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Issue No. 2 David E. Williams &
Bombs
It all started Monday when I met up with Trout at the Germ Awareness show at Bar Noir. It had been raining earlier, and the jackhammering outside was on full volume. I couldn't hear it though it surely contributed to the unsettling atmosphere inside the bar with Angel of Decay. I haven't been to Bar Noir more than twice since I heard of it in the late nineties, but there I was. The kind of UFO videotapes my brother used to try to convince me were real were playing on the monitors overhead, and David E. Williams was pacing in his black leather coat and performer's aura. He's a surprisingly austere man, with an office-guy sort of appearance, yet somehow he's exactly the kind of man you'd expect to see rocking out with a synthesizer on a Monday night to heavy drum and guitar riffs. DJ Wrong started the evening by spinning some stuff I don't usually get to hear - kind of a 50's UFO movie nightmare soundtrack for the 21st century. Far from the predictable formula that is "DJ." I wasn't the only person there who found it refreshing either. After his set, there was some healthy applause from the modest array of newly arriving David E. Williams fans. From what I hear, David E. Williams hasn't played live in Philadelphia in six years. When he took the floor, I felt for a moment like I was probably seeing the most extraordinary thing happening downtown that night - and I mean that in a good way. Right away, David was fully into it. Imagine you're at the office and your boss walks in dancing a jig, waving a gun slowly left and right, twisting it in the air, and chanting musically and monotonously about gay Nazis and hospitalized children. That was the scene. Most of David's music is in minor keys, but it's not predictable in that it remains almost cheerful - in a locked in a dark hot attic sort of way. Sometimes I like that if it's done right, and David does it very right. A couple of his songs, I must admit, rocked. I mean rocked hard. There was angst in the air. We all had a bad weekend and the rain didn't help. I left Mr. David Williams and the bar named Noir for home and a change of clothes, then to meet my friend Abby and her band-mates across town at Silk City. A band was starting up just as I walked inside. I was told their name is "Bombs." They're a three piece outfit, and they were moving at a good loud melodic rock pace. I found it easy to lean into them with a can of Pabst and feel the rock. I have to mention a couple of things about this band: the bass player was playing a dark blue Rickenbacker; my particular favorite, and the drummer was keeping perfect time with headphones and an electronic rhythm track. Though these boys seem to be cutting their teeth, they're certainly doing alright. Afterward, Ryan, the singer, handed me a CD which I'm listening to now. It's very different from their performance. It's dreamy and gloomy. Although the production is low, they create a mood and even interject some really enchanting moments. They keep it simple and they know how to use electronics. Keep a lookout for this band. Love,
To learn more about the wonderful and frightening
world of David E. Williams please visit his website
and pick up his latest classic Hope
Springs a Turtle. |
I
look at the clock on my computer and it's now precisely 1:11am.
It's Thursday. I'm recovering from a 30-hour jag of freelance
computer work and physical deprivation. I do this to myself sometimes
when life reaches a certain pitch where I'm trying to stay positive
and up beat while listening to music by