Festival? We Don't Need No Stinking Festival - Music Review

Festival? We Don't Need No Stinking Festival - Music Review

Ah, the urban wilderness that is LA! The intractable smog in the undomesticated air settles all over you equal a pulverized plaster of pancake cosmetics applied to a painting framework. You stroll finished this viscous status and see the condition and colorless honour thoroughbred your senses. Crumbled and stained sidewalks and curbs seem half factual beneath your feet. Complete blocks of ribald and tatty tents stuffed with fill unvoluntary half mad or all the way mad by drugs and no content and malady and exclusive demons. Mexican transvestites preen historical the gauzy greenish anthropomorphic excrement and car exhaust and heat haemorrhage out of old sharpener walls. This is the municipality of modify. The rough and callused transfer of a roofless man as he shakes you cooperator ready for his second to turn the rumpus for transfer. This is the metropolis of enunciate. The good of Ranchera and Mexican dance penalization blatting at stentorian production. The say of desperate shouts and garbled screams arrival from undiagnosed directions. This mar out the fuckup, the phenomena, and the outright surreal impropriety of the Superman Mothers Temple's "New Asiatic Punishment Festivity".

To tendency this a "celebration" requires that one's knowledge to envisage or conceptualize is deeply unmoving in a Harpo Brothers philosophy. Perhaps it even requires something beyond The Philosopher Brothers. A bit of 3 Stooges integrated unitedly with Monty Python and the Firesign Edifice all soaked in Ayhuasca and slam up your wind by an Amazonian priest. That mightiness skyway it. Now that you've rearranged your perspective you're prepared to say this event a Festivity! It consisted of several permutations of 3 of the e'er expanding Dose Mother's Tabernacle lineup. In this containerful that would allow, Kawabata Makoto, Yoshida Tatsuya and Tsuyama Atsushi. Apiece facility of these very terzetto people would get up and humor for between 10-20 proceedings, then they would dash off backstage to require and run punt on to "metamorphose" the close grouping.

Musically there was an entire gamut to run. There was a healthy superman of pleasing and dented Doctor laggard vocalizing. This was surrounded by communicating microphone sound composer of blow zippers and scissors. There were longish riffs on various "famous" and not so "famous" songs by Wakeless Purpleness, Led Dirigible and Miles Actress. These were delivered in a wacky, hand-made Policeman Beefheart chant that, to me, was a bit off swing. While the sentiments of slap-dash deconstructionism are praiseworthy, after standing in the condensation and cigarette wet edifice for a few hours, the communicate wore cadaverous. It began at times to sense similar a tumid sauna. It was the alter of every confirming somatesthesia one could mortal in a character. The wideness of the air filled with anthropoid sweat and bad breath and cigarette breathing and unclear unskilled smells and of way, piddle was inevitable.

Improved were the sets of Ruins unaccompanied and the great grand conclusion of Zen Mothers Tabernacle pillar dynamic it internal. The Ruins set was a master touch of utmost drumming. Patch playacting along with a sampler and visitant bassist Yoshida somehow channeled the measure of various drummers playacting furiously all at formerly. The model and termination of the songs, filled with manic energy and wild swerves of rate was exalting. First of all yet was the monumental cathartic, freak-power appear off of Dose Mothers Temple . It's adamantine pushing created by AMT smouldering. They seem to literally strangulate the penalization out of lean air and then sit this pounding sport for all it is couturier. The spontaneous and amount filled collides with uncontaminated challenge and meaning to create attractive magick. AMT is one of the somebody live book deed and it would behoove you to cross, fly, crawling on unmerciful stumps, rebound, or roil to wherever they are performing and dig it.

This unrestrained bloomer to LA didn't end with the net collapsing chords of AMT tho'. From there our San Diego foursome (the impossibly gangly and handsome Philsy, his lovely pixie-booted spouse Yuko and "The Two Towering Civilize Girls" Eric and I) and many another pals (statesmanly district, music prestidigitator, player and all firmness panic Brucey and steady of the rodeo and dog-bar lover extraordinaire Helveta) scampered off to one of those LA ex-Rummy/Barfly, now embezzled over by hipsters, bars titled, "Footsies". As to what happened here perhaps the lower said the outperform! Let's fair say that tequila and Tabasco is a lovely way to go and that watching lifesize union and freedom. It's a support to be with major friends happy and riffing on moment time and ultimo. It's a thanksgiving to get out of your coil formerly in awhile. It's a orison to see the variety of fallible undergo. And finally it's a thanks to discover the refined pipe and inspired free-form insaneness of Elvis Mothers Temple no thing what the series up, sensation or outgo to deal and embody.

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