy intellectuals who want nothing more than to destroy structure, song-writing and poppy indie rock forever. The benign group of dancers before me seemed more interested in simply having a good time without an ounce of pretense or revolutionary grandstanding. If more venues I went to were nearly as welcoming with crowds nearly as kind and intelligent and artists nearly as free of ego and popularity concerns as those I found in Denton in Friday, then maybe we'd see a day when DFW isn't so haunted by the ghosts of a dying music scene. I'm familiar enough with the empty culture that permeates local music to know the day where such things are the norm will most likely never come. For now, at least there is Tinnitus.

(photo by JD Dunn)