Jonny Numb

I had gone back and forth about blowing off the Uniform show. This was more a reflection of seasonal fatigue than a reflection of my actual want to attend the performance.

Another factor: Bethlehem, PA is a bit of hike, and – outside of the Wind Creek Casino (formerly the Sands Casino) – I’m generally unfamiliar with the area. As I get older, I find myself getting increasingly reluctant to check out new venues (yes, I am one of those stodgy cranks growing “tense and bitter-eyed” over the unknown).

Mostly, I hate trying to find parking in the area surrounding smaller venues, because there’s usually a lot of contradictory signage designed to leave a ticket under your windshield wiper.

But I concluded, after the first part of the day spent volunteering with the Nobody’s Cats Foundation, that I must absolutely attend this show, because:

• I’d been jonesing to see Uniform live for years
• I’d seen Pharmakon twice before, and absolutely adore her live performance – I make a point to see her if she’s playing somewhere within a reasonable distance*
• It would be worth the hassle of finding parking to see both bands perform at an “intimate” venue

(* = at under 2 hours one way, I’d say Bethlehem qualifies)

Additional incentives included the openers: Lunacy (Philadelphia), whom I’d seen live twice before (once opening for Twin Tribes; the other for HEALTH and Youth Code); and DD Moon, an Industrial artist local to the Lehigh Valley.

Despite my best laid plans, I wound up hitting the road late, in direct conflict with my intention of having enough time to locate parking before DD Moon started his set.

Much of the trip was highway driving reflective of the route I take to visit my buddy Billy Crash, save for a few divergences in the last couple miles. When I finally drove past the National Sokols club, it was around 7:30 – showtime.

I drove in circles and down side streets in the residential area (some of which appeared to be off-campus housing for nearby Lehigh College students), met with weird green-on-white parking signs that announced either 2- or 4-hour limits. A couple blocks from the club, I found an unmarked area that was well-lit and pulled in behind a car on an otherwise unoccupied block.

Making an awkward Z-line, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and walked briskly through the cold night, entering the club through a side door off the sidewalk.

The setup was charmingly basic: off to the left was a folding table where two staff/promoters were selling tickets, checking the RSVP list and IDs. There was also an exclusive, limited-to-40 event poster that I immediately snatched up for $15, anticipating the memorable night about to unfold.

The venue consisted of hardwood flooring and no elevated stage for the bands. The 100+ attendees formed a C-shape around the area where the amplifiers and the bands’ equipment lay. Folks were bopping to DD Moon’s brand of echo-effect noise; the one-man project’s voice was so distorted, it was nearly impossible to make out what he was singing or saying.

During his set, it occurred to me that holding a poster for the duration of 4 bands was a grave miscalculation; but I didn’t want to leave this memento to chance. (Pharmakon didn’t have any merch for sale the previous times I saw her, and this night was no exception.) Instead, I alternated hands, taking turns gently pinching the cardstock material so whatever sweat or oil or acidity was seeping out of my pores wouldn’t do any severe damage.

Anyway – DD Moon didn’t have any merch for sale, either. It also took a few Google searches to finally locate his Instagram.

Next up was Lunacy, whose performance consisted of his trademark smoke-show bathed in neon light. This one-man act tends to wear a dark coat, pants, and boots with a black stocking covering his face (no visible eye-, mouth-, or nose-holes) as he wanders around, voice distorted by a multi-echo effect that renders most of the lyrics incoherent. I like the “anonymous” feel of the act, and Lunacy’s appearance gives with it the notion of a “shadow” self finding expression in a manner that would be impossible under normal lighting, with his distinguishing features exposed. That said, his set did feel a little long, and the distortion and overall volume of things had me concerned about how Pharmakon would translate to the space – would it feel like its own unique presence, or a distorted continuation of Lunacy’s set?

The crowd merged forward, becoming more of a huddle as Margaret “Maggot” Chardiet inspected cords and gear, making sure everything was set for Pharmakon’s performance. It may have been a weirdo move, but I found myself taking pictures as this was occurring – the house lights were up, and I felt remiss to drive such a distance and not try to snap a few mementoes.

