Monday re-cap: "A little bromance, a little Brokeback"

Rock ‘n roll can be more than a little homoerotic sometimes. Like this past Monday. The show featured a cross-dressing metallist with a pink Hello Kitty guitar, spandex-suited dancers with a penchant for full-body contact, and an act called Fuckass & the Grease Patrol.

Hmm.

Photos: Mikhai Tran

There’s a lot of stuff going on behind the scenes here at SEANCARNAGE.COM (all of it good I assure you—like our Tom of Finland/Gay Beast party next Friday…please come!). So while I prepare for the next stage of this site’s development, it’s unfortunate that I did not get to interview Fuckass & the Grease Patrol. I need to make that up to you. I need to make that up to ME.

‘Cuz within 30 seconds of witnessing this musical GENIUS practicing his magic, I wanted to know: WHY!?!??!?!?

Who is Fuckass? He changed masks for every song. Where does he come from? He hid in a box before and after playing. Why are so few artists in Los Angeles as aesthetically TOTAL (while still being musically rock-solid) as this man, my new icon? I just don’t know…

What I do know is that Fuckass is like an electro-metal heir to The Frogs (and Sockeye and John Konkelle, etc.). Disturbing/taboo/catchy—Fuckass & the Grease Patrol are the sounds of a man going where most are afraid to tread. A perverted place where morality says “no” but curiosity says “ah yes.”

Oh Jamuel Saxon. The music was good—like 60 Watt Kid (but more electronic) with similarly epic-sounding rising-and-falling musical pathways. So aesthetically no complaints.

But, man, I gotta say as people, Jamuel Saxon and his friends totally sucked.

Saxon snuck in nine people who refused to pay which is totally uncool under any circumstances—and particularly shitty as Saxon was an add to a show where nearly all the acts were touring.

I don’t do guest lists at Pehr because we are ALL friends and/or visiting. So if no one pays the measly five bucks at the front, there isn’t going to be any money at the end. It’s just that simple.

But you know what? I was like whatever—I was glad Saxon’s friends got to check it out, and I figured I’d just pro-rate his payment at the end of the night (which I did).

Then, to my complete shock and disgust, Saxon and his dudes proceed to skip Vulture, the night’s local band and the anchor of the show, and instead demanded to be paid immediately so he and his buddies could leave early and “rest.”

Umm…Not staying for the very band that made your set possible is not cool.

Then the dude says “See you next time.” There ain’t gonna be a next time, buddy!

Jamuel Saxon sounds like a name Kyle Mabson would invent—you know, the name of some goofy FUN band.

Well, the real Jamuel Saxon is not fun at all. I never criticize harshly on here but I gotta put my foot down.

If you play Pehr, your guests have to pay. If you are a touring band you must stay until the end because that’s when I pay out. And if you don’t like that system, play somewhere else.

Treasure Mammal is a long time Monday Night superstar. He’s rivaled only by Captain Ahab in the electronic/bromantic department and he always leaves the crowd sweaty and exhausted. This night was no exception. Treasure Mammal has added two spandexed male dancers for extra queerness. The “Vote McCain” sign that got tossed around (TM’s from Arizona) was fun too.

I hope all the dudes who were cheering Treasure Mammal went home and had gay butt sex because y’all looked sweet together.

Photos: Sean Carnage

Cold Mold—yes! After all the sweaty homo lovin’ for Treasure Mammal, here comes the sheriff to round everyone up again. What weapon does Cold Mold use to stun the audience? Cattle prog of course!

All joking aside, these two—Bobby and Anna (read an exclusive interview here)—are everything I adore about aggro/noisy duos (they especially remind me of Astoveboat or some other early Load Records band) with a sweet country twang integrated into many of their tunes (must be their Arkansas upbringing).

I really loved Cold Mold, and I hope they come back soon.

After that insane country detour it was back to the big city—Los Angeles, California—for some truly inspiring metal from Vulture.

Vulture sticks to a more traditional rock modus operandi where gestures, lyrics and riffs are used to whip people into a frenzy. The crowd was feeling it. They jammed hard. Vulture’s songs are truly great and I can’t imagine anyone not loving their demented creations. If you see the name Vulture on a flier, GO SEE THEM. I’m going to bring them back for sure.

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And don’t miss this Monday, July 5th:

Sean Carnage presents…