WEDNESDAY
October 17, 2018 | doors at 8:30pm
Sharing is Caring
Triple Ds and Atlanta Mess-Around present:
X_______X
SUBSONICS
Jeffrey Bützer
  • $10
  • $12
  • ADVANCE
  • DAY OF SHOW
x_______x
Life's greatest pleasures are often its most fleeting. Witness, for example, the ephemeral run of
X___X, a turbulent quartet that tore through Cleveland like a Dadaist cyclone for six months in 1978.
Preceding his imminent relocation to NYC, burly, blond brawler John D Morton assembled the project as
a tighter, more rocking successor to his storied proto-punk act, the electric eels. An early, practice-room
incarnation included that group's inimitable singer, Dave E. McManus, as well as future Psychotronic
Encyclopedia of Film author Michael J. Weldon. Shortly thereafter, the cast of characters stabilized to
encompass razor-wire guitarist Andrew Klimeyk; CLE magazine editor turned bassist Jim Ellis; and
drummer Anton Fier, who went on to fame and fortune with the Feelies, the Lounge Lizards, Pere Ubu,
and the Golden Palominos.
Pronounced "ex blank ex," the name also doubled as a mental exercise in which a person could
insert random words or phrases between the two letters in the moniker. Hence, Morton's jab at the Rolling
Stones' sagging legacy for the title of this hotly-anticipated retrospective: X Sticky Fingers X. Compiling
a couple of prized singles with a feast of lo-fi but raging live and rehearsal material, the album boasts
radical revisions of several eels classics alongside tunes that would appear drastically altered on a
Styrenes LP and on Klimeyk's solo seven-inch. As if that weren't sufficiently tantalizing, undergroundculture
historian and journalist Jon Savage penned the hepcat liner notes that accompany this "really
boss set" of "mean sounds aimed at making your feet move."
But forget that jive. The main lure is Morton's ridiculously potent cocktail of brute force, no-wave
squall, and nihilistic art prank. Pissed-off vocals, ass-kicking riffs, a hard-charging rhythm section, and the
whirr of onstage circular saws split the air. Yet somehow, tracks such as "A," "Drapery Hooks (of My
Love)," and the grammar-flouting "Your Full of Shit" manage to be catchier than syphilis. Moments of
genuine confusion abound, too: "Rattler" stops dead before it truly starts, and a snatch of audience vérité
purports to be a cover of "I'm So Fucked Up," a "song" by one of Morton's previous "bands" Johnny & the
Dicks—in this case, a purely conceptual one that never played music. (Joke's on you, pal.)
Nowadays, X__X's erstwhile leader resides in the hinterlands of New York State, a base from
where he paints, sculpts, writes, draws, snaps photos, churns out giclée prints, chops wood, and occasionally
travels to perform with the Dunking Swine of Chelsea, Scarcity Of Tanks, and the charminglychristened
New Fag Motherfuckers. Despite these numerous pursuits, he still found time to design the
package and supervise the production of this definitive anthology. And so, it is with tremendous pride that
Ektro Records and I present X Sticky Fingers X in all its unruly splendor. For your pleasure. Unto eternity.
Subsonics
At long last, SUBSONICS have descended again upon the denizens of the steamy rock’n’roll jungle with their first album in seven years, "In the Black Spot" (Slovenly Recordings 702-112)! The Subsonics have been called the "Best band in Atlanta" by fellow Georgians BLACK LIPS and for good reason: previous works by this beatnik, noir-punk careen machine have left indelible marks, or black spots if you will, on the psyche of big-bam-boom-shang-a-lang rockers the world over during their nearly two-decade tenure. This new album brings more of singer Clay Reed's petulant, masculine-feminine vocals and surreal lyricism, shaken up with his signature garroted guitar, Buffi Aguero’s inventive, incessantly churning drumming, and Rob Delbueno's (Man, or Astroman?) rolling basement bass. On this latest spin, previously unwritten, yet eerily familiar, melodies ("Lime-Lime" and "Miracle Worker") echo in the catacombs of America's soul and ring throughout with a childish enthusiasm, like a funky delinquent's budget bubblegum album. What we really have here is an obsessive, detached drop-in to an after-hours opium den, where Super-8 movies are projected onto a soiled sheet, and the soundtrack is undeniably Subsonics.
Jeffrey Bützer
Although raised by a piano teacher/church organist, Jeffrey is a self-taught musician/composer. He began playing drums at age nine, then picked up guitar and piano in his teen years and began writing instrumentals.Over the years, accordion, toy piano, electric piano, chord organs, glockenspiel, melodica, banjo and other noise makers have worked their way into his repertoire.