Waste of Paint: King Tuff Goes Retro, Pissed Jeans Get Pissed Off, Slug Guts Spook, and Sky Ferreira Charms
Saturday we ventured to the western edge of Manhattan to see Aussie act Slug Guts give the sterile air of 92Y Tribeca a seasonally appropriate soupçon of rotting corpse with music worthy of The Hunger's soundtrack.* With squalling guitars, sickly sax, and an ominously punchy rhythm section, they displayed a lecherous lurch worthy of their country's greatest underground death rock acts, most notably The Birthday Party. Clad in black jeans, '70s aviators, a gold chain, fingerless leather gloves, and, most amusingly, a mullet, singer James Dalgleish hammed it up as he spazzed around the mic like an electro-shock therapy patient, reveling in the spooky kitsch of it all. As he swung from a lobotomized baritone to a frantic, yelping shriek and back again, the most obvious comparison was the aforementioned Nick Cave, but there was also some gravel reminiscent of Marilyn Manson in his lower register. I mean this as a compliment; like Spin Magazine, I un-ironically believe Manson to be The Last Great Rockstar.
*A seminal 1983 horror film starring David Bowie and Catherine DeNeuve as a sexy vampire couple which helped popularize Bauhaus' half-joking darkwave hit "Bela Lugosi's Dead."