Friday, July 21, 2006

Made it out to some very nice peoples' house in Denton the other night for a li'l house shew. Wonderful hosts; they have a nice place on a corner of the "bad part of town," but they're right across the street from something like a church, so the house is sort of half-cloistered from neighbors, crack dealers and police.

The occasion? Warmer Milks! Yeah, Lexington, KY's Warmer friggin' Milks in J.R. country. Trip! There were two opening acts, the first of which escapes me just now. After ten minutes of trying to decide whether this first act was sound checking or actually playing I decided to retire to the spacious back yard and meet the Warmer Milks guys and smoke some ciggies. Mikey is the only one whose name I really remember, and he is a very nice guy--very intense and passionate about his rock 'n' roll--but also just a down to earth, accessible black metal fan. He was shocked when I started name-dropping all these peeps that'd turned me on to his music. I was all like "Yeah, we all went to Forced Exposure University together," so he kissed my hand and gave me a merc hook up (hand painted test pressing of the new LP on Troubleman, 2 CD-Rs and a t-shirt that I sure hope fits) and asked me to keep in touch, which I'm planning on doing. I'd rather have someone like this as a friend than an enemy.

Next band was You Are the Universe, which came off like Explosions in the Bardo Pond. A young skinny man who was a friend of this band was talking to me right before the show and asked, "Hey man, where's the heroin station?" I Mona Lisa smiled and looked at him perversely. He sort of grinned and said "I'm just kiddin'...unless..." "Unless what?" I said. "Nevermind." "Oh, I'm just kidding too by the way." He looked at me and grinned, "Really?" And I countered: "Well you are kidding, right?" "Sort'a," he responded, and it went on like that till I walked away.

Sick fuck.

So Warmer Milks: What to say about these lunatics? These sweet, downhome middle Americans with a blackness in their hearts and a grim sound in their fingertips. I enjoyed asking each member of the 4some how he would describe Warmer Milks' music, and sure enough Mikey was closest to the mark: "Ummm, a trainwreck."


Like a few trainwrecks crashed into one another and spawning a nexus of pain and grief that radiates outward in every direction. The world is fucked; people are dying. Some dude in Beirut even went so far as to improvise around exploding bombs to, like, embrace the fury. Tones as pain, lacerated voices and sound, mongrel bass heavy splurge originated from diseased electronic blood; all in all their set was 20 minutes of the most demented post Throbbing Gristle/Wolf Eyes murk I have ever heard in a quaint living room. An amazing show. More entertaining than the Majik Markers. I recorded it on minidisc. It's gonna make one hell of a 3" CD-R someday.

See them live if you dare.

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