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Naomi Punk's Heavy Hooks

Naomi Punk are some heavy dudes. On 'Television Man' a single note call and response between the guitars evolves into a chord and finally becomes a sentient riff when a jarring yet fancy rhythmic sweep in a 5/4 compound time turns up This Heat. In comes a monotone drawl describing a girl who "shaved her head off for fashion" as well as some other life changing events (still sung as a completely static line). Till suddenly the scab is torn off and the blood flows freely, giving way to a chorus so rewarding that we’re wondering if we even paid for it.

Tear off your scabs at the Black Lodge tonight with PC Worship and Chubby Rhapsody or catch them on tour somewhere else: 

MAR 05 2015: PORTLAND OR USA @ MISSISSIPPI STUDIOS
MAR 06 2015: SEATTLE WA USA @ BLACK LODGE
MAR 07 2015: VANCOUVER BC CAN @ FOX CABARET
MAR 08 2015: VICTORIA BC CAN @ LUCKY BAR 
MAR 09 2015: OLYMPIA WA USA @ MIDNIGHT SUN 
MAR 10 2015: EUREKA CA USA 
MAR 11 2015: SAN FRANCISCO CA USA @ BRICK AND MORTAR 
MAR 12 2015: VAN NUYS CA USA @ TAKEOFF STORE 
MAR 13 2015: LOS ANGELES CA USA @ JEWELL'S CATCH ONE 
MAR 14 2015: SAN DIEGO CA USA @ TOWER 
MAR 15 2015: SANTA CRUZ CA USA @ CREPE PLACE 
MAR 16 2015: OAKLAND CALIFORNIA USA @ 1234 GO (EARLY)
MAR 17 2015: SANTA ROSA CALIFORNIA USA @ PIZZA PUNX 
MAR 18 2015: DAVIS CALIFORNIA USA @ 3RD SPACE ART COLLECTIVE 

 





Seattle Deli's Artist of the Month: Nightspace

Birth and decay are both moments of abjection, wherein the subject is removed from the great mother and becomes conscious of a unique identity devoid of interference from cultural perceptions. The phenomenon is no magical circumstance, rather a self initiated exile into a world of infinite possibilities -a moment that generally evades our grasp. However, some are able to embrace this state of reality and become the uncanny abject of our heart’s desire.

Nightspace is Seattle’s very own destroyer of the super-ego; using synthesized sounds to distance themselves from the status quo of pop. Though, you may find something familiar in the four-on-the-floor kick drum, don’t let it fool you; Eurythmics did it too and they set themselves apart from the synth-pop of the 80’s with darkness and gravity much in the same way Nightspace also does so fluently. Rejecting themselves from the same school of industrial cold-wave as Cabaret Voltaire, Nightspace combines the sex and death of a slowed down Belgian Hardstyle DJ with Ian Curtis’ cavernous admonitions of a completely dejected reality, jutting out from the walls of deviance that seem to be closing in on them. Concurrently, looming and distorted synthesized lines weave in and out of Nightspace’s techno-terror with sincerity, conjuring fake memories of Demdike Stare covering the Suspira soundtrack, an occurrence that has not happened (though we wish it would).

The abjection that occurs from listening to Nightspace is a beautiful fracture of reality that all should be aware of. Whether you crave the horror of love or the placidity of death, hearing Nightspace will remove you from both and surly enhance you as a person and a listener. 

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Bad Motivators play the sound of pizza

Rock n’roll has had many different iterations over the years, but in all its chameleon like stages it has maintained its sense of rebellion which made it so exciting, and scandalous, in the 50’s.  All that is required of a rock n’roll band is that essence of insolence regardless of whatever else you sprinkle in.

With Bad Motivators insolence comes in spades; loud guitars, sarcasm, pizza, with some occasional harmonies make up the dynamic quartet. On a song like ‘Too High’ Bad Motivators marry a good olde Chuck Berry riff with snotty lyrics that can’t even… Like, “I’m not even gonna bother talking to you because I just can’t.” Throw in a cool little surf shack organ vibe a la the B-52’s and you’ve nearly satiated yourself with a pretty cool laissez-faire punk song.

Check out these sarcastic, pizza loving rockers at The Lo-Fi tonight with Spirit Award, Lucy, and Gothic Tropic

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Video Premiere: No Denyin' by Killer Ghost

You're slummin' it in a warehouse. Nobody has caught on yet to your escapades; sneaking bread from the nearby cantina, and bird-washing at the local 7 day convenience. You're doing it because life is too short to waste your workday on somebody else's dream and there's no denyin' that the beer tastes better with a heft o'liberty thrown in. While you're at it start a band and do it cause 'why the fuck not?' You can use the warehouse space to throw shows, or better yet practice to no one and be as loud and carefree as possible, while shot-gunning beers the whole time.

Call yourself Killer Ghost and haunt the walls around you. Scare of the neighborhood rats with more sass than Kim Fowley and blast your speakerbox as loud as possible with the complete Nuggets box. Make sure the noise is pointed out the window at a nearby dumpster so that all the 'punks' can hear it and begin to question their ethos. They will ask themselves "do I really need my studded belt, or can I just wear my conviction on my sleeve and join those Killer Ghosts in that warehouse and haunt America with apathy?"

Ask Killer Ghost all these questions and more at Cha Cha Sunday, Feb, 22nd @ 8:30

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Seattle Deli's Artist of the Month: Charms

 Our shared reality knows some things to be true; when it’s raining you get wet, the sun is hot, and guitar sounds like a guitar. But the abhorrence of traditional values and exploration outside this shared reality will show that musical timbres aren’t always what they seem to be, and things that may be obvious on the outside can often reveal new secret tonalities.

It’s the lines between where Charms straddle their success as neither a pop band nor a noise group.  When you look at them on a stage you’ll see keys, guitar, drums and a mic, and for a while you may effectively be duped into thinking that this is just another rock band. But when Eleazer spins on his heals and engages his rainbow machine pedal, things suddenly turn into a baffling display of sonic mastery. Josh oscillates his synths into a noisy rhythmic beat and Ray commands a small avalanche behind the drums, enforcing a sonic mood that is reminiscent of Mission of Burma’s noisy brand of post punk.

But it’s not all chaos and noise; underneath the obscured and effected timbres lays the pop tones of Metal Box, or even The Wipers. Eleazer and the boys have harnessed a knack for writing indelible hooks that are bent on the political climates and dystopian love affairs that only a synth could describe. Using volume as a great uniter to push forward Eleazer’s Johnny rotten-esque croons, Charms will certainly put the hex on you and your ears as you are helplessly overcome in a freakish post punk fantasy.

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