Apparently arm-chair anthropologists are creeping further into the darker corners of the scene nowadays. Who would've thought the July 25th Aerosols show would've ended up on Ivygate? Juli says she knows her Orientalist theory, but knowing doesn't prevent making the same trespasses Said should prepare you against. That's what he said.
I'll give her one thing, though: the Stolen Sleeves Collective is one hell of a place to unearth, especially if taking the L is still a novelty. It's rare that a "warehouse" is still a warehouse, or in a neighborhood that mingles the ghost of industry with the still-kicking body. There's a nasty emptiness to it; I spend a good fifteen to twenty minutes figuring out the appropriate bike-lock location before I realize that no matter where I park it I'm not going to be satisfied. The whole vibe is rather fitting for the experience and the racket generated by the resident bands, which are routinely at the front of the doom and gloom game. Lapsed recovering alcoholic skronkers Aerosols are probably the best poster children available, though Cult Ritual blew me away at their August 7th show at SS. The new 7" is en route now from Youth Attack!; no surprise on label choice there, seeing as how YA! is dominating this particular punk niche. Mr. McCoy was even present to see what carnage his children hath wrought.
Still, not even McCoy could've orchestrated the broader atmospherics for that evening. Riding down Flushing Ave., buildings moving out of the way with each block, towering clouds put on the most ominous heat lightning display I ever did see. Nature definitely did its best to fit the mood unto the breach. The stale night kept up the light show even after the show. I peeked backwards occasionally on the way back just to make sure it, or something, wasn't gaining on me. Perhaps the black concern about the approaching endgame isn't so far off.
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