We were leaning against the DJ booth at Homme for the Thursday-night weekly FALLOUT when someone's shadow sidled up and queried, "So, you a rivethead or a cybergoth?" Granted, we were wearing a black, nylon trench coat, but honey, please, it's a Marc Jacobs. We quickly turned, unhinged our jaw, and ate him.
While a goth may be off somewhere scripting 18th-century poetry in her own blood, a rivethead is probably dead-staring into the eyes of a priest while slowly flipping him off. Emotionally disparate, it seems like the two have bonded to help create what passes for a scene in dry old dusty Phoenix. The DJs spin heavy, boot-stompy rants against corruption, dens of thieves, and fires of judgment. Once the bass lines start rolling and vocals start controlling, it's a dramatic free-for-all.