This Weekend In New York: Guerilla Toss Weird Out, Cloud Becomes Your Hand Role-Play, And Quintron Turns Brooklyn Into A Swamp
In Waste Of Paint, our writer/artist team of Jamie Peck and Debbie Allen will review goings-on about town in words and images.
Ain't it grand when some sensory input makes you feel like you're on Mars, even though you're totally sober? We devoted this weekend to the weirder side of the New York music scene, discovering two bands just feeling their way in the world, and re-discovering another that's ridden its twisted take on New Orleans blues to relative indie stardom.
Friday we stopped by Big Snow Buffalo Lodge, a young venue that often features full bills of little-known bands, the diligent Googling of which can yield exciting discoveries. A homophone for a hopefully mythical sex act (look it up, or maybe don't), the five-person group Guerilla Toss has all the makings of experimental greatness: irregular time signatures, an off-putting name, and a singer utterly devoid of self-consciousness. After a few seconds of stumbling around mumbling gibberish as if in a trance, frontwoman Kassie Carlson took a deep breath and let fly a syncopated barrage of screams as ear-piercing as they were exciting to the moshing all-ages crowd, and her male band mates occasionally joined in. As their short, explosive set sped towards the finish line, I thought at turns of Primus, Captain Beefheart, AIDS Wolf, an evil carnival, and Ponytail. But where the late Ponytail dealt in free-flowing, half-improvised compositions, this chaos seemed more or less planned. Their energy was also a good bit thrashier and darker, though certainly not without humor. Exemplary lyric (when lyrics could be understood): "You're not my dad! You're not my real dad! You're not my dad! My dad lives in Tampa!"