Porn Meat
Touching Down with Dave the Space Guy: Psychedelic Porn Crumpets and Meatbodies at Lee’s Palace
Written by Dave the Space Guy, @davethespaceguy
Photographs by Alex Carre, @1upcloud
Psychedelic Porn Crumpets, Lee’s Palace by Alex Carre
I stepped out onto the dim lamp-lit street and sparked the cigarillo that had dangled in my mouth for the entirety of the car ride. I was in a pretty foul mood to be totally honest. Whether it was sleep deprivation, the recently settled-in roommates upsetting my peaceful and quiet abode, or simply that the excitement of moving to a new city was wearing off, I was pissed.
Luckily, one of my roommates, Alex Carre (@1upcloud), knows me better than I do, and convinced me to go out with him to the venerable Lee’s Palace to see what I was told would be a tremendous Friday night set. As I puffed softly on the half-spent Cohiba I mulled over the fact that I was half-asleep already from visiting Lee’s Palace twice before that week. My feet were still sore from a night spent with Montreal’s sweet stoner outfit, MOOCH, watching Brant Bjork serenade the city with his weed-infused desert jams. Prior to that I had the distinct pleasure of witnessing Emily Steinwall, and Hanorah turn the audience to mush with their incredible compositions and inconceivable vocal talent.
Meatbodies, Lee’s Palace by ALex Carre
And here I found myself once again. But this time, I had absolutely no idea what I was in for. I mean, I was flying shockingly blind. I had heard of Psychedelic Porn Crumpets in online psych music groups before but never bothered to even scan through their music. Meatbodies meant literally nothing to me, I think I heard the name once, maybe. Gloin, on the other hand, I had heard of through local Toronto psych acts many times and I was looking forward to finally catching one of their sets live. What I’m trying to get at is that you should do your research before going to a show, kids. Stay informed. Don’t do drugs.
So, as Alex and I walked up to the painted mural exterior of Lee’s Palace, I snuffed out my cigarillo husk and chucked it while promising myself not to drink this time when I pulled into the show. This time. As we went through the doors and the security guards checked Alex’s equipment and credentials, I listened to the muffled sounds of Gloin’s set regretting that traffic had delayed us to this degree. As we walked into the warm embrace of the building and dipped our toes into the bath of Gloin’s music we started smiling to each other stupidly, and proudly marched our way to the front of the crowd. Positioning ourselves front row, stage right, with the ire of hundreds behind us for having unceremoniously bumped our way up.
The first song of Gloin’s that we caught was a powerhouse with an absolutely tremendous amount of noise and energy radiating from the keys, guitars, and drums; pounding us into the ground, and after 30 seconds of this onslaught we were grinning pretty wildly. And as we looked into each other’s eyes knowing that we were witnessing something incredible, Gloin finished their song, thanked the crowd, and bolted off stage with their gear.
Fuck.
We had come in at the perfectly wrong time to catch a great performance and pissed off an entire crowd by bludgeoning our way to the front at the tail end of Gloin’s moment. Not exactly what I had hoped for, but I have since promised myself and Alex that I am going to make an effort to catch a full set of Gloin as soon as I physically can.
Feeling dumb and having let ourselves down quite spectacularly, Alex and I prepared for the next set. That is, Alex prepared his camera. If you’re wondering, or you thought that that handle I added after his name wouldn’t matter, Alex is a truly fantastic photographer. Woah, his pictures are featured in this here article! No way. In fact, Alex’s photography is so fantastic, that this whole piece was thought up as a roundabout way to feature his art. Therefore, if you hate everything about my writing, don’t bother complaining to the editor about how much you despise me. Alex is the one to blame for all of this. Please direct all negative feedback to the picture guy and not the Space Guy, who all compliments and praise rightfully belong.
Psychedelic Porn Crumpets, Lee’s Palace by Alex Carre
Regardless, I was deep in thought, and stewing in misery once more at my own brash stupidity when I received a message from my close friend Isabel who informed me that the latest Psychedelic Porn Crumpets’ album, and I quote: “literally SLAPS.” Good news, I guess. I’m still utterly clueless as to what I have embarked upon. At least now I’m reassured that a friend with great taste approves of my reckless decision making.
Meatbodies had set up their gear in the meantime, and I was anticipating some weird sounds from the name alone. Weird is what I got. In droves. Their lead singer, Chad Ubovich came out, now with sparing clown makeup, chunky white kicks, and all black everything else with a choker to complete the look. I was in. If I had any doubts about a show I knew nothing about, they had been instantly dispelled when he walked onstage. Not only was I digging the fact that nothing Chad was wearing made any sense to me on an aesthetic level, I was digging that I was digging how little sense it made. Stellar. And if that weren’t enough to convince me that this was going to take weird to another dimension, Kevin Boog (bassist), and the band’s newest drummer (in a Spinal Tap-esque line of disappearing drummers) were dressed in such opposite normality, that it made Chad’s very essence more appealing.
I was totally on board. They had not even played a note yet, and I was beaming like a dog who just heard the word “outside” shouted out of context. Alex is staring at me wide-eyed with his eyebrows raised so high that his eyes were taking on the proportions of a Looney Toons’ character. Bracing myself against the chest-high stage, with Chad’s monitor just below my chin, I awaited anxiously for what I hope will be a gnarly and raucous set.
