Show Report: Absu
June 28 2009 at 08:51:50 PM
Let’s lean on the fluidity of the eponym “Kafkaesque.” Surely it can include experiences such as slapstick dog attack, proximity to Aryan drones, a relentless and laughable in-between-song-banter raising the bar to the ether and beyond courtesy of “Proscriptor McGovern.” Don’t feed him after midnight. He’s also raided Liza Minnelli’s traveling wardrobe; black sequined slacks, fitted black top, mascara right out of
Mommie Dearests’ more extreme pill and highball moments seal the fate.
A soporific, “enchanted dragon” kind of record – Absu’s latest – doesn’t help either. What’s queer is those tunes were the most memorable live. They sounded full of blood and passion, whereas the record ices them in the studio and waits patiently while flipping through back issues of
Omni for a transplant likely forthcoming in the next 1,000 years. Tempus fugit… But, hey, let’s “give it up” for guitarist “Aethyris” McKay who manages to make some really spectacular (Altman version)
Popeye faces while ripping his BC Rich a new bunghole. Conversely, co-conspirator “Zawicizuz” has the early St. Vitus fro sealed. All that’s missing is the tiny chain-link steering wheel on his hooptee. Bassist “Ezezu” is part of the mallrat militia. Get that man a black duster and point him towards the nearest high-school lunchroom.
We probably should have just stayed at home. Pre-show ritual began with beers, a 160-pound black lab,
Flight 666 and ended with the venue’s door guy telling us Absu probably had 20 or so minutes left in its set. A small, but theatrical audience, could not possibly have compelled Absu to keep playing. I credit cocaine for the additional 15 minutes they tacked on. Maybe it WAS the audience. Some of them actually spent a lot of time “getting ready,” “honing looks,” etc. How ‘bout the Aryan gent’s “grim klaw,” eyes rolled back in his head, haircut Austria circa 1932? That surely kept them going. What about the five 10-year-olds up front, all shaved heads and eBay backpatches?
All I know is I tried to loose myself in the haze of motorik and glissando riffs – something from the new one, of course, and some of the salad days revisits – but couldn’t block the cheerleader’s OMG I LOVE THIS SONG out. Ten-dollar Newcastle doesn’t help either. “AT-LHAN-TAH! YOU. FUH-KING SLAAAAAAAAY!” Right.
[Stewart Voegtlin]
Photos by Rob Parham
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You need to stop going to venues with overpriced beer.
But only because I am able to stand in the back, crying into my peach-flavored water about my relationship with my mom, while occasionally observing the crowd in a detached and totally unaware way. Since I'm more fixated on my complex re: mom and the emotional turmoil going on around me, it's only possible for me to evaluate the visual aspect of the environment on a totally superficial level, which makes me ill-equipped to review any kind of show with music involved, but makes for really excellent crowd photos.
I live in Atlanta. What do you expect?