A Marriage Made in Hell

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,...

By Leslie Barton

May 8, 2008

[
        {
          "name": "Air - MediumRectangle - Inline Content - Mobile Display Size",
          "component": "18478561",
          "insertPoint": "2",
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "2"
        },{
          "name": "Editor Picks",
          "component": "16759093",
          "insertPoint": "4",
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "1"
        },{
          "name": "Inline Links",
          "component": "17980324",
          "insertPoint": "8th",
          "startingPoint": 8,
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "7",
          "maxInsertions": 25
        },{
          "name": "Air - MediumRectangle - Combo - Inline Content",
          "component": "16759092",
          "insertPoint": "8th",
          "startingPoint": 8,
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "7",
          "maxInsertions": 25
        },{
          "name": "Inline Links",
          "component": "17980324",
          "insertPoint": "8th",
          "startingPoint": 12,
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "11",
          "maxInsertions": 24
        },{
          "name": "Air - Leaderboard Tower - Combo - Inline Content",
          "component": "16759094",
          "insertPoint": "8th",
          "startingPoint": 12,
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "11",
          "maxInsertions": 24
        }
      ]

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.

Thursdays, 10 p.m., 2008

Become A Member

BEFORE YOU GO...
Can you help us continue to share our stories? Since the beginning, Phoenix New Times has been defined as the free, independent voice of Phoenix — and we'd like to keep it that way. Our members allow us to continue offering readers access to our incisive coverage of local news, food, and culture with no paywalls.