In the last week, "Big O" has provided a metaphor along with sophomoric distraction. Integral to "Big O" is the Megadeus, a monolithic robot. And that is where "Big O" truly comes into play, because on Thurs., Feb. 17, at the Earl I experienced an approximation of what the sound of two towering automatons battling for supremacy would be like.
The show providing this insight would be Dlek, a New Jersey hip-hop trio eschewing laid-back for feedback. The sheer scope of the group's dissonant altercation with disharmony corresponds to a Megadeus mêlée. The group brings its own sound rig to reinforce the house system, and the cones howl like the damned. Standing near the sub-bass cabinets, I felt my sweetly shorn scrotum wobbling, like a blanched sheet in a summer breeze. If I were a woman in that position I dare say I would have had a spontaneous, well, big "O."
I have not seen heads bob so violently since the last time I wandered around Ponce at night. Producer the Okt0pus triggered squalls grappling with each other. MC Dlek, despite having the flu, spit lyrical rivets. DJ Still's molestation of a turntable's magnetic contacts was a breech birth of metallic scrawls. This is the confrontation much hip-hop has left behind, people. Search it out, and cheers to the Earl for hosting a challenge.
Sorry, No Lee-wayRemember last week, when I was all obsessed with (the Year of the) Cock and (indie rawk) Balls? Well, I'm not alone in my fascination with the nuts and bolts of nightlife. At least I wasn't alone Sat., Feb. 19. Because that was the night Compound was rammed tight with people waiting to see Motley Crüe's Tommy Lee, accompanied by DJ Aero.
Before we get to Lee, however, let's start by talking about my favorite subject: my privates. When Compound first opened, I criticized the club for having weak bass. Well, they no longer do. Sitting on a bass cabinet as the room filled up was like a prostate exam compared to Thursday night's hernia test. And I wasn't alone in enjoying the sensations. Soon the bass cabinets were plastered with wiggling women, at least until two chicks in sublimely ridiculous bodysuits started dancing atop the cabinets. While I love being eye-level with spandex-bound camel toe, I left my colonic perch to watch Lee.
Drudging through droves of air-pumping mooks going all LA Fitness to Q100 DJ Mike B, I made my way to the side of the small stage set up for the Lee/Aero "performance." Oh, and though I'll leave the most severe criticism of populist dance music to the LunarMagazine.com forums, I have to say to Mike B: Dude, seriously, please stop scratching over tracks.
So Lee and Aero take to the stage, and man, that laptop has skills! Except for employing the computer button that triggered the beat to exponentially accelerate, Lee deferred to Aero to punctuate the digitally sequenced set with scratches and segues. Lee, however, did have a Britney look-alike to do a little wiggle before being forcefully spanked by a metrosexual little person (the M-word is wrong, y'all). Oh, and Lee let people drink from the same Jgermeister bottle he was drinking from. 'Cause, like, that's what someone reported as having Hepatitis C should do.
And the capacity crowd was drinking it up. After five songs or so I left, however, before I could catch anything or get impaled on some dude's gel-tempered hair spikes. I'll stick to the "Big O" over the big "oh, no."
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*Christ, Lord sorry
"Punk" style like this seems like it is the polar opposite of punk. Bradford Cox…
They're kind of starting to look like a joke of themselves. Song's good though.
All 80s movies want you...
Their show with Chris, Lord about 3 years at the Unicorn was the best.