Perfect Pussy @ Kilby Court 05.20 With Potty Mouth, Fossil Arms
Show Reviews
“Whoa dude, did you see that?” I hadn’t been to a show at Kilby Court in a while, and this is what I hear from the handful of fashionable high school kids in reaction to local goth cuties Fossil Arms, as if they’ve dropped down secretly from the grey skies of some distant British storm cell. Fossil Arms deserve such eager amazement, especially tonight, as the duo’s set captivated from the get-go. The crowd, interspersed with high schoolers and punk friends, came out early and filled Kilby’s garage-length space quite nicely by the time Fossil Arms were ready to start the evening.
Backed by Melody Maglione’s steady, manic synth and drum programming and masked by a bouquet of silk roses, Chaz Costello crooned Fossil Arms’ post-punk ceremony into the responsive audience. Costello’s signature vocal masking seemed to grow more alienating as the songs progressed—their anti-anthem “Time For Words” was exceptionally well performed. The overall effect of the set made for one of the most direct—and thus emotionally captivating—shows that I’ve seen yet from the two. Though it wasn’t necessarily a goth riot, the energy stirring about the young-ish audience was exciting to watch, and even more exciting to see carry on throughout the night.
Next up: Potty Mouth, hailing from Massachusetts’ Pioneer Valley (birthplace to Sonic Youth and Dinosaur Jr.) and touring with the likes of Perfect Pussy, Swearin’ and Waxahatchee.
The all-girl quartet lived up to the Northampton hype and delivered fuzzy, grunge-flavored guitar pop with songs from their debut LP, Hell Bent. Singer Abby Weems did a pretty good Courtney Love impression through most of their set, minus the raspy voice. Their tunes were a great pop foil to the punk noise to come and the audience was hoppin’ around to their sugary sweet melodies. On their last song, guitarist Ally grabbed the mic for a sweet and campy intro to their slow-burning album closer “The Better End.”
A description on a Facebook event for the show read, “Perfect Pussy is a band that plays hard AND plays even harder,” and I thought to myself, “Oh jeez, that sounds super vague and cliché.” If they make it past the yucks about their name, most critics end up talk about Perfect Pussy’s fast and aggressive live performance. The quintet, led by singer Meredith Graves, took to the stage and brought an aggressive and fast near sonic apocalypse to the now packed Kilby Court.
My eardrums got so numb that I couldn’t verifiably discern which songs were being played nor the breaks that set them apart. Keyboardist Shaun Sutkus was playing around with a modular setup that wove melodic stitching in between songs and behind the maximum noise of Ray McAndrew’s shuddering guitar playing and Garrett Koloski’s ferocious drumming. The audience was placid up front but swelling near the back of the room as half-hearted moshers bounced around or abandoned the noise for a view from outside.
After the band had begun, Graves’ voice could not be heard at all beneath the noise they were creating and, whether this was their intention or not, it sounded great. Though I know there’s fucking great lyrical content being spouted off by Graves’ rapid-fire, near reading, it’s refreshing to see someone not really give a fuck about who’s going to hear it. It’s not really about you and me. The only reason I could really tell that Graves was singing was because she moved around the stage in a frenzy, clutching the microphone close to her mouth.
After about 30 minutes of swirling, sonic onslaught, Perfect Pussy began packing their gear against the backdrop of lingering washes of distortion. As the fuzz washed out, Graves thanked the crowd for sticking around for their set and the night was concluded.
