Gay Beast wins

Just before last call at the Turf Club yesterday, Sarah leaned over and said, "you know, I think all these boy bands just suck." She was probably right: the gig was a dud, with one truly great band (Gay Beast, which has a woman in it) opening for lots of self-satisfied men with drumsticks and guitars doing the pomo wank down the hall into the detention room. Where to begin?

I'd begin with the Vets, but Lindsey (my neighbor and tower of rockcrit strength) first dug 'em way back at their first dorm gig, so why badmouth now? Plus let's face it they are kinda cute. Long guitary songs, some screaming, some moaning, at least one member of the trio is a Radiohead fan*, what else do you need to know? Except the guitarist on the left had a nametag which said "Smoke weed".

Hockey Night are a hybrid of the Marshall Tucker Band and Pavement, where shower singing trips over a slippery mess of heard-it-in-a-love-song guitar lines whilst two (2) drummers try to keep their shirts on (one failed). I know this all looks good on paper, but that Gap-ad guitarist was clearly some skinny semiotics grad student (I collapsed with laughter when he started swinging his wack tresses around like a springtime mating-dancing Gregg Allmann), and the one shirtless drummer could use a hedge trimmer, if you know what I mean. On the plus side, if someone in the band figures out how to write a good song, and decides to sing it without getting all sub-Malkmus on us, they might actually become pretty great.

Malachi Constant (whose cd release show this was) inspired me to comment, "Never trust a rock band with a law student in it", to which Sarah replied with the exception-that-proves-the-rule, the Reputation. Who really are among the greatest bands of our time, and therefore eligible to mop the floor with the Malachi Constant. By this time there was so much schmoozing and glad-handing (certain famous MN expats and soon-to-be-MN-expats had entered the room) that I didn't really notice the non-songs the band was playing. Though I did see someone lick the cherry nipple off their obscene celebration cake.

This leaves me with the mighty Gay Beast, who opened the night. I love the way Dan Luedke leans over that dirty Roland with big-ol' hornrims barely holding on to his noseridge, yelping, hiccuping, pounding out excellent noiseriffs almost as an afterthought. Think Jeffrey Combs crossed with skinny Richard Hell (crossed with a tornado of clipping scissors). Great stuff, and of course they'd be nowhere without Angela Gerend's goose-pimply drumming, which I have told you about before in the context of her old band Eufio, but now seems liberated, maybe even tottering on divine chaos. The whole package sounds like a dozen marmoset cages getting thrown downstairs. I bought their EP.

Go here for an alternative opinion of the gig.

[*Go here if you aren't already aware of my views on Radiohead.]