Going Underground

After Nordic Waste finish, my companions and I pile in the car and head across town to a completely different kind of underground venue. From the outside, the site is indistinguishable from any number of abandoned buildings in the city. But once inside, we're in a colorful, fantastically decorated room with locally made art dangling from the walls and ceiling. I spot a few familiar faces and local musicians wandering about, and watch a couple of stoned kids sit cross-legged on the floor, entranced by the slow-burning noise rock of Peace Creeps. The venue doesn't serve alcohol, but attendees pull PBR tallboys out of backpacks and openly roll and smoke joints. One of my companions trades two cigarettes for a PBR, and the three of us pass it around between bands.

A crazy lineup of seven or eight bands is slated to play, but there isn't a schedule posted anywhere. People seem content to just wait around and see what happens. We watch a quirky two-piece rock band from Brooklyn called Batter Recharger blast through a screeching set that reminded me of the White Stripes on crack. They're followed by a three-piece experimental noise band from San Francisco called Ettrick, who play one continuous 20-minute song with squealing saxophones, two drum kits, and a lead singer/MC who sings unintelligible words into a distorted microphone. Ettrick play until they fall apart, banging their drum kits so hard that they disassemble, leaving a trail of broken instruments and echoing feedback in their wake.

Later on, Kill Mosh Fuck Destroy show up to play, and we realize we have come full circle. The punks from the first show arrive and commingle with the indie kids and noise-rock weirdos, and there is a palpable sense of community pulsating through the room. It's past 1 a.m. so my companions and I decide to retire, spent from listening to mostly hard and fast music for six hours straight. It was my first underground experience, but it certainly won't be my last.