The Bearder, The Weirder

A couple of nights ago, I saw a few bands back amongst the entropic environs of Hafenklang. It was my consolation prize for not being able to afford a sojourn to the Supersonic Festival, as all three acts are playing said festival and were three of the four acts I wanted to see. (The fourth being The Heads. Already seen Battles and Dälek, and as much as I fuckin' adore Harmonia and Earth's albums, I imagine that live they're duller than a box of unsharpened pencils.)

First up were Parts & Labour, a fun but uncompelling indie-kraut-pop band from (surprise!) Brooklyn who overuse "Silver Rocket"-style freakouts to bookend their tunes. They were followed by revitalized barroom doomsters Harvey Milk and inimitable decon-pigfuck-tionists Oxbow.

Anyway, before I spent an hour-plus not daring to take my eyes off Eugene Robinson (never turn your back on a man dancing with a knife tucked into his underwear), I was pleasantly surprised that Harvey Milk have doubled their rumble by recruiting Joe Preston to play guitar. What struck me immediately was how uncannily Preston recalled another balding, bearded sideman to a death-obsessed cult act: Warren Ellis. In fact, the two look like semi-feral, reclusive twins that used to be neighbours (physically and figuratively) with Ted Kaczynski. As archetypes of appearance, they're readymade antagonists for some film that splits the difference between Deliverance and Evil Dead. Ellis is the squirrely sadist who mutters and fidgets, while Preston looms Sphinx-like over Ellis' shoulder, the hulking promise of god's full wrath.

Warren Ellis (Photo by Wally G)


Joe Preston (Photo by Lolitanie)


Maybe they should give Daniel Higgs a call and start a haircore/New Beard America supergroup!


(L)Ibid(inal) Postscript: Really? No one has any strip-music recommendations? I'm not asking to be referred to your favourite Gold Club employee, for Pete's sake. Oh well. Silly me, imagining that anyone had interest in music, dancing, or people taking their clothes off.