Face to Face

with Suicide Machines at The Paradise
by Austin Nash

For a good time, catch a Suicide Machines show ASAP. For a better time, wait a few years. Suicide Machines poured out a high energy rock show, five seconds at a time. It reminded me of listening to Victim’s Family’s White Bread Blues in that it’s choppy. The parts I like the best are the straightforward semi-melodic rock parts, of which there is only one (“Dog”). There was only one last Wednesday night also. Every time I started to get in, Suicide Machines threw me out – long pauses, needless and senseless dialogue, and little flow-to-the-show in general. The good news is that the band showed promise. Keep an eye out in the future for them to swerve toward freedom.

Fortunately, this sort of villain is not capable of stopping the mighty force called… face to face. These guys are a professional outfit, which draws a pretty distinct line between a good band and a lesser one these days. Anybody can be pro-suck with no fession. Face to face could save a city from a bad Japanese monster movie. They interspersed new and old songs evenly among cuts from their self-titled release on A&M. There was much sweat, lovely harmonies, and powerful guitar-driven melodies capable of swooning even your dead grandmother.

The show at The Paradise was free, sort of. I mean… somebody paid for it. WBCN was the victim. They supplied the funds to buy out the show as well as the fool from the station who was booed from the stage. When face to face thanked the station for the show, they caught their own ration of shit. They had to do it, though (they said they didn’t get paid, but I don’t believe it). Punk kids against format radio, classic. I love it. The tickets also had to be won over the airwaves, which means these same kids had to answer: “WBCN rocks my world!,” and then their friends couldn’t get in. Anyway, it affected the mood of the show for the worse. Goddamned radio; fuckin’ stupid punk kids. I win.