with Slughog, Chokebore at Local 186
by Karl Geising
photo by Sven Boulevard
Unfortunately, I got there halfway through Slughog‘s set. This is a pity, as they are one of the best bands in Boston, in my humble opinion. The last song was the most energetic, with Firestone kicking his guitar around the stage to the tune of two basses being mauled. (I am convinced that he is descended from a line of professional wrestlers.) These guys can get my money anytime.
Next up was Chokebore. This band floats somewhere between the rather similar genres of pop, punk, and noise. To their credit, they had a lot of energy, but you get the impression that there’s not a lot of substance behind it. And their singer should stop taking voice lessons.
The clear winners of the night were the Cows. Ah, now THIS is what rock ‘n’ roll should be. The bassist looks like a deflowered Eurotrash boy, smeared with lipstick and grime, rubbing his butt against the mic stand. Their lead singer came out looking like Salvador Dali in a blonde wig. He played two bugles at once. He stole articles of clothing from the audience. He used his wig as ersatz pubic hair. To top it off, they play a great brand of schizophrenic sludge-punk, of which I am particularly fond. With entertainment like this, how can you go wrong?