makavellis on the maybach (kicks retro)

Last night. Fast Forward, No Age, and David Stone at the Smell. It was hot, packed, and you couldn't hear any of the vocals. It was living, breathing proof that music is and has never stopped moving ahead.

Walking down that alley is always a bit like crossing over into a sovereign zone. The corridor was peopled with unfamiliar young faces, with luminous new skin, and the kind of raw sensibilities that seem to predict (and create) danger. Entering I saw a few familiar faces (indexed here) that I can't ever really get enough of, and we all jammed into the front room of the club to watch David Stone's cacophonic arrangement of distorted drum machine loops and keys that were (to my surprise) well complimented by amplified and patched copper wires.

I hadn't seen No Age play yet, and I was made aware more than once that I was missing something that i'd regret not seeing soon. Brother Reade had done some shows with Wives a year or so back and I'd meant to stay up on what these guys were doing but it had somehow been escaping me. Tonight I was strapped in just beside their setup on the floor in front of the stage, directly flanking Randy's order of pedals and digital recorders. Their set commenced with blaring guitar and drums and words that were buried by the power of their instruments, but the sweat and veins in their faces communicated exactly just enough to garnish the compositions. I'm not positive, but I think that what these two are doing is quite necessary and maybe one of the best things you can see right now in LA. The energy of Wives (and punk writ large) is intact in No Age. The songwriting is developed and fermented, and the impurities of further living strengthen the message. The use of sequencers and playback is a total enhancement and never exceeds its purpose. I can only guess that a no age recording wouldn't disappoint. After the show, a large and majestic man named Bryan Ray bought me a bandana and Randy and I helped someone who'd drunk a bit too much find themselves a seat.

There is nothing I can say about fast forward that will make you understand what it means to see them. The audience was given red hoods with small eyeholes in them to wear. They were dressed in tall black pointed uniforms. They flooded the space with light. There were seven of them, one was screaming something he was reading from a sheet of paper. The others were waiting with arms folded, until he was done reading and then they all jumped off of the stage onto (not into) the crowd, and ran out the front door of the venue while the rest of us were left to listen to the end of their song, which was playing on a digital 8-track. The whole thing took four and a half minutes, and I couldn't tell you what they look or sound like. I imagine that teenage teardrops may provide photos in the next few days if you're at all curious. It was a serendipitous September 11th to say the least.