MONDAY
July 2, 2018 | doors at 8:30pm
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Triple Ds presents:
VINCAS
A DEER A HORSE
MTN ISL | Bataille
  • $8
  • $8
  • ADVANCE
  • DAY OF SHOW
Vincas
You would think that because only about 60 miles separate the cities of Athens and Atlanta, Georgia that maybe the same sphere of influence would affect both. In the past decade, Atlanta has seen the growth of a creatively sustainable music scene, and we sort of forgot about our neighbors up the road. There is no shortage of great bars, restaurants and clubs in Athens, but it's been a little while since an Athens band made me want to jump in my car and make the trip. Vincas have given me that much needed excuse. Blood Bleeds is a monster of a record. They are playing dark and heavy songs that at once will draw Birthday Party and Gun Club comparisons. I'd bet they have some later Scientists records in their collections too as there is a discernible element of swampishness weaving itself throughout the record. It's sexy in a super-bitter dark chocolate kind of way and has a pounding cohesiveness throughout. Vincas demonstrate total control from start to finish, and it's pretty clear that they didn't just stumble onto a style of music like this. We truly hope the folks over in Athens realize what they've got on their hands.
A Deer A Horse
Dark, heavy, and full of tension, A Deer A Horse’s music is a rare breed in Brooklyn’s DIY scene. Comprised of Rebecca Satellite (vocals/guitar), Angela Phillips (bass/backing vocals), and Dylan Teggart (drums), the trio have embraced the raw and dirty aspects of their city and created something simultaneously urgent, sludgy, and cathartic with their newest EP, Backswimmer.
MTN ISL
You know what was missing from the ’90s resurgence that helped make up the 2012 and 2013 zeitgeist? How about some genuine hardcore tension-and-release? How about some jagged riffs and razor blade guitars that cut fast and deep? How about some raw, mathy shit that isn’t buried in atmospherics? Seriously, fuck that soft grunge bullshit. Give me dirty, visceral six-strong bloodletting and cathartic scream-sung vocals and you can keep your by-the-numbers fuzz rock retreads, mmmkay?

MTN ISL know what I’m talking about. The band’s debut EP, God Become Animal, is a seething mass of lacerating grooves and interlocking rhythms that’s equal parts wiry Midwestern math rock and classic Dischord era audio abuse. Open salvo “Super Place” is a ragged stomper paced by dissonant guitar chords and blistering stop-start dynamics, and things just continue to get better from there. “Hacer” is the most melodic and accessible of the EP’s six tracks, but it’s no less uncompromising or ferocious, moving nimbly from the spare and skeletal intro to the grinding verses, which somehow conspire to land you in the middle of a feral slough before it’s all said and done. Meanwhile, the one-two punch of “Dinner Planet” and “Snake Mansion” keeps the pincers clamped tight, locking the listener in a series of tightly-wound rhythms and nervy tempo shifts before the EP closer—appropriately titled “Gutshot”—levels the hammer down once more.

Recorded by Hawks and Wymyns Prysyn guitarist Andrew Wiggins, who himself is no stranger to swimming in these churning, blood and bile-stained waters, the down and dirty production eschews any frills for a leaner approach that puts greater emphasis on the band’s in-studio performance and the unity of the individual players. This is critical because, in truth, there is no single riff, drum fill or vocal scream that really stands out on God Become Animal. It’s the interaction between these disparate elements, the thoughtful interrelation between varying sounds, rhythms and textures, that drives these songs relentlessly forward.

You want to pretend the ’90s are back, fine. But let’s not leave out the ugly, discordant rage and dark unease that made so much of the music from that era great. MTN ISL haven’t forgotten, and they’re doing everything in their power to bring it back with a vengeance.

-Moe Castro @ Latest Disgrace
Bataille
The Wolves Amongst the Flower, the new EP from noise/post-punk group Bataille, channels the philosophy of Georges Bataille, the French intellectual for whom the band is named. The writer, who was influenced by such figures as Nietzche, Hegel and Marquis de Sade, is known today for his works on mysticism, eroticism, nihilism and transgression. On Wolves, these themes exist in the strictly nonconformist aesthetic that Bataille presents – eccentric, rebellious and just rude.

This is abrasive stuff, as one may expect, but it’s too bleak to be truly confrontational. Rather, it’s disconcerting. “How Innocent,” the EP’s first proper track, may be the most accessible song here, but that’s not saying much — it starts from a typical noise rock/hardcore structure, but then extrapolates with layers of harsh noise. The vocals, like on much of the record, are incomprehensible, and vocalist John Hannah regurgitates them in a detached, sardonic manner. “Grave of Vampires” squeals out of the gate in harsh “anti-punk” fashion (as Bataille themselves describe their sound), before the band interjects with some odd feedback in the foreground. It is — and I mean this in the best way possible — vomit-inducing. Music that produces such visceral reactions in the listener should be celebrated. The 7-minute noise track which closes the record, “I Live Because I Am Free to Die,” exemplifies the concept of limit-experience, which Michel Foucault described as “the point of life which lies as close as possible to the impossibility of living, which lies at the limit or the extreme.” It is, as Bataille suggested, the experience from which the subject can tear away from itself, and this is clear in the masochistic art on display here. Indeed, the cover of the Wolves cassette features two images, both of a young woman: in the first, it appears as if she has been stabbed (and is missing a leg, to boot), and in the second, it now appears as if she did the stabbing herself – or is, at the very least, pulling the knife out.

It should be noted that the band recently underwent a name shortening, from Georges Bataille Battle Cry to simply Bataille. Not being overly familiar with Mr. Bataille’s works, I can only assume that the battle cry of which the band speaks is tied to their slogan of “Loudly ring out revolt and despair.” Even now, the band explains their aesthetic as the following: “This is not punk rock. This is theology.” Pretentious? Perhaps. But only if you’re not on their wavelength. On Wolves, Bataille’s house is in disarray, and they’ve subjected to us to their madness and self-loathing.
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