The Super Coda at Small Beast – 2/6

At the Delancey – 168 Delancey. 8-late.

Sweet becomes savory. Sweat will soar. Primordial groans will surface and we will lose our flesh unto the progression, in the best of all possible ways. I mean it. I am so excited for this lineup and for the ongoing beast that is Small Beast. You should be too. You should also be excited for the fact that there are 2 for 1 drinks all the livelong evening. And for those of you who don’t imbibe, I’ll supply some sugar.

Here we go:

8:30 – Monsoon in Bloom – compositions of swirling, circular rhythmic patterns, mainly static harmony, intense dynamics and bursts of infectious melody. Starring Lucas Brode, Isaac Jaffe, Gabe Yonkler, Sam Wagner.

9:15 – BISAFURI – (Seattle/NYC) There is so much great fury to come with this new project featuring Jessica Lurie, Beth Fleenor (Crystal Beth) and trumpet player Sam Boshniak (Reptet)

10 – Cracked Vessel – twisted takes on Americana, and sly, just beneath the surface references to Eastern European folk music – which is to say, you will dance to the most fractured of musical fables like your aunt spilled gravy on you, lovingly, and the gravy smells like vanilla, luckily. Featuring Ben Syversen, Jeremy Gustin, Xander Naylor.

10:45 – Kalan Sherrard (San Francisco) – is a controversial figure known for his eccentricity, as well as his love of art and literature and his involvement in both contra-dancing and guerrilla street theater. Kalan and his friends were embroiled in controversy when they put on a performancethat entailed vomiting recently-eaten beets.

11:15 – YOLT – the hyperactive trio of David Grollman, Nathaniel Morgan, and Weston Minissali is consistently driven by histrionic character and incongruous comedy. After already having witnessed David strip down to a sporty thong, waving and yelling, “Are my shorts too short?!” you own the smirking breed of assurance that grows in knowing that absurdity is forthcoming.

12 – Manburger Surgical – The tricks in this Brooklyn group’s satchel of lunatic sound(s) provokes something more than romantic idealism, more than sappy emotion. And whatever that sensation is, whatever you want to name it, it kicks you in the eustachian tubes and bursts through your alimentary canal like the finest Punk of old. These ‘songs’ are an interconnected cornucopia of drones, blasts and spurious chatters from what can only be imagined as ankle-biting robotic court jesters fed up with their creators.

About thesupercoda

A weekly experimental cabaret
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