To Live And Shave In L.A. played downstairs tonight. With-it advertising agencies should take note that, given the amount of high-end AV recording equipment and cutting-edge sneakers present at the show (grungy Andrew W.K. fans clutching disposable cameras and an earnest belief in the transcendent power of The Wolf close to their hearts notwithstanding), attendees of pretentious noise band shows are a lucrative demographic. Personally, I prefer the trashier To Live And Shave In L.A. 2 to the original, but I'm not much of a market share.
Yakuza opened and kept it gully: bad hair, dreadlocks in unexpected facial locations, real evil saxophoning. The closest a metal band has come to truly Lovecraftian mind-fucking in a long time. If you are a metal band and you have candles on stage and you personally carry your candles on and off the stage with your gear yourself, you are guaranteed a place in my heart.
In between sets Zach and I came up with a convincing theory about how The Lost Boys is an allegory for the Doors. Jason Patric = Jim Morrison, Corey Haim = John Densmore, Keifer Sutherland = acid, the Jim Morrison poster = the Snake, the grandpa = dead Indian. Think about it.