Getting a haircut is never as simple as it sounds, especially in this city. You’re gonna need some help, unless you have one or more of the following: a) extremely liberal views on what counts as presentable b) a steady pair of hands, and c) tremendous flexibility á la the double-jointed faction of showtime kids. Good luck with that whole finding-a-stylist thing, by the way. If you’re searching within a two-mile radius of Greenpoint alone Yelp turns up 218 hair salons. On top of that, professional hair choppin’ is a fiercely competitive scene, and yet salons still manage to be painfully expensive and, in some cases, rather uncomfortable.
Yvette manages to master tension at the same time while evoking grittiness and a sort of epic, operatic expanse. Expect some witchy drone chants appropriate for blasting during a seance from Kill Alters, whose music might actually speed the sorcery up. And now for something completely different: Macula Dog. This is ’90s-MIDI nostalgia and the upward, outward thrust of the Internet wrapped into one twisted, multi-layered, DMT trip of a sound. It’s like the continuation of Devo’s mission, but in the complete absence of rock n’ roll: if Jerry Paper is post-post-post-post-indie, Macula Dog is post-post-post-post-punk.
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