[vc_row][vc_column width=”2/3″][vc_column_text css=”.vc_custom_1445622983749{background-color: #ffffff !important;}”]“Thanks for nothing!”
…was how Lydia Lunch ended her set Friday, the 13th of June, with Teenage Jesus and the Jerks. TJATJ were a part of New York’s No Wave scene during the late seventies (thank you, historical categorizations) and, despite their brief existence and relatively minimal output (roughly a dozen songs), they’ve made a lasting impression, changing the sound of Punk to come, as pioneers of minimalist noise-ist anti-punk Punk. So much so that they belong in the history books. And now they do. The reason for the show, and the one-night-only reforming of the group, was to celebrate the release of Thurston Moore’s and Byron Coley’s new book, No Wave: Post-Punk. Underground. New York. 1976-1980. I was psyched as I’ve been a huge fan of TJATJ for a while and their music is some of my favorite. After the concert I thought, “if I hadn’t already been familiar with the music, my life would be changed forever.”
Their performance, and Lydia’s in particular, was much like how I feel about their recorded music:
like someone pushing a bruise, a tender sore spot, jabbing a weakness and it hurts but it needs to hurt more. If it’s hurting but you can still function properly then it’s not hurting enough. Inverting weakness, shame, pain- turning it into strength, pride, pleasure. I rejoice in the process. Why would I smile at such a thing, or feel such a kinship with something so ugly? There is plenty of art out there that makes me cringe but that’s it; i do not rejoice in it’s negativity. Yet I rejoice in the negativity of Lydia Lunch and her Jerks. Is it the blues? I feel pleasure in the process of expressing plain as it is in the blues. Something that reaches a universal human level maybe. Lydia pushes your bruise, and she does it with every ounce of her soul. I was surprised by the focused intensity of her performance and the perfection she demanded of those playing with her, Jim Sclavunos, this time around on drums, and Thurston Moore on bass. All of the noise and wildness is severely controlled and precise; I was amazed by what a great guitar player she is, and she was playing her parts pretty much EXACTLY how they were on the recordings- those bending distorted slide melodies were proven to be essential parts and not something random- an amazing feat considering how blurred and wild they sound. The sound of chaos is channeled and used as a device. It must be purposeful and direct for it to be effective; the performers need to have full control and no softness is allowed; otherwise it’s useless and the listener/audience has the opportunity to slip from its grasp; that must not happen. That is Lydia’s blues- it is all of weakness, shame, and pain inverted and thrust onto you and I’m doing it from the bottom of my soul and you better not f*** with me or I’ll f****** kill you (said in the spirit of Lydia Lunch as she would). That’s why I felt she made the band play songs again when they messed up a little during the set; these songs are her blood and they need to be because they need to be. There is no room for personal deviation from the part, the part is stripped down to it’s barest elements: austere and astringent and it’s scary to live in a world that’s stripped down to the point that all you have is one thing on which to survive. The ramshackle militaristic anti-groove takes away any swing or toe tapping and leaves you suspended, hanging, and out to dry, naked with no clothes. Who am I when I have nothing and how am I to survive with just me? You’ve got to go through that pain and know what it feels like to come out the otherside. “Thanks for nothing!” She doesn’t need you.
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