Let’s just say (hypothetically, of course) that any number of you losers was a man of influence who owned a dirty, sceney little venue in Brooklyn’s hipster Mecca, Williamsburg. Let’s say you had a band coming to highlight a show at your venue, and one of the featured performers in that band was none other than the hardcorest hottie you’ve ever pleasured yourself to, then fantasized about later. Let’s say she was the coolest, most badass, most black-wearing, vinyl-sporting, dark-eye-makeuped rock chick in the porn biz, Lexi mothafuckin’ Love. And let’s say the band was none other than hard rock megagroup Team Cybergeist. And let’s say she was scheduled to headline a show, thus possibly bringing hundreds of degenerate fanbois and rock kids alike to your humble venue. It seems that, in this situation, any self-respecting owner or manager of said venue would do the following things to assure a great show, a full-fledged rock-out for the porn star, and an all around kickass night of entertainment. In order to ensure the above things, one would want to:A) Communicate to the band beforehand the venue’s specifications as per technology and equipment.
B) Bend over backwards to meet any needs they might have (this is an industrial band we’re talking about here—they have tech needs).
C) Be nice to the porn star. She’s a porn star. She’s cool.
D) Keep out as much of the creepy rabble as possible. Porn fans can be weird.
E) PROMOTE THE FUCK OUT OF THE SHOW.
Common sense, right?
Apparently not at Public Assembly on 6th Street in Brooklyn, right next door to the Music Hall of Williamsburg. At Public Assembly, the idea is to not promote the show at all. To not tell anyone that a huge star of the Blue Screen will be performing. The idea is to not have what's needed for the porn star to even perform. The common sense there goes along the lines of: “Who cares if they can play their music correctly or use their vocalist’s computerized beat? It’s only a music venue.”
What the fuck. Seriously, the WHACK! staph had been salivating all over ourselves for weeks in anticipation of watching our favorite fap film spokes-star get up on stage with a bunch of hard-ass musicians and rock the stage. We wrote up an article about it and invited all you fuckers. We showed up early with cameras and note-taking devices, only slightly hammered because we knew we had to do good reporting! We were so fucking excited for the Team Cybergeist show last Tuesday, July 20, that we went the whole way out to Brooklyn, mostly sober. That's saying something.
But when we arrived we discovered that Public Assembly would not allow Team Cybergeist — a fanstastic industrial/hard rock/goth outfit sporting credentials from basically every major hard rock band in the past fifteen years — to bring in their own equipment on which to play, and did not even have the technology to hook up a computer to their sound system so headliner Lexi MOTHAFUCKIN’ Love could have her beat play for her performance of “On Broken Wings.” They didn’t let the bassist, Sally Debauchery, use her regular wireless bass. They wouldn’t let the band bring in their own drum kit. They didn’t even give the band a comped guest list, so the WHACK! team had to pay to get in! Motherfuckers, we do not pay to get in anywhere. It’s a damn good thing we love Lexi more than our mothers.
Public Assembly was also unconcerned, apparently, with whether people might have paid an inflated price to get into their badly-stocked bar or use their absolutely filthy, dark enough to make you wonder if that’s a rat or a paper towel in the corner bathrooms, and badly modulated sound system just to hear their favorite porn star sing (I did, and I know at least fifteen other people there did, too). They did not care if their headlining band, the whole way from Florida, could play their music properly. “I can’t believe they don’t have a computer hookup!” an unexcited Lexi told me backstage, shouting over the music. “The rest of the band came the whole way from Florida for this show, and they can’t even use their own equipment!”
Bassist Sally Debauchery shook her head. “I’m not even gonna be able to move around up there,” she told me sadly. “They won’t let me use my wireless bass, so I’m going to be tripping over the cables and shit!”
Band founder Angel Bartolotta, a fine example of a friendly, eyeliner-wearing hard rocker, just shook his head about the situation. Lead singer Yael Wirchek kept her spirits up by looking hot and being super nice to the WHACK! staph, which improved our spirits. But we were still pissed at the venue for treating our friends so shabbily.
Public Assembly didn’t care about the music, it seemed, and neither did they mind if a decaying mountain of man-flesh in the form of a tripping-out hippie in a diaper got into the venue, only to lie motionless like a beached drug addict on a backstage bench and stare at Lexi all evening. This creepy sonofabitch was eyeing our spokes-starlike she was a pack of mini donuts for a good half hour before the band took the stage. Upon their departure he immediately started creepily fingering the merchandise and was chased off by yours truly, at which point he melted back into the trippy night from whence he came. Alas, I couldn’t get a picture for fear his dilated pupils would steal the camera’s soul and suck me in through the lens and down into dude’s diaper. And I mean a diaper. Not like a Huggies or Depends, either, I’m talking a home-made, yellow-cotton, probably-just-a-t-shirt-tied-around-his-massive-pasty-loins disaster.
Also a fucking disaster was much of the show, no thanks to the venue. The bands were all, actually, pretty good, with the exception of Sister Kill Cycle, the first band I witnessed upon arrival. A sadder, less-inspired version of a Manson/Reznor lovechild sans makeup or any glimmer of artistic genius I’ve never seen. I’ll give the bassist a nod for his serious dedication to a sadly outmoded hairstyle (which probably took years of serious dedication to the Goth cause), and the very real “I-don’t-want-to-be-in-this-band” despair of the guitarist. Overall, though, the depression aimed at by any Goth band aside, this was the most depressingly bad show I’ve seen on a stage in Brooklyn in some time. And that’s really saying something. And while I’m always a fan of homoeroticism in rock music, stringy hair and coke bloat really take away from the excitement, as do the refusal of the band’s members to take Goth fashion further than the mid-nineties got it.
But, hell, I love me some Goth kids. They’re so sad and angry and adorable, they’re like hipsters without a sense of humor. I want to pinch their pale, wan cheeks and bless their black, shriveled little hearts. And I do adore some good fog machine action. So, good for Sister Kill Cycle and their badly written broken-hearted lyrics and unskilled guitar playing.
Taking the stage after the pasty debacle was local hard rockin’ group PANZIE, who put on a pretty fuckin’ impressive display of facial tattoos, hard rock fashion, and sheer charisma, not to mention some solid tunes. Aside from an unfortunately mustachioed drummer, the band was a hell of a lot more fun to look at than their predecessors, and their rocking out was several steps above, with talented performers abounding. Their local supporters turned out in good numbers — the crowd full of Brooklyn and LES goth kids in excellently badass outfits. I saw a guy in tight-fitting black pin-striped bellbottoms. Hell yeah, that’s my kind of crowd.
When Team Cybergeist took the stage, with the beached hippie gone and the cheap PBRs kicking in to my system, I took the opportunity to snap a few blurry pictures and headbang my way to the front of the crowd. Team Cybergeist was, it’s not surprising to hear, the best band of the evening, even despite their equipment problems. Yael was hot as hell, singing beautifully, eerily, and powerfully in her little teeny skirt, and the band’s skill and performance experience shone through the less-than-excellent crowd’s apathy. Yael took some time to shame us all for not screaming loud enough or dancing, but when Nine Inch Nails’ “Head Like a Hole” came up on the set list, the crowd went wild as Lexi Love took the stage to dance and sing with the crew.
All around, I’d say the night was a success even despite the shameful apathy of the venue toward its performers. The crowd got into it, Lexi got some stage time, and the hippie from the abyss disappeared into the night after only mild creepitude. I’ll never go to Public Assembly again, but I would go see Team Cybergeist (and Panzie) again in a heartbeat. —Miss Lagsalot
