Matthew Neff

Do I ever feel ambivalent about this show. I guess I’ll start off by saying that both headlining bands (Sic Alps and the Magik Markers) are hip/hyped lo-fi garage noise acts that appeal exclusively to narrow/open-minded electric guitar addicts such as myself and that I was favorably inclined toward them in the first place. Hand me their records and I’ll amuse myself for hours like a happy rottweiler with a fresh side of moose. Windy sighs would be heard from my cloistered cell and you’d marvel at the idiot strength of my patience for semi-inept noise/psych bashings. But put me in a room with them and let me see how pathetically simple their getup is and you might just crush my cynical, cynical spirit.

Have you ever wished more bands would take a cue from the Navy Seals and—as you’re quietly admiring the architecture of the venue rafters—creep up behind you, grab your hair in a fist, and open your carotid artery from ear to ear? I know I have, ha ha! Although Black Moth Super Rainbow didn’t quite do that to me, they did pleasantly surprise me in a manner akin to being licked on the back of my neck by a frisky unicorn. They stir up an extremely creamy blend of vocoder-heavy psychedelic synth pop, and ANALOG synth pop no less, meaning there’re nice fat waves of color rolling off your tongue and eyelids as the hard and heavy rhythm section crams it in your nostrils and/or armpits. Drums and bass were locked in, the Nord/Kawasaki synth axis roamed around like a freewheelin’ Atari astronaut, and the vocodings moved in and out of the proceedings with eyes agog.

by Matt Neff Photos by Luke Holwerda Seismic Fortitude Tent/City Yellow Swans Mouthus The Trunk Space October 6, 2007 Better Than: The Best This show not only demonstrated everything that’s wrong with today’s music “underground,” it also hurt my ears and made me question my will to live. Although I'd...

It was a typical Tuesday morning. I was browsing through the used videocassette section of my local public library, musing over a fifty cent copy of “Hanging Up” when I heard a familiar phlegm-filled cough. My insides full of forebodings, I slowly turned around and faced my old high school nemesis and drinking buddy, Doug “Creosote” Huggins. His rangy limbs had not diminished in size and his shoulder length auburn hair was still flecked with pieces of orange carbohydrate from his job at the Cheezit cracker factory. “So, Neff,” he sneered in the inimitable Creosote way that so drove the women mad, “I see your taste in videocassettes has not improved.” I laughed in a manner that I hoped sounded courageous. “Not improved nothing Creosote. I was just considering purchasing this copy of Yankee Doodle Dandy, winner of three Academy Awards and item number 100 on the American Film Institute’s ‘100 Years…100 Movies’ ranking list.” He appeared dumbstruck but quickly recovered, putting on a contemptuous face. “And is your stomach still as weak as it used to be?” he asked, referring to the many shameful defeats I had suffered at his hands at the drinking table. “No,” I said, speaking boastfully. “Now my stomach is lined with iron unlike yours which is lined with cotton candy.” Once again he appeared dumbstruck but quickly spat out a retort. “Oh? Then perhaps we should test both your taste in videos and your digestional abilities with…a video-watching contest on the popular internet video site ‘You Tube’?”

The kindly goblins who orchestrate the inner machinations of this here web-hole were nice enough to finally equip me with two things: 1) a list of links more befitting my “tendencies” and 2) an email account. So it is now that I beseech, nay, beg you to grace me with personal correspondence at matt.neff (at) newtimes.com. Suggestions, review requests, pizza recipes, and ferret-care tips are all welcome, but make sure you know what you’re doing—I don’t want to be knocked out in bed all week humming some nasty pop punk melody or sniveling with the woeful knowledge that I trimmed Chompy’s furry lil digging implements to the detriment of his (currently robust) health.