|GOTH IN DETROIT
||[Mar. 18th, 2009|01:01 am]
March 27th Trumbullplex 4210 Trumbull Ave Detroit 48208
New Thrill Parade (San Francisco drama freak out) www.myspace.com/newthrillparadew/
Marco Polio and the New Vaccines (strange electric feelings)
Cloak and Dagger (side project of Pewter Cub)
Doors at 8
New Thrill Parade seem to be keeping with a part of the Bay area scene I’ve always admired, music that twists experimental, dark and beautiful sounds into sexually charged surrealist forms of experience. From other parts of the world, they remind me of the Birthday Party meets the Buthole Surfers, in an alley somewhere. Dark and beautiful horns, vocal choruses and stranded yells, somewhere on their myspace it read “rock for gloomed souls”. And, of course Marco Polio are as fun as the are interesting…always exxxcited as hell to have them back to the Plex.
SF Bay Times review of New Thrill Parade DNA Lounge show.
Graves, Kings and Funk By Don Baird
"....Next up was New Thrill Parade from Santa Cruz, whom I had seen once before a couple of years ago and who come highly recommended by quite a few friends as a favorite local act. Eight members strong, this psychedelic mind-bending outfit features dual drummers and guitarists, bass, keyboards, violin, vocalist and saxophone. About half of the members wore unusual and scary disguises, like the saxophone player wore a floral party dress and a really creepy monkey mask, and the bass player had pulled a stuffed animal pig's head over his own. And one of the guitarist had a cowboy hat with black fabric stretched over his face. The effect was really creepy and theatrical. I knew right away that I was headed for the brink of sanity with this group, led by a skinny guy wearing black bib-overalls with large white buttons, like Dickensian summer-wear, if you could imagine. One of the drummers, whom I recognized as cover star of the March issue of Butt Magazine,the drummer issue, had an unusual set up, just one main drum and some bent cymbals up-turned and sitting on the floor.They lurched into explosive wall of sound mind-fuck, like 0 to 60 mph in three seconds, a cacophony of rage, free-form instrumental abstraction, and the vocalist's wiry frame flinging about the stage as he inhabited about three different voices intermittently. I immediately was reminded of The Butthole Surfers back in the '80s, their relentless tribal shamanistic freak shows, so psychedelic that seeing them was better than taking acid. This was the closest a band has gotten to that feeling since psychotic locals Tragic Mulatto were still together. It was very entertaining. On one song, a slow plodding drone would build to a crescendo of wailing saxophone with three male members screaming into their microphones like toddlers crying for attention. It was unhinged and brilliant, showing a bit more attention to structure than my description implies. I believe one song had a vocal refrain about liking cock, which I can appreciate. Their set seemed to be onlyabout four songs, but it was satisfying nonetheless."