Jonny Numb

It’s interesting how a week’s trajectory can dramatically alter one’s intent for a blog (is that what this is?) post.

Take Monday, March 6 as a “for instance”: I had an almost-complete write up of a show I’d seen in Baltimore the day prior. I was particularly taken by one of the opening bands, but found my writing branching off in other directions. By the time I thought I was almost finished, I’d conjured the notion of posting about my attraction to female-fronted acts that create loud, abrasive music that falls within the realm of “experimental.”

Ever hear of Pharmakon? Mind-exploding stuff.

Alas, I grew weary at the notion, as I am woefully inept when it comes to describing the technical nuances of music. Shoot, I’m a hopeless case when it comes to trying to classify music. I listen to a lot of (what I call) “Industrial” – and am well aware of the myriad carved-out subgenres within – but I can’t really speak to it with much knowledge outside of the purely subjective. “I like what I like,” and that’s it.

Anyway…

This past work week had been a series of progressive straws threatening to break the proverbial camel’s back. In essence, the stress of the week was a culmination of all-purpose frustration that had been building since the arrival of the New Year.

I didn’t break down or scream or do something foolish like get myself fired, but making any progress on long-term projects went out the window, replaced with the need to put out one figurative fire after another.

So guess what? I’m going to pause for a moment of product placement that’s aiding my current mental state:

I was thankful for the loud reverberations that thrummed through my body as I stood in Baltimore’s Metro Gallery on March 5. Me and my friend were there for noisy and confrontational headliner HIDE, but are always curious about what the opening acts have to offer.

Baltimore’s B.R.A.T. took the stage first, and perhaps seemed a little out of place with their driving punk sound, attitude, and hand-painted banners adorning their amps. Their set had a good energy, though, and I liked how they simply plowed through each song without any time-killing banter. And I was amused by their bassist, who scraped his strings against a column next to the stage, and tossed his instrument at the end of the set.

But the next opener, Harpy, was a real stunner.

Having seen Pharmakon twice, with the bass and distorted screaming cranked to 11, I always get a little tingle when I see folding tables housing an ungodly mess of gear (too many cords and knobs to count) moved onstage. As if to say, “brace your eardrums, ‘cuz it’s gonna get loud.”

Enjoying bands predicated on abrasive noisiness is a niche affectation, but when done well, there’s nothing quite as cathartic. To reference Pharmakon again – her sets run a half-hour, but considering their sonically pummeling nature, it’s the perfect – and certainly most merciful – length.

Gyna Bootleg and Pippi Zornoza created a wall of noise that flowed from one track to the next in a stream-of-consciousness manner, creating a half-hour glob of malformed, mutated, and thoroughly fascinating noise.

As with HIDE and Pharmakon, the vocals were a relentless, distorted-beyond-perception primal scream. That said, the duality and chemistry of the women added an intriguing call-and-response element to the delivery.

They bumped up against and integrated themselves into the audience, at one point bowing down before the crowd. The onlookers stood in a semicircle, transfixed and wondering what turn the performance would take next.

Perhaps the best description can be found at the duo’s Bandcamp page:

“Harpy lends their atmospheric sonic musings and manic vocals to a multi-layered aggression that is both deeply haunted and utterly relentless. The shriek of this mythological creature as it rips your bowels in order to tell your fortune. The manic psychological space of one becoming unhinged.”

What’s not to love?

And, of course, HIDE delivered on their strobe-lit, confrontational set, propelled by singer Heather Gabel’s marionette-like movements and tortured, heavily-distorted vocals. This was my third time witnessing their blend of harsh noise and performance art, and perhaps that familiarity made Harpy’s set stand out a bit more.

That said, Sunday served as a strong reminder of why it’s often worth the trek down to Baltimore (or Philly) to stand in a room and get obliterated by a wall of noise for a couple hours.

Acts like Pharmakon, HIDE, and Harpy are like the literal, visceral expression of all the screaming I do on the inside. And in that regard, bearing witness to their art is one of the most cathartic things imaginable.

When I got home at around midnight, I had no idea how much of a clusterfuck the incoming week would be. But I won’t bore you with the details.

Maybe HIDE and Harpy’s primal screams weren’t just catharsis, but a harbinger of the chaos on the horizon.

To be continued…