Crash Worship

with Quintron at the Rat
by Karl Geising

The entertainment starts with a puppet show, a neo-dadaist mass of surrealist humor from the opening band Quintron. The “story” involves two scientist, involved in some unmentioned activity to halt a plot to infiltrate “the show.” Two red-gloved hands come up with a plug, confusion ensues, and the scientists fail in a flurry of smoke, thrown food, and destruction. Then the fun begins.

Stage lights off. Fog machines on full-blast. Hard to breathe; harder to see your hands in front of your face. Then the drumming starts. People begin to dance. Members of Crash Worship‘s entourage slip into the crowd from the rear of the club, slithering on the ground in the pit or throwing fireworks into the audience. A lone strobe flash blinds you momentarily, leaving you with chaotic after-images of hair and flesh. More fireworks. Detuned bass. Distorted, violent synth noise. Every song lasts for 20 minutes, building to an orgasmic conclusion, and you wish they lasted longer. The entourage begins to spray water onto the mass of bodies and pour wine into the waiting gullets of the audience.

They play for over two hours. Around two o’clock, the Rat stage crew turn on the house lights to get people to leave. Crash Worship respond by sending more smoke into the audience, turning the club into a white fog, and play for twenty more minutes. At song’s end, they light a bonfire by the stage, the flames licking the ceiling of the club, and it is over. You stumble out of the club covered in wine, water, and soot. They won’t be invited back.

On the way home that evening, one of my roommates and I discuss going to another show in a few days. His response: “After that, a couple of guys on a stage with instruments seems boring.” I think that says it all.