Corpse Fucks Corpse, perhaps one of Sacramento’s greater unknown talents, has been busy churning out a disgusting dose of distortion and vocal chaos, surrounded by its own backdrop replete with anti-religious artwork. You’d never guess that Sacramento was responsible for such wackiness. Although burdened by sound problems—the vocalist was practically inaudible during the entire set—the band trounced upon the Monday night masses at Capitol Garage. Sound withstanding, Corpse Fucks Corpse could be either an Amphetamine Reptile spinoff (à la Surgery or the Cows) or a garage version of early Jesus Lizard. The band features former members of another infamous Loft act whose name escapes me. When asked for the band’s names, the singer—let’s call him “He Who Tries Too Hard to Be Indie”—replied, “I don’t wanna give you my name.” True rock ’n’ roll. Indeed, in the spirit of Arch Hall Jr.’s immortal portrayal of Bud Eagle in Wild Guitar. Where’s Cash Flagg when you need him?
Next up was the evening’s highlight, the Soiled Ones from Seattle, with a sound akin to Brainiac and the best moments of Scratch Acid. Judging by the sweaty antics (in the form of water weight loss) of vocalist Johnny Whitney alone, the 100-plus crowd received 110 percent of his energy. Drummer Hannah Blilie beat the crap out of her kit while bassist/vocalist Adam Miller laid down a mean foundation to nauseate and titillate the crowd’s espresso-filled senses. Although extremely loud, the Soiled Ones won over the majority of those in attendance with the help of percussionist/guitarist Devin Welch’s overt enthusiasm. From a band that picks up dates (and parties) where it can get them, it would suffice to say that the Soiled Ones deserved a real venue tonight.
Pleasure Forever, a three-piece from San Francisco, played an uninteresting blend of indie rock, mostly from its Sub Pop debut. Although billed as co-headliners with the Faint, it was obvious who the real headliner was.
Everybody has been talking up the Faint’s live show like it was the second coming—of new wave, at least—so naturally I was a little anxious to catch the band’s live set. Again, the hype didn’t live up to my expectations. Given a changeover that took over half an hour, the general consensus was to leave while the going was good. And, after launching into their first track, it was apparent these boys had a couple of Cabaret Voltaire and Red Flag albums in their collection. Sporting trademark black clothes, cool indie lighting (in other words, very little) and energy to burn, the Faint kept my interest for about, oh, 20 minutes. Ummm …
After my fifth iced espresso, it was obvious I needed something more. Roughly 10 minutes later, I felt the urge to dig up my Econochrist compilation: True rock ’n’ roll, indeed.
(SN&R)