Abe Vigoda/ Xbxrx/ AIDS Wolf/ HEALTH @ The Smell 11-16-07

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I first saw Abe Vigoda in 2004. I liked them because, as with the similarly exhilirhating Capn' Jazz a generation before them, their music seemed to be rooted in the joy of discovering something. The aggressive aspect of their sound wasn't fundamentally angsty or pained, it felt closer to the thrill of learning a new swear word and trying out all the different permutations of it. Since then, they've evolved through two full lengths and a string of 7" and compilation tracks to arrive at their present sound, described on their myspace as "tropical punk." While I can see where that designation comes from, they chime and float much more than they used to, I think that the tag ultimately sells them short. The guitarists, instead of favoring raw nerve blasts, now trade crystalline phrases like shots in a newly invented form of tennis. The drums and bass alternately egg each other on and call each other back. While their earlier songs felt like a zipper being rended from the bottom up, heavy on momentum and intense enough to leave loose teeth in its wake, their newer songs are more settled and refined, content with a more tightly shared kind of exuberance.
The highlight of Abe Vigoda's set came when they debuted a new song. It started off with usual energy, refractive and fidgety. Halfway through, they broke from their usual volley of notes and began to crescendo, picking up momentum. When the song broke, bouncing even harder than before at the end, I got chills. A band that got through my skull the first time I saw them had now gotten under my skin.
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Xbxrx came out in matching uniforms, looking like they'd been called away from some post millennial hybrid of BASE jumping, ethnic cleansing, and small engine repair. The outfits should have seemed lame, but this is a band that titled their recent LP “Wars,” so dressing like they’re all part of the same militant faction makes a lot of sense seen in that light. They tuned, and then tore into an almost impossibly energetic set. A pit formed almost immediately. It was dry and roiling for a few seconds before turning into a sweaty simmer of friendly aggression. Bodies were flung back and forth, making everyone both a projectile and a target. After a few songs, my shitty fitness caught up with me and I had to back out of the pit and watch from the wall.
Onstage, the two guitarists threw themselves back and forth, rollercoastering acrobatic gestures into staccato assaults on their instruments. Both spit notes and chords like mutilated punctuation from a failing assembly line. They traded off singing as well, reeling off yelps and snarls, native noises of the merciless landscape hewn by the guitars. The drummer was excellent as well, concise and forceful but giddy over the chance to hit something.
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I really wanted to like AIDS Wolf, in fact; a certain facet of my worldview demands that they be the best band on the planet. However, they didn't really manage to do anything other than pile on aesthetic contrivances and tossed off coolness. Musically, there was nothing memorable about them. They made somewhat catchy noise, which is not the same thing as playing genuinely good noise, and I was sick of them after the first song ended. Played well, noise is like visiting another planet; readjusting your mind to a new kind of gravity, finding your footing, and surrendering it just as quickly. It feels Promethean, synaesthetic, and cathartic in ways that other genres can only imply. AIDS Wolf was none of these things. Instead, they felt like an Internet meme first, a dress up game second, and an attempt to actually express or explore something beyond cheap transgression third.
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Touring the US and the UK in the past year has turned HEALTH into an incredible band. All those shows have helped them fully assimilate the apocalyptic energy that initially made them great. They’ve fermented it into a stage presence that maintains a certain distractable menace while being all the more frightening for how much control they now truly have.
At this show, the quieter sections of their songs were defined by a coiled intensity. The band a pitched and reeled, leaving just enough slack to snap the audience’s collective neck when the heavy parts came in. Like Xbxrx, HEALTH has a full contact approach to their instruments. The guitarists and bassist lunge and thrash, stopping short of throwing themselves into the crowd only to blast out barbed siren noises like gnashing teeth. The drummer hits with authority, you can almost hear the skins yielding during the less dense moments before everything becomes a precision blur.
During this past summer’s “Nothing Will Change What You Mean To Me” concert series, headlined by HEALTH, there was a real sense of danger; the chance for ambitious (unlucky?) punk fans to take a headstock in the face with the right kind of (intentional?) lapse in caution during the band’s chaotic floor shows. While this performance didn’t feel as confrontational, the thrill was the same. I’ve spent the past week listening to HEALTH’s full length, which I picked up at the show. I’ll write something about it one I have something worth saying about it that I haven’t already covered here.