It was quite a bipolar run of days
starting this past Friday (12/28/2018). So much music bookended by
so much mundane bullshit.
After the eight hour death march to
3:30 that is day job and a brief nap, I found myself at Artists Image
Resource, a print shop on the North Side. Apparently, they also have
the occasional show in their rather large back room and this time
around Killer Of Sheep was on the bill so through the tunnel and over
the bridge I went with a fully charged camera and a blank SD card.
Before the bands started playing, it
was weird overhearing young people have conversations about being old
and how things were better when they were young. These kids were in
their early to mid twenties and they were essentially saying “Back
in my day...” to when they were seventeen. I quickly walked to
another part of the print shop to avoid getting my ass kicked for
being the coffin dodger that couldn't stop laughing at them.
I didn't catch the name of the first
band that went on but they did alright once they figured out how to
set up their gear. They had to have been a relatively new band
because they took forever to get it together. You can always tell
how long a band has been at it by the amount of time it takes them to
go from road cases to actually playing. Bands that have been around
for a while know how to get going in a limited amount of time or
don't care and get it together on the fly.
Killer Of Sheep went on second and
effectively woke the crowd up after crashing down on top of them. They are such a solid band that never disappoints. There isn't much else to say about them other than go see them every time the opportunity presents itself.
I missed the other two bands that
played because after helping Killer Of Sheep load out and discovering
my backpack was soaked in some sort of booze, I was off to Howler's,
in Bloomfield, to see Submachine after a stop at Crazy Mocha to
replenish my caffeine levels.
I don't know who the first two bands
to play were but I will say the hair metal scene and the extremely
long winded, guitar solo driven, rock 'n' roll bands in Pittsburgh sure can draw a crowd. There were lots of scarves and hair-dos in the crowd as if it were a
Tommy Lee look-a-like convention. I'm not sure how Submachine ended up
on the bill but I was certainly interested to see how the 80s burn
out, fashion rockers were going to handle brazen, “We don't give a
fuck” punk rock.
The second band that went on was a bit
of a puzzler. The singer felt compelled to tell rape jokes between
songs on more than one occasion which was a bit of a turn off for the
aging punker with a teenage daughter demographic. I'm used to
singers saying bizarre shit between songs to provoke an audience but
this was just creepy.
The band also thought it was necessary
to close out their set the way it began by playing the same song
twice. That just seems disingenuous and inefficient to me. The idea
of wasting a crowd's time like that would have never even dawned on
me because I'd see it as disrespectful. But I was horribly wrong
because the crowd enjoyed having seconds and ate that shit up all
over again.
Submachine closed out the night and,
to my surprise, didn't chase the crowd out into the street. Their
bass player couldn't make the show so Rickey, who usually plays
rhythm guitar, plugged a bass into his usual set up instead of his
guitar. I don't know if it was the bass run into the guitar amp or
the sound guy suffering from
last-band-of-the-night-so-who-gives-a-shit-itis or a combination of
the two but there was definitely a low end rumble through the course
of their set. Hearing the songs put through that prism did have its
charms.
Another upside of the night was
running into former Crayon Death guitarist, Mike Stains. He was
there shooting video for one of the other bands. We caught up a bit
and I apologized for the reissue of their record that Wile E. Coyoted in my face.
Saturday afternoon was spent editing
photos from the night before and partaking in what seems to be my new
pre-show ritual. Napping for an hour which is then followed by a
half hour of internal debate over whether or not I want to leave the
house and deal with humanity. As of late, I seem to be doing better
than usual in giving myself the needed shove out the door.
This was my first trip to the Rock
Room, which is in Polish Hill, so I was not sure what to expect. The
performance space at the Rock Room is a low ceilinged room that could
hold about two hundred people if the fire marshal is looking the
other way. The Rock Room is either exempt from the county's smoking
ban or they prefer not to enforce it. The only non-smoking section
was two inches from the floor which had taken on the attributes of a
Slip 'n' Slide after drinks were either spilled or thrown about the
room when the bands started to play.
The bill was 9 Shocks Terror,
Submachine, Blood Pressure and Scavenger Of Death. I got to the
venue early to check out sight lines and realized that I was going to
be in a tough spot for taking pictures when the room filled in. There would be no room to move around to get shots from different
areas/angles.
As the sardine can started to get
cramped, I noticed that my social anxiety decided to crank itself up
to eleven. I found myself in the back corner by the merch table
because that was the only spot that had some sort of open space. The
mental game of checkers had begun and I was talking myself out of
taking pictures and even thinking about heading home as Scavenger Of
Death was about to start the proceedings. After a brief conversation
with, and a few words of encouragement from, Alex Submachine, into
the pit I went, camera in tow.
There was enough movement in the crowd
for me to wind my way up to the stage-right “speaker stack.” I
suddenly had to learn how to take shots in a crowd which is something
I never had to do before since none of the bands I had previously
taken pictures of could draw enough people to fill my living room. At some point the camera's viewfinder fogged up because of the sweat
filled cloud of humidity that settled in the room. After that it was
a lot of “Gee, I hope this turns out” while sticking the camera
in the air and pushing the button. I had to keep reminding myself
that I'm no longer shooting film and that the ones and zeros of the
digital age will make more pictures.
After Scavenger Of Death and Blood
Pressure, my decision to wear layers and sneakers had come back to
haunt me. I had completely sweat through my clothes and my feet had
gotten a good stomping. A smarter person would have gone outside to
get some air but I found an equal amount of comfort in my discomfort. My lungs were burning from the lack of oxygen and my eyes were dried
out from the amount of smoke that had replaced the oxygen. I kept
thinking to myself, “Wow, I haven't felt this shitty at a show in
almost twenty years. I'm enjoying this for some reason.”
Submachine went on next and did their
thing. This was the point in the evening where the floor stopped
serving its purpose as something that could be stood on. There
really wasn't that much movement in the crowd to match the amount of
bodies eating it on the floor. I still can't understand why someone
would hit the pit after paying for however much a beer costs just to
spill it all over the place. I'm a straight up coffee addict and I
treat every cup of coffee as if it were a Faberge egg and go into mourning if I spill even a drop.
Submachine is clearly a band that does
not get the credit that they deserve. They don't really operate from
a set list. There is a basic framework of a set that they go by and
then songs are called out and everyone has to be on the same page by
the count in. Even in moments when someone in the band doesn't hear
what song was called out and the wheels fall off at least they don't
take themselves too seriously. They have a laugh and hit it again.
Saturday was no different. They got
on stage and showed everyone how it's done for forty or so minutes
before going off into the night. I will swear on a stack of Clash
records that guitar player Jeff is one of the best punk rock guitar
players around.
9 Shocks Terror is a band from
Cleveland that is apparently doing a run of reunion shows. I had
somehow missed them the first time around but I'm glad I caught them
this time. I did end up bailing about halfway through their set due
to the growing pain in my foot from being stepped on more times than
it's used to. I got my shots of the band and hung in the back for a
few songs but standing was no longer an option. I will definitely
pick up their records when I have a chance.
Sunday was its usual crash landing
back to tepid reality. Laundry, groceries and prepping other things
for the week ahead but this time there was photo editing and writing mixed in to
lessen the sting of normality.
Here are my two favorite pictures from
the weekend:
Alex, from Submachine, on stage at Howler's:
Oyo, from Killer Of Sheep, in the pit at the Rock Room:
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