colt 45 is a shit beverage (but thank you for the free beer)

curses! (aka drop the lime), snakes say hisss! @ glasslands, june 7
dickhearse @ ParisLondonWestNile, june 7

edit:  I forgot to mention that this was part of the colt 45 tour sponsored by VICE magazine, a fine publication made by intelligent funny people.

this guy

brooklyn is goddamn weird, but it’s nothing like florida apparently

that established, I’m usually okay with the prospect of getting free unlimited beer in a certain amount of time, but the beer they were giving away was colt 45. for the uninitiated, colt 45 is a malt liquor usually sold in 40s to bums and poor/ironic-cool college students, too hip for the gentrified PBR. the vice-sponsored colt 45 tour appealed predominantly to the latter category.

so I got in the glasslands, grabbed a beer, and danced a little bit to the stevie wonder/etta james/ray charles insta-mix thrown together by the house dj. an honest beeradvocate style review of drinking colt 45 for free at the glasslands:

colt 45 (6.1% ABV, pabst brewing company, 16oz aluminum can)
drank straight from the can in a packed meathouse filled with steam

a: n/a
s: heavy hits of corn and carbon contrasting against the wall of humidity and paint melting from the glasslands’ walls
t: bitter and malevolent, colt 45 assures you that you are imbibing low-cost beer. while not as egregious as, say, king cobra, its heavy roasted flavor and malty coating layer to create a generally unpleasant taste
m: watery. easy-going, I guess
d: actually the highlight, because when drank in succession, you don’t really have the on/off bad flavor effect. it’s like eating spicy food–if you keep eating, you don’t get the burn

after I drank ONE colt 45, I had to leave the glasslands for a bit for fear that I might pass out due to heatstroke.

a note about the heat in the glasslands: because of the incredible amount of folks in attendance for curses! (or free beer), compounded with the heatwave dropped on the city as of late, the glasslands sweltered like a dutch oven. at first, they allowed the heat to go unchecked, only later setting up a few fans, but by then it was too late–everyone was a sweaty mess and cold beverages hardly stopped the humidity. as a bartender told me, it was heaven outside, hell inside.

right next door to the glasslands is another concert venue/somebody’s loft, ParisLondonWestNile, where a noise show was going down. the first band up was Florida’s dickhearse, a two piece (or perhaps three piece) wall of sound. I venture a third person because while one guy didn’t play an instrument, he was an integral part of dickherarse’s show.

that would be the almost naked man painted white who tied bungee cords to his thighs and bounced around the room. occasionally, he went outside or listlessly watched the band members slog away on their instruments. they played only one song that I’m pretty sure was at least 25 minutes, which began with a noisy solo on a homemade instrument that I will hencefore dub the ‘fufabo.’ the fufabo is a contraption strapped to one’s shoulders that contains the slide of trombone, pieces of an air vent, a window frame, and part of a stove, all of which was hooked up to a contact mic (it also used to have a drill, but the drill went missing). this fufabo was destroyed at the end of the solo by the player.

I don’t know what inspired these guys. the guitarist and drummer must have sat down one day (the gimp was locked in the pantry, as usual), the guitarist saying ‘uh hey so I know we’re really talented but let’s go ahead and just play a whole bunch of shit at the same time and hopefully it will come together,’ to which the drummer, nodding, responded ‘this is a sound idea.’ the gimp was then lubed up, junk was piled in the aerostar, and off they went around the country.

maybe I just don’t get noise. I like minimal stuff, with minor abrasive sounds, like keith whitman fullerton, or noise hums of bands like demons, but this just seems indulgent. like they’re trying to force something on the audience, but they don’t even know what they’re trying to force. or maybe I just don’t get it. naked gimp gets it, though; that should be enough.

okay. enough noise. more dance.

I went back into the glasslands, missing the first band and arriving just in time for snakes say hisss!. snakes say hisss! consist of a guitarist and a singer wielding an ipod. they play an odd permutation on pop music with a glam’d out rock attitude, piped through a preteen hissy (hisssy?) fit. it was like best fwends but sexier, which was hard to get through at first, but shown through at the end. unlike best fwends, snakes say hisss! had charisma and worked the crowd instead of freaking out and looking at each other too much. highly recommended. I hope they play another show soon, because they didn’t sell any albums at the colt 45 show.

as for curses! (aka drop the lime), I don’t know. it was really good, but the heat definitely got to me. I danced my ass off to snakes say hisss!, so when curses! took the stage, the heat caught up to me and I ended up sitting down on an upstairs couch for the remainder of the show. the only thing I remember–which is unfortunate–is that damn “I like to move it move it” cover that was absurd and hated by me and me alone. it was a huge mistake.

but I learned two important things: first, that snakes say hisss! exist, and second, as weird as brooklyn gets, at least it’s not florida weird.


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