The Boredoms - Neumos (Seattle, WA; Mar. 21, 2008)

Anyone who knows me has had the pleasure of the following conversation over the last month:

ME: OH MY GOD! I’M GOING TO SEE THE BOREDOMS!!!
RANDOM WOMAN ON THE STREET: Yeah, that’s pretty cool, I guess . . . .
ME: Someone just pissed in my pants!

Then they either escape or admit ignorance of the band, which I pounce upon. I act shocked, horrified, and then I produce an extensive explanation of everything you would want to know about the Boredoms—ever. This happens even if the party in question knows the band. In my defense, I rarely act this way, and I admit that after this month I do have significantly fewer friends. SO ANYWAY, with this preamble in mind, I can say, without bias, that seeing The Boredoms’ show last Friday at Neumos was like being an innocent toddler hit by a glorious sonic tsunami.

The Boredoms’ odyssey from caricatures of Animal the Muppet to psychedelic mystics is convoluted and makes people stop reading reviews, so I’ll just refer to my favorite Boredoms quote from front-man Yamatsuka eYe: “The Boredoms are like a moon on a lake. Only there is no moon and no lake. Only BOREDOMS!” (Goblin Magazine #8). Too Zen? Well that’s how I felt when the lights went off, and eYe’s petite, dreadlocked frame was illuminated by two glowing, pseudo-Theremin balls, letting out humming waves of distortion, as he shook and writhed them around his body. The sound swelled, eYe began a meditative chant, the lights popped on, and with nanosecond precision, the three other members of the band began what can only be described as the mother-of-all fuckathon drum-circle jams.

Want some high points? Well, the opening band, Human Bell, was fantastic! They were the perfect opening band and I highly suggest checking them out. I would write a whole paragraph about them, but I have a galactic explosion that I really want to get to. I will say though that the band was forced to play down on the floor with the crowd, because the stage was filled with The Boredoms’ three full drum sets. The guys didn’t seem to mind at all, even politely moving around audience members to get at the mics, and after the set chatted amiably with fans. They sounded great, and the experience was like we were a part of the world’s most crowded recording session.

Ok. Back to that space explosion! First off, The Boredoms’ drumming was unbelievable. Imagine a crack Taiko drumming team (thankfully not dressed in loin cloths, but stylish birch-bark printed cloth with silver reflective swatches instead), with some midi bass pedals and other electronics thrown in, then imagine that they’ve decided to drill through the Earth’s crust via percussion. Also, as a bonus, they have a beef with the inaccuracies of metronomes everywhere and want to show them up by example. Seriously, the drumming was aural ambrosia. It swelled through me, coursed through my veins and took control of my head, neck, feet, arms and legs, causing them to spasm in rhythmic response.

Not a good enough highlight? Well then let me paint a crowning moment of glory for you: a rack of seven green guitars, covered by a blanket, with an expectant roadie perched behind it. eYe, turned from his pulsating keyboard to dramatically rip off the covering garment. Oh ho! What have we here, dear readers? A collection of seven, 7-stringed guitars? Hell no! A seven-necked guitar? HELL YES! And was this Sevena [band’s name for it, not mine] beaten with a resplendent fury unknown to man or beast by two drum sticks and, later, by a brightly colored marching baton? Why, yes it was. And were each of the necks tuned to a specific chord (in the A diatonic scale, if you care) so that once beaten, it produced a sound like angels exploring a death-metal freak-out fest? Well, again, yes. And did that poor roadie try to tune all seven necks in the small amount of time between when eYe returned to his keyboard and came back to seek his revenge? Hilariously, the poor guy did. Although, to my utter amazement, the 36 pieces of vibrating wire managed mostly not to break, until near the end of the set, when the madman beating them (clearly given super-human strength by the psychic energies of his band mates) nearly brought the whole contraption down in pieces, a crisis only barely averted by two Johnnys-on-the-spot roadies.

How did the crowd respond? Slowly at first. Some heads nodded. Then some fists pumped. Then people suddenly started to push forward, jump up and down, grab their heads and look at their neighbors and shout “OH MY GOD!” From the front, I saw people try to crowd surf (unsuccessfully), pseudo-mosh, and mostly just freak out. Some girl in a spiked jacket behind me kept trying to cheese-grate me, but thankfully she got swept away by the swirl of the crowd. eYe, despite his broken leg, moved quickly between his keyboard and his Sevena, hooting and shouting into any source of amplification within range (including the drum mics). Clearly we were not hearing a traditional set, song following song.

The edges of the near-capacity crowd were cooler, but the center was a glowing ember of Boredoms love. Drummer/singer Yoshimi P-We’s bare feet were a blur dancing between the many midi pedals next to her drums, each one producing a different bass pitch. She also produced some truly awe-inspiring shredding on her keyboard and distortion pedals. All three drummers maintained eye contact, and somehow communicated directions and sudden stops and starts. This was a stunning, soul massaging performance, which for me seemed to stop time and then suddenly culminate into impossible peaks of a sonic crescendo, glorious as a new sun. Stunned, I watched the band suddenly finish and walk off stage, to much applause, only to return for another 15 minutes of a lighter, quieter jam, where eYe joined P-We on the drums, chirped into every microphone he could reach, and did his best to be as spastic as possible. Then with bows and big smiles, the band left the stage. As the crowd milled about and dissipated, I felt completely euphoric. The band surpassed even my astronomical expectations. Seeing them draw such appreciation from a crowd of traditionally standstill hipsters continues to warm my heart. “Why are they called The Boredoms?” some guy asked his friend. During my cab ride home, I got a text message that said everything I wanted to say: “Thanks for the show. It was easily one of the best.”

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