THE FLASH notes on the Boston scene Gordon

THE FLASH notes on the Boston scene

Gordon Marshall

volume 2

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

Keith Fullerton Whitman

Goethe Center, June 20

propellers in the sunset

Keith with the Whitman beard ablaze in the Susquehanna sunset the blurred blasts of the succulent synthesizer whirred psycho swirling heavy rock busted stone sapphire veins in the mountains chill buzz a blade in the neck bleeding sound of chewy charcoal brilliant treble hum and buzzing echoes the kit a mess of wires in something female and it’s calm and tense at once as the boom bass advances brigadiers in the backfield as grenades come raining down and I listen marimba tones on horizon thumb piano it’s Java in the village

Sgt Pepper drumbeat shimmering cymbals heavy thuds harmonic strafe of fire from tank in the Vietnam jungle racing in pace to helicopter speed propellers in the sunset and the buzz shakes the room like a frappe machine spilling out sword tips in space the bottom falls out of the rotovator at Playland in Rye, New York quiet as the kit shuts down and the beat rocks on spinning into silence but the debacle continues and the drumbeat pulses into spaceout funk jimmying the psychic door African Zen reggae nothing but the beat and the creaking of hinges it gets uneasy like a wet sweater but the weave’s pulled off and I’m naked in the sun

Donna & Davindar

Jacques Undeground, June 21

silence of sweet dreams

This is crazy stuff the wowing and the blowing of electronics through the amp wary bari blasting icy like dry ice after a wedding reception at Les Jardins de Tuileries the two fused like man and bride the bride a beast an ox plowing the fields strangely peaceful like sunset over wheat and the bari barely audible for the blast

Strafe of sound light squeegee on a windshield Albert Ayler’s ghost madder than the Mad Hatter harmonic haze of overblow a flood of roiling water through sewer pipes into the street abating into the silence of sweet dreams

Cathy Cathodic

Jacques Underground, June 21

goddess in rose clouds

Faster than a speeding RZA on a speed train she strides before the black curtain green dress reggae trumpet sultry lilt in voice long auburn tresses in the way of her face she dips and swivels still with gestures of her fingers pointing out the points of the rap and the rhythm switches like the switch in her hips brash and sulky the belts of the blues as she twists in high heel shoes almost quiet with a Betty Boop squeak riffing on one note getting soft and sweet tilting her neck and the trance pulse of the tone with dramatic drums and ear piercing scream

Don Cherry style peeps on horn with a funky stride and she’s taking a ride on a horse through Elysian fields sexy as Lady Godiva a goddess in rose clouds pastured with punctuation of trumpet and she’s trilling like Gwen Stefano she’s just a girl shouting out sister on the picket line get your share shaking so softly her waist and the free jazz trumpet

The Gondoliers (New Hampshire)

Jacques Underground, June 21

bunch of bumblebees

The lights bright flash on and it’s a Japanese acid riff with punk punch John with dark glasses and yellow cape Devo and Van Halen meet in a dark alley Brendan’s a burly farmer on the drums rolling the sticks like he’s rolling a plow through the vegetables of early summer

Guitarist slapping guitar punching keys on the synth and the drumbeat’s a slingshot thud the synth rings in the damp air loud as a bunch of bumblebees John shouts now on a soapbox

This one has a roll to it like a boat on the waves seamen chanting a shanty busting moves under signal stars the silver drum kit brilliant and shining in the stage lights nasty as an iodized cut the ringing guitar

Play a song about prison tonight there’s gonna be a jailbreak the head-bang stomp through the bars of cell block A and the rhythm simmers to low boil buzz but the rugged stomp reigns like a king in Renaissance France

The Queen Is Dead drums searing song of synth sampled guitar John striding offstage onto floor Brendan hammering nails into toms a wild carpenter

Electroshock number electrodes on zombies out of Clockwork Orange

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THE FLASH notes on the Boston sceneGordon MarshallVolume

THE FLASH notes on the Boston scene

Gordon Marshall

Volume 3

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Loudville (Northampton)

Discovery Zone, June 22

black ravens interzone

 

Loudville is soft and mellow in a nice way fruit chew sour bite to the singer’s vocals sometimes I wish I was in love so do I but I am and the bass beats slowly

 

Drummer enters guitar strums with energy unleashed she slows down the pace and picks up the beat two sticks together in the woods starting a fire and she’s the band type of Ringo at times with the English march she closes the lid on the simmering pot and it boils up and down and the fuzz wah on the guitar is cool like an ice storm in a fire

 

Triple play in the next like palm trees in the Pacific dropping coconuts but it’s cowboy too kai-yai-yippy-yayay

 

The rhythm picks up like a posse and it’s a groove trippy flowers in the sun

 

But the drums batter on she’s waving her hair like a mop looks good in her body physical but suave

 

Andrea Pensado & Walter Wright

Weirdo Records, June 24

ask Venessa

 

Gamelon gong sound Andrea blitzes with fuzz sneaky alarm buzz bubbling static it’s an amphitheater echoing in the dust of the desert Aida starts to sing sexual in innuendo she traces her fingers across screen seductively video arcade conundrums give and take like playing catch with a softball serene as a lake the wind splicing the ice of winter is this midsummer night’s dream Andrea speaking a soft Morse code a stop start motion like a shopping cart in a supermarket the freezer bins steaming a haze mysterious as if a goddess rose there she does but she’s made of sound Andrea athletic in sleeveless gown a secretary in an office in a ghost town Wright stays still and calm a focused smile on his face squeezing the tightest smoke rings sonic from the flat black square in his hands Andrea shimmers with lush wails sporadic like seeds spit out of long grass in a meadow

It’s an airport alive with air traffic x-ray screens set of by a pack of double mint gum the mint scent rises it’s a garden at night cicadas singing mad Mack trucks on the highway spewing diesel smoke and now Roman candles on the queen’s birthday oblong blue box twisted by Walter’s fingers then just Andrea’s urgent half whisper summer heat thunder under platinum cloud bank humming thuds from Andrea’s index finger harmonious tints of the keyboard like a sparkling painting of a glistening fishing village at sunset

 

 

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