Le Flange Du Heartbreak: Emo Jumpoff Part Deux

What to do immediately upon returning from SXSW, but go see some bands? Saw Le Flange du Mal tonight, in Portland, in a hunormous, Repo Man-style parking garage ‘neath Grand Central Bowl (ing Alley). Their audience, apart from myself and delinquent friends, included four high school goths and a quarter-pipe, though actual skaters and Sparkle Motion were notably absent. After too many disappointments in the land of the XXL Beef Brisket, Le Flange du Mal’s birthday-party horrorcore, plus zombified marching-band brass section, turned a night of Hott Cadre withdrawal symptoms into wine. I was crazy for their anti-capitalist squall. And it was all rubbery from the echo of playing in a concrete venue the size of a city block.
It is funny to me, now, how so many evil-sounding, grating bands can bring me joy, dancing as though it’s crunk. I like it better than many bands expressly focused on the dancefloor, who give cramps like watching Slash and Eddie Van Halen in the Back 2 Back reunion tour 2003. i.e. Go Go Go Airheart. Syncopation does not equal funk. Intent and genuine going-off-itude, even when surrounded by anti-capitalist screed and pursuance of evil, can do more for the ass-shake than infertile half-time on any high-hat.
Le Flange du Mal wore masks of tape. Since the summer of 2001-ish, when the Brians of Lightning Bolt rocked ski masks, I have been skeptical of masked-band fashion; it was reborn as signifier of the CRAZY, post-Locust NOISE bands that were coming out the Bay Area (and Ann Arbor, and Providence–no dis to Load Records or LB, at all) at that time. I got burned one too many times on directionless noize acts focused more on donning masks than writing music. (Or performing art, or whatever.) (Including, then Crack: We Are Rock, the band from whence Le Flange Du Mal’s singer gets his paycheck, and/or free Tigerbeat 6 promos.) The mask is an obstacle to overcome, and not recommended. However, those donning masks because they are truly ugly will be granted an exception.
That’s kind of 2001, though. Le Flange du Mal got brutal on synth, drums, dual-vox and trumpet, which lent messy misanthrope and section-8 vocal tactics a weirdly orchestral element. Orchestral as in, sophomore year jazz band, homies. When the singers–a teeny woman in a black dress howling into a mic taped to her trumpet, and a tall, haphazard man in black fishnets incapable of performing without a cigarette–began screaming “I want to live in America,” excerpted from the best song in West Side Story, I was reminded that theatrics are never separate from theatrics, and four spazz/goth kids from SF are not that different from Yamil Borges* in the film version of “A Chorus Line.” You know?
*another idol of mine, jazz singer/actor/dancer Yamil Borges starred as Diana Morales–clearly, the best part in A Chorus Line, because she gets to be sassy and sing a song appealing to Santa Maria to guide her away from her asshole theater teacher. Yamil also had a brief career as a TV extra in the mid ’80s, starring as “Julia Arroyo” on an episode of The Cosby Show, and “Bianca Sandoval” on an episode of Miami Vice. As you may know, my performance idols are generally toughass Puerto Rican women who worked their way up–from the streets of Brooklyn/the Bronx, to Broadway or the big time. Rosie Perez and Jennifer Lopez included. ]
As last-night SXSW revelations go: The Murder Dog showcase showcased Dizzee Rascal as a great performer and emcee, with flow like tropicana: bananas. J-Kwon “Tipsy” beat sounds grimy (apologies to P. Sherburne) when DR’s freestyling on it, but that’s not right w/out some context. In between Dizzee tracks, watch 400 seventh-generation-ironic-trucker-hatted heads, in Texas, bounce to Jamison (the producer, not the whiskey) in a venue that was essentially a glorified volleyball court, on some 1999 Richie Vibe Vee vibe vee–
Well, that is what we call cultural trickle-down, or cultural fountainhead, depending on where you’re standing.
Overheard later: two youngish indierock boys, presumably flown in by the Oberlin college radio station, effusing, “Dizzee Rascal was so great! He kinda reminded me of Aesop Rock!”
Lyric of the night, said by Chamillionaire and the Color Changin Click: “My sex is a weapon/ and it’s aimed at you.” Scary. But you have to hand it to them for being direct, as opposed to all these young emo rappers like (G Unit) who sidestep the violence inherent in their misogyny, treat it like it’s a two-pronged equation (seperate but equal!). Let’s hear it for paring away the bullshit and expressing exactly what you mean in 2004.