Jonny Numb

On Friday, October 23 – 2 days after the Lebanon Hanover show – I traveled southbound once again, this time to Baltimore, Maryland.

I am pretty accustomed to the drive, as I’ve patronized the Metro Gallery and Baltimore Soundstage many times (and, to a lesser degree, Nevermore Hall (formerly Rams Head Live). My proximity to I-83 makes for a relatively straightforward, easy trip.

That said, the location – Orion Studios – was completely new to me, and after the point where I-83 forks off to I-695, I was totally reliant on Waze to see me the rest of the way through.

I always develop a case of nerves when going a venue for the first time –what if I get lost? What if the GPS craps out and I get stranded in a strange area?

Additionally, there’s that X factor of just wondering what the venue itself will be like – online photos and videos only paint so much of a picture.

Once I exited the highway and was instructed to make a series of turns along shorter stretches of street, I found myself within a maze of tall, chain-link fences coiled in razor wire, protecting what appeared to public-works machinery, materials, and construction vehicles.

It was a very interesting and appropriate spot for Orion Studios, a combination recording-rehearsal-performance space, located in a plaza next to a dead end. Even more so considering the lineup of bands: Ca8al; Compactor; and Nahja Mora.

Of the 3, I was only familiar with Nahja Mora, whom I’d seen open for Front 242 at Baltimore Soundstage in 2021, and was so impressed I snatched up all of their CD releases following the show (and briefly chatted with frontman Josef Le Saint). After a long hiatus, they performed at the Metro Gallery back in February, a gig I’d fully intended to attend (even purchased a ticket for) before inclement weather dictated otherwise.

So I felt like I owed it to myself to make the journey out to this show, especially since there was neither weather nor seasonal illness nor personal crisis to serve as an excuse.

I parked, quickly consumed the Joe’s Os Bar I’d brought for sustenance, and took a drink of water before venturing over to Suite C, where a door was propped open.

I ventured inside, greeted by a bit of labyrinth (think the strange, narrow, internal corridors the characters wander through in Shivers and Dawn of the Dead (’78), pasted in old show flyers and odd art. I left-turned at the end of the hallway, taking slow strides as I observed the markings on doors until I came to one that was partially open.

Stepping inside, I was greeted by a fellow who took my $10 and stamped my hand. There was a small gathering of people within the modest space (also a row of folding chairs set up in the middle of the floor), and I took in my surroundings: the wall to the left was plastered in old show flyers, the light fixtures had interesting custom covers, and there was some bestiality-styled sculpture suspended from the ceiling; I didn’t make eye contact long enough to get a grasp on the finer details.

Some office chairs lined the left wall, and I was about to sit down when I noticed an occupant…

Given my affinity for the feline persuasion, I sat down began stroking the nonplussed puss – a studio resident named “Chaos” who was apparently 15 years old (and, as I later learned, wasn’t entirely averse to Noise)! Who knows…perhaps a touch of deafness had settled into the ‘ol boy’s ears.

Then, something that’s never happened to me at a show happened to me: a quartet of young people (in their 20s, I’m guessing) introduced themselves, one in particular making small talk while we waited for the first performer to take the stage. The young people (whose names were Morgan, Lumi, Zay, and Brook(e) – proud of myself for remembering; I’m much better with faces than names) heralded from the Bel Air area, near the Maryland/PA line, and I mentioned how I’d grown up in York but was currently living near Harrisburg.

If anyone in the group is reading this: I apologize for coming across so awkward!

They were there to see Ca8al, who went on first. An interesting mix of performance art and noise and a backing video that wouldn’t stop buffering for the duration of his 30-minute set. It was a good, energetic performance, and I liked how he said, “I think this is the last one,” after which he went into the music/noise and afterward said, “yeah, that’s it.”

An older (but probably not much older than me) guy seated on a bench with some stickers slapped onto the slats was periodically looking at me, and at one point asked, “are you [some J-name I can’t remember]?” To which I told him, “no, I’m Jonny,” which seemed to put his mind at ease. Odd, though, that the name he was thinking started with the same letter as mine.

Second up was NYC-based Compactor, who was at the tail end of a tour. A one-man machine of hostile and LOUD noise, his gas-masked visage employed a rig with such odd items as a gong and a prosthetic brain he’d strike with a hammer to create abrasive reverberations. The sound mix was jacked up and actively oppressive – appropriately so – to the point where the young quartet exited the room for a reprieve.

I, however, really responded to the performance – it carried the same level of aggression and catharsis I get from a Pharmakon performance, and that’s not at all a bad thing.

That said: 30 minutes tends to be my (and the artist’s) threshold for this sort of thing – strike hard and fast and leave the audience reeling.

The nice thing about electronic-based artists that have their own self-contained rigs is that the between-act setup is usually shorter than the teardown/setup for bands with traditional instruments.

During this down time, one of the co-owners of the studio (who was positioned at a rig that appeared to be controlling the lights) started chatting me up, telling me a bit about the history of Orion, asking where I was from, etc. A nice guy who passed me some cool, cat- and rat-centric stickers (see header photo) and encouraged me to talk up the artists after the show was over.

When Nahja Mora took the stage, there was a standup keyboard/laptop station in addition to Josef Le Saint’s headset mic, and he periodically incorporated distorted guitar into the set (to accompany his effects-laden vocals). Also on hand was a live drummer which added an additional layer of intricacy to the proceedings. Still, this felt like a more minimalist setup after the full – or close to full – band from 2021.

Not that a minimalist setup is a bad thing, especially if the showmanship is on point, and Nahja Mora is deliciously animated live, while incorporating pristinely-cut backing video to accompany the dissonant soundscapes. Something I like about the band is how their songs blur into a morass of noise where it’s not always clear where something begins or ends – it keeps you guessing, in other words. The unpredictability left me in that out-of-body state that accompanies the best live shows.

As I confided to my S.O. recently, a big part of the appeal of making the effort to see live shows is to bear witness, and in the process be transported to a different plane of consciousness and visceral being (sounds pretentious, but it’s true!).

Following Nahja Mora’s set, I picked up a CD from Compactor (entitled Institutionalized Genocide) and complimented his performance in a manner that hopefully expressed how appreciative I was at his presence. He was understandably busy getting his gear packed up.

Then I approached Josef Le Saint. We conversed about various topics, but I was most interested in whether he had any more live gigs lined up. I respected his stance of wanting to perform with artists and at places outside of the obvious current Goth/Industrial scene destinations. My personal take on underground-popular bands (most Metropolis Records artists, for example (and no shade intended) is that many handpick an opener – or openers – that more or less mirror the headliner’s style in some way, leading to an evening of similar-sounding music.

When I left, navigating my way out of the public-works labyrinth in reverse and left-turning onto a main road, I matched eyes with a woman walking on the shoulder, who gave me a predatory grin and made a reverse “come hither” gesture with her hand as I passed. In a way, this random, weird and wordless encounter was the perfect cap on the evening before hitting the freeway and finding my way home.