As an aside, the two previous times I saw Pharmakon live, the window between the announcement and the dates was very small, leading to what ultimately amounted to impulse decisions to check out the performance. The enigmatic, “secret show” mentality makes Chardiet a fascinating figure within modern Industrial (or whatever you wanna call it), and also makes her live appearances all the more special.

At the last Pharmakon show I attended, I managed to get a few (lousy) photos of Chardiet behind her rig at Baltimore’s Metro Gallery. While I still lack skill and patience when it comes to using my phone to capture incendiary show moments, I eschewed those factors in the name of sheer quantity, snapping many shots instead of trying to meticulously predict the best lighting and angles for a few good ones.

The lighting bathed the room in an oppressive, harsh red that permeated the entire set – a start-to-finish rendition of Chardiet’s latest LP, Maggot Mass. I managed to catch part of a spoken-word preamble to the music proper:

The set itself was cathartic as always, the discordant music prodding my body to respond in all manner of convulsions and spasms. Far from the brand of EBM that has come to define current “Industrial” shows, complete with club-ready time signatures and breaks, Pharmakon turned the room into a contortionist collective, to the point where a passing stranger peeking in may have wondered just what the hell was going on.

During her one Baltimore gig, Chardiet wandered into the audience, wrapping her mic cable around two pillars; at National Sokols, she wandered into the audience with reckless abandon. My favorite moment of interaction may have been when some attendees, unbeknownst to them, found themselves coiled in her mic cord, after which Chardiet proceeded to drag the group like a lassoed bull.

As she did at her previous gigs, she brought a blast of hot, hostile, and loud energy that delivered more visceral impact in 30+ minutes than some bands manage to milk out of a 2-hour setlist.

Some additional photos below.

For me, Uniform has always treaded a blurry line between punk and metal, which is probably why I find their output consistently interesting. Their new LP, American Standard, begins with a 20-minute track that serves as a sludgy existential lament against the human condition (with the body reduced to a compilation of “meat”). The vocals are mostly screamed, and the music slashes through the ether with enough force to draw blood.

I hung back a little for their set, putting my poster upright on a little ledge near the back of the venue (next to the “green room” door where band members/tour personnel were wandering in and out). But almost right away, I found myself in a head-whipping frenzy over the ferocity of the first song, and continued into the aforementioned 20-minute track that capped their stunning, 50-minute set.

I spoke with neck-tattooed singer Michael Berdan briefly at the merch table, trying in vain to find a T-shirt in my size. Many bands have a surplus of merch they have to sell off online after tours, but perhaps Uniform and Pharmakon decided on a smaller run. Who knows? When Berdan told me they only had shirts in “small” I told him, “glad the tour is such a success,” to which he shrugged, smiled, and said: “it beats working.”

I managed to snag a custom, Chardiet-crafted Pharmakon shirt online a couple months back, the irony being that the shirt has no band identifier (name nor logo); just a string of lyrics assembled ransom-note style. I considered wearing it, thought better of it, and opted instead for my Choke Chain shirt – whose logo (a scythe inside a circular chain) bears a slight resemblance to Uniform’s (a scythe suspended on a cross, inside a circle). I wonder if Berdan registered that for the couple seconds we talked. If he noticed, he didn’t seem bothered by the resemblance, so who knows? Choke Chain seems like the type of music that would be right up his alley.

As an aside, Berdan began wading through the crowd during the rendition of American Standard’s titular track, and got in the face of another tall guy with a neck tattoo. For a moment it seemed like the provocation would result in violence, but the singer receded back to the “stage” and the attendee, after exchanging words with a friend, chilled out for the remainder of the set.

At 10:50 the house lights came up, and the attendees began to trickle outside. I walked the otherwise empty, quiet streets of Bethlehem high off the spectacle I’d just witnessed, thinking over and over again of how making this trip was one of the best decisions I’d made in 2024, and yet another thing that made me thankful in an almost-corny, “it’s the holidays” kind of way.

Nothing says “Merry Christmas!” like catharsis, amirite?

(All photos and video for this post were captured on an old Android by Yours Truly)