Tom ripped on his camouflage guitar, the bassist jumped around like a cocker spaniel, but I kept thinking “When will the guitar player put his shirt back on?!?”
Vast waves of eerie sound. It was minor, moody, and slow, rather sensual. I began to daydream vividly, picturing a forest, two lovers, a cold spring morning.
The set improved drastically midway through when Mick Brown (vocals) wailed out “Disgusted,” which exemplifies his repulsion with his life, music, and mind.
The sweat glistened off Otis’ tattoos, sprayed from their close-cropped hair, and smoke poured from either the stage or the first rows of the packed audience.
You’d barely know the band members hate each other as they whipped the crowd into a frenzy. Some folks openly enjoying the show, quite a rarity ’round here.