It would not be unusual to find me sardined against the stage of some crepuscular downtown club, assuming the photographer’s position and whittling away at a Moleskin with a (very particular) black pen, contritely leaving those behind to crane around my umber mop, but, as I am wafted into Red 7 for Otis the Destroyer’s tour kickoff, the room is reverberating as the walls whisper and share in festive fever, and there is a skip in the groove of my methodologies. Aware of my spellbound vulnerability to vacuums of audiences and inkwells alike, I decisively shy away from the proscenium and melt with the shadows as my notebook hides in my camera bag, for I know my cognizant presence is precious tonight, though I must confess my inability to catch the first act of the night, Löwin – a performance later confirmed to be as enjoyable as ever.
Anticipation of the abandon to follow hypostatized in goosebumps and hushed tones, Big Bill takes the stage. Erratic and affected, the histrionic quintet plays a set detectibly different from those of the past. With the release of The Second Bill in January, they have tightened the grip on “billwave,” their fabricated genre, smoothing the metastasis between studio and stage. Big Bill’s maturity brandishes the darker facets of their freak-out funk to be grasped by the convulsing crowd, while pure, uncoagulating creativity ceaselessly floods out their veins, infecting an uninhibited, welcoming audience.
Indie garage rockers Growl triumph once again, due to not only their indisputable aptitude and ardor, but to their genuine nature and remarkable transparency as well. Materializing under a cerulean bath, the calculated, catchy hooks and punctuated bass lines round out their pop-sensible tunes, leaving the audience nodding along in sincere enthusiasm and appreciation.
Before Otis the Destroyer skipped town to traipse around the country on tour, they made a point to exhaust their local supporters. Driven by gunfire percussion into a rowdy whirlwind, they step up to the stage as auditory pools of grit, grunge, and grease begin to amass. Snout smushed into mic, frontman Taylor Wilkins, hidden behind a hirsute mask, forces out nearly operatic howls from deep within and generates a beaming pride with every head bang that continuously revs up the crowd. Their muscular, heavy tracks have an undeniable magnetism, and to attempt to escape them is to surely fail.
An electro blend of rap and hardcore punk, powerhouse trio BLXPLTN is a force to be reckoned with. Fractured and shrieking, they wrapped up our night in lead blankets as we headed home, simultaneously swollen from the absolute annihilation of our senses and brimming with euphoria.
We wish the best of luck to Otis the Destroyer on their tour. Select any image below to open in a slideshow viewer. All photos © Madeline Naomi Harvey & Pop Press International; all rights reserved.
