(Photo: Nicole Disser)
If you’ve never been to a Pink Mass show and your idea of BDSM is 50 Shades of Grey, then grab your smelling salts for this one. Even I found myself flinching at photos of the band’s live performances– gory scenes of large, sweat-soaked men sheathed in balls-to-the-wall bondage gear, bending into various shapes of mastering and submitting, and abiding strictly by the band’s stated “personal interests”:
LEATHER
STUDS
WHIPS
SCARS
(Flyer via Union Pool/ Facebook)
Ereptile Destruction, Growler, Shitkill
Tuesday November 22, 9 pm at Union Pool: $8
Once in a while, it helps to forget everything that’s happened to metal since nu metal hit, and take a trip back to our roots. Growler, a Brooklyn-based act that describes itself simply as “hard and loud” helps get us there, mainly by defying the trend toward increasingly humorless, doomed and/or blackened what-have-you. Lately, it feels like we’re so chin-deep in sludgy muck that it’s easy to forget where we started. Growler’s throwback sound plops us back in the early ’80s, with their high-pitched, falsetto, bordering on operatic vocals that recall Iron Maiden and Judas Priest.
(photo via BAM)
Portrait of myself as my father
Continues through September 17Â at BAM Fisher, 7:30 pm: $25.
Choreographer Nora Chipaumire, born in Zimbabwe and based in Brooklyn, takes the medium of traditional African dance and dresses it up in the masculine garb of a boxing ring in this piece that explores and explodes traditional notions of black masculinity through the spirit of her estranged father. He will appear in multiple forms, symbolically summoned as a “specter” through two dancers, Kaolack (also known as Senegalese dancer Pape Ibrahima Ndiaye) and the Jamaican-born Shamar Watt. The three performers will step into the ring, don their gloves, and fight it out. Or dance it out. Or maybe there’s less of a difference than we think.
(Photo courtesy of Bill Dozer)
It’s been a rough summer for the Brooklyn venue scene. Palisades has left a hole in our heart so big that we couldn’t help but dream up some (nightmarish) replacement tenants for the Broadway-Myrtle space. Lucky for the owners of The Acheron–  the unofficial home for Brooklyn-made punk and metal that closed last month in a flurry of sweaty thrashing and loud-as-hell sets– they don’t have to see their former digs overtaken by some slick newcomer.
Negative Approach at the Acheron (Via Acheron Instagram)
Before the Acheron opened on a quiet block in heavily-industrial East Williamsburg back in 2010, the building was little more than a “black box” housing a barebones ska venue, as owner Bill Dozer remembers it. Within two weeks of signing the lease and taking over the place, it was transformed into a punk and metal show space, a speakeasy-style DIY operation with cheap cans of beer, the occasional “plastic handle of liquor,” and a remarkable sound system with a bar next door. “We were able to get off the ground with basically nothing— just a bunch of sweat and, like, four people working there,” Dozer recalled.
Over the years, the Acheron has grown into the de facto homebase of Brooklyn punk, which has made something of a comeback itself as the venue expanded and went legit, welcoming in local acts and touring bands from across the country to play everything from straightedge punk to psych metal. But as of July 9, the East Williamsburg venue is putting all that to rest when they close their doors for good.
(Photo: Courtesy of Falco Ink)
Since first gaining internet stardom as a precocious metal trio, Brooklyn’s Unlocking the Truth has gone through seemingly every loop on the rollercoaster ride of fame. They’ve gone from playing for change outside the subway to booking major festivals; they’ve recorded and now re-recorded their debut album; and, most of all, they’ve dealt with miles upon miles of corporate red tape.
Now, after months of delays, the band’s first full-length album, Chaos, is finally coming out this Friday through indie music distributor Tunecore. (Watch the video for “Take Control” below.) Plus, Breaking a Monster, the documentary by Luke Meyer that we caught at SXSW, is set to premiere later this month. (There’ll be a preview screening at Museum of the Moving Image on June 21, followed by a performance by the band.) More →
(Photo: Nicole Disser)
Now I have you with me, under my power. Our love grows stronger now with every hour. Look into my eyes, you’ll see who I am. My name is Lucifer, please take my hand. – Black Sabbath
Yesterday eve, a hoard of leather-jacket-clad girls with flowing manes and practiced scowl-pouts made their way to their assigned seats at Saint Vitus. The mood was heavy, everyone seemed to know that they faced the potential for both complete humiliation and romantic glory at the very first Speed Metal Dating. I was among the 74 people who showed up, a sacrificial lamb for stunt journalism.
What happened? Lemmy tell you…
(Flyer via Dave Hill and Trish Nelson)
“It might just be crazy enough to work,” mused Dave Hill, the comedian and author who’s now embarking on his second venture in “alt” romantic encounters. It’s Speed Metal Dating, happening this weekend at Saint Vitus!
It’s likely that you know Hill from his Monday night WFMU show The Goddamn Dave Hill Show, or perhaps you recognize him from his Comedy Central appearances and brief bits on Inside Amy Schumer (Hill also has a new book coming out May 10, Dave Hill Doesn’t Live Here Anymore). But it’s also A-OK to admit that you recognize Dave Hill from Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now, the comedian’s original North Brooklyn dating event at the Black Rabbit aimed at rabid fans of the Smiths and Morrissey.
Gigawatts Fest is happening this weekend, which is great and all — I need my pop fix as much as the next guy. But sometimes I want to be surrounded by sounds that whinge, “I’mmmmmmm differentttttt.” If that’s you, too, get thee to these smaller shows where you’ll find acts that don’t exactly qualify as festival material, if you catch my drift.
Welcome back to IRL. Here’s to hoping you had a good one being equal parts proud to live in a country where you don’t have to think too hard about what went into your readily available Apple phone and palm oil snacks, and all “pshhh” about the whole affair. We’re also fingers-crossed that you didn’t go too DIY on fireworks after a failed reconnaissance mission ‘cross the Pennsylvania border (really, you gotta know a guy to get anything close to decent fireworks ’round these parts)– because fingers and toes are maybe more valuable than even the most awe-inducing homemade mortar blast or Roman candle to your unsuspecting friend’s face. In the interest of such things, maybe you didn’t get your kicks, but fear not, there are better, much safer ways to get your thrills via rock n’ roll. Take this week to scoot your butt to some shows and allow yourself to revel. Believe us, it’ll make up at least a little bit for this increasingly less-explosive holiday.