I didn’t have to wait long. They opened up the room with a loud, noisy, energetic banger. Hook-filled, and tasty, with odd, softly sung lyrics and driving bass that hit your chest like a freight train. The drumming was stellar and really held down the longer, jammier sections with tight beats and interesting fills. From start to finish I loved that these guys captured everything enticing about garage and heavy psych music without falling into a genre-trap, or my most dreaded sonic experience, same-itis. Where so many other bands find a rhythmic or melodic pattern that works for one or two songs and stick with it tooth and nail, Meatbodies kept throwing new, varied ideas at my ear holes for their whole set. That alone is worth so much to me.
Meatbodies, Lee’s Palace by Alex Carre
Perhaps more important than the songs themselves, especially for my photographically inclined friend, Chad felt every single note of every song that they played. When a song entered a slower or more pained emotional phase, you could see that etched onto his face, highlighted by the crudely sinister makeup he wore. As the set progressed, I found myself truly drawn to him, especially as the other band members were more static in their demeanor. Whether for my own pleasure, or if he just felt like it, Chad became more erratic as the night went on, he began upping the ante by rolling on the stage and flinging his guitar higher and higher, Finally, as they closed out their final number, he threw his guitar as feedback and noise roared, barely attempting to catch it as it fell headstock first to the floor of the stage. Exeunt.
It might not have been great for the guitar’s longevity, but I won’t forget it anytime soon.
MEATBODIES
The venue was now pretty filled up as a horde of young psych-heads buzzed around us, everyone’s faces were hot with a palpable anticipation. I can’t blame them either, my younger, hipper, and way hotter friend had indeed said that this band “SLAPS.” That can’t be taken lightly; now, can it?
As Alex and I shared a few thoughts on the set we had just seen and prepped ourselves for whatever pit might form behind us, we overheard at least five mentions of “King Gizzard & the Wizard Lizard.” This was getting more and more promising by the minute. As Histrionic Sworn Dampness got their instruments ready, Guitarist Luke Parish was kind enough to pass out some water bottles from the green room to the crowd. That’s class.
I had been sweating since I first got the dagger-eyes from 90% of my concert going brethren at this point, but now things are getting rapidly and noticeably warmer. Before I can say anything to Alex about my discomfort, the Corn Trumpets blasted off into a blistering and flying rendition of Surf’s Up. At this point the only complaint that I can find is that the drums were not loud enough between the bustling guitars and thick key and bass textures. For a loud and obnoxious drummer such as myself, I found this to be an unforgivable sin; yet, within a few minutes the front of house crew had adjusted, and the drums were coming in crystal clear.
Standout tracks for me would be the material off of the new SLAPPING album, as well as a particularly forceful and roaring Cubensis Lenses. All in all, I was impressed, and the crowd was going wild the entire show, with sweat and beer flying freely around us as Alex snapped away and I got bumped around carelessly. He was right, this is exactly what I needed. It got hot to the point where Luke Parish, and frontman Jack McEwan were topless – a possible first for McEwan, a notorious never-nude, by his own admission.
Psychedelic Porn Crumpets, Lee’s Palace by Alex Carre
After finishing their set with the very groovy and heavy Cornflake the crowd gleefully demanded for more music and less clothing, and the band returned from rhythmic feedback booping to perform one last song as an encore, with fewer shirts, and visibly more sweat. It was now officially hotter than hell. I regret having worn two shirts, and the sweater I was holding was like having a heater pressed up against my stomach.
Before even starting the band looked visibly concerned at the state of the crowd in the sweaty and cramped pit area, and fetched handfuls of water bottles from backstage for us. After handing them out, Parish was asked (again) for a cup of wine from the guy behind me and this time, he didn’t hesitate to comply, passing the wine over my head. I don’t even know what the fuck is happening at this point, but I like all of it.
The energy and power of the encore is indescribable, and they had seemed to be winded by the sheer effort of returning to the stage, and absolutely spent by the performance they nonetheless put on. Closing on a note mirroring Meatbodies, Parish fell to his knees clutching his guitar like some spellbound sword of old and planted it firmly on the stage in front of him and held it there letting it ring out gloriously.
Psychedelic Porn Crumpets, Lee’s Palace by Alex Carre
As the band left the stage, tired but victorious, Alex and I shuffled with the crowd onto the streets of Toronto once more, quiet. We made our way back to his car and began to unravel our thoughts on the night. We were somewhat dismayed at our other roommates for not joining us and witnessing such a stellar night, but now we get to brag about it; so, that’s a definite plus.
As we find ourselves once again walking down the street in the dim light of the bulbous, retro street lamps that guide us to Alex’s car, I couldn’t help but think that my ignorance of every act made the night so much more exciting, while part of me was furious for having slept on such great acts for so long, and that I could have enjoyed the sets more had I had some familiarity with the songs.
At least I can be happy that I saved myself a cool $7 and didn’t go to the venue’s bar this time, and that’s at least one good reason to be happy.
PSYCHEDELIC PORN CRUMPETS
