Ed. Note: We know that’s a broken jpeg.
So Artie had an extra ticket to this gig and though I don’t much cotton to the weird wide world of humorless laptop slap-ass, I heard tale that these two French (Ed. Note: Autechre formed in Manchester) WARP Records mainstays delivered their deconstructionist credos in total darkness, at bowel-churning volumes thereby offering a series of panic attacks as anti-set to nullify the bourgeois notion that one might actually expect enjoy one’s self on a Saturday night out in Brooklyn.
And so, of course, I took the ticket because no one hates me more than me.
Below are some notes on the experience:
• Everyone here looks like Sprockets except for the man-buns, drunk girlfriends and Molly cats rolling in flower-pinned backpacks and chewing their teeth.
• Cygnus (Ed. Note: The show’s formal opener) is a dude or, at least, he presents as a male with a moustache and goatee which disappoints me for some reason.
• Dave Hall is not Dave Hill.
• The bartender is wearing a brand new Raiders cap and that gets me wondering if Oakland has a team worth giving a shit about this season. Like, can the combined talents of Derek Carr, Amari Cooper and Latavius Murray really bring this bastard mess back from the brink of extinction or are they just flashing early season delusion? And what the fuck do they expect Roy Helu to do? It’s too early in the season to tell.
• “Fuck that motherfucking Klaus Nomi looking motherfucker.”
• Klaus Nomi never did well Tequila shots with his bros.
• There is too much ambient, bar and exit sign light for this place to go completely dark. I wonder if this will hamper the effect Autechre’s anti.
• There appears to be only one black guy here and it’s the dude we met at Mo’s. I think his name was Miron. We talked a lot of pleasant, albeit frantic, politics and then his DJ friend showed up and told me I should really start listening to “Chicago Drill.” He looks like he’d rather be back at the bar and I want to tell him that I feel the same way but not because I’m having a bad time, per se, but because we were having such clear and distinct fun back then and that’s a hard thing to find in strange place with new friends but then Klaus Bro-mi cuts in front of me for another round of Toro.
• Autechre starts playing. It’s loudish and squeaky and shrill like a mainframe having a nervous breakdown to the sound of a diamond on imitation marble but there’s beat enough for for some people to dance and so they do but I don’t because I can’t. It’s a social anxiety thing.
• “Pleasure is a bygone era.”
• Everything about Autechre needs to be presented with air quotes. David Foster Wallace called them “flexions.” I always liked that. Read Infinite Jest.
• I start screaming into my empty bottle of Lagunitas IPA. I hate this beer. I didn’t used to but that isn’t why I’m screaming.
• I’d like this better if I couldn’t see.
• Artie screams.
• Some kid with cum hair barrels towards us shouting about how he’s getting paid to be here and then gets in a tussle with the two Sprockets in front of us. He sneaks through their legs and runs towards the stage with his arms swinging up in the air like an offramp siren. I think he said his name was Jeremy.
• The Sprockets in front of us don’t like us. They stink like fresh milk and rainy day leather.
• “Are you going to talk through the whole thing?” “Yeah, probably. Why?”
• I try to sneak downstairs where there’s some reception that smells great and echoes laughter and delight but I am denied by a froggy-eyed doorman. Artie tries too. He is likewise denied.
• “Is this a new song?” “I don’t know, man. Classify ‘song.'”
• Carl the Red really likes Autechre. I haven’t seen that dude in a year.
• “I can feel the bass in my balls. That’s something, right?”
• I step outside for a smoke and an Aussie makes fun of my bag. “Nice hipster sack.” He gives me a buck for a cigarette.
• “Local 1 runs this fucking city.”
• I remember that, when I was a kid, I saw the first Tron movie in the theaters and told my dad, on the ride home, that I thought it “sucked eggs.” He looked upset. I love him much more now than I did then. Or maybe I don’t. I should call him. His new wife is rad.
• Overpriced Bud > Lagunitas IPA.
• I’m hungry.
• Autechre’s set ends.
• Dave Hall starts playing his third hour-long set. Autechre played one. Cygnus likewise played one. If I had bought tickets to this gig like most folks did back in June I would be pretty fucking pissed off right now.
• Street meat is terrible.
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