issue #02 pdf - Razorcake

"When at a weak point or time of
suffering, the edge won't quit." Hot Water Music
a three-legged dog, hobbling around, dragging
its feet. My fears were unfounded. I
became dumbfounded. Without the second
guitarist, none of the musicians could hide.
David, Andy Lang (who goes by Lainey),
and Frankie played like they were in a prisoner
lineup, the stripped-down culprits of
hundreds of musical heists, and the audience
was there to make sure they weren't
imposters. Under the harsh light, they were
still able to battle trick after trick from their
short-sleeved shirts, proving a level of
adaptability that would cripple a band that
used every single member as a crutch
instead of a larger weapon.
I should have had more faith. It seems
that every member of both bands are conduits
for music one wouldn't suspect. (3)
And for a generation of music listeners
that has been more and more bred on visual
stimuli in action movies that have budgets
that exceed the gross national product of
most third world countries, Leatherface's
live show is three pasty English guys, basically
staying put (can't blame the drummer).
Once in awhile, Frankie does his happy,
skipping duck waddle to David and back.
That's it. In the world of boy bands, they're
58 a marketing nightmare. They
were fantastic.
Age is often a scary thing for aggressive
music. It's downright pathetic and ugly to
see a band that was based on verve and
cordless guitars reform, mining territory
that's already been stripped of its jewels.
Leatherface steers way clear. The bombast,
the fiery crashes, the bloodshed, the tears,
the heroes and hooligans, are all in the
music for you to find and crack open.
After every song break, there was plenty
of applause. In my life, there have been no
shortage of stone cold silences between a
ho-hum band's songs. Just as there isn't an
easy genre to stuff Leatherface into, there
isn't a pre-concocted way of responding to
them. There were no kung fu floor punching
exhibitions, no crowd surfing, just pockets
of people moving in different ways, letting
the music take hold, followed by sincere
clapping.
Leatherface's first-ever American tour
was in support of the 1998 split with Hot
Water Music on BYO Records. The two
bands seem to twine around one another
like the guitar lines in their own songs.
Off stage, Frankie was candid about his
songs. He treats them better than a lot of
people treat their children. He knows their
temperaments. More importantly, he cherishes
some to the point that he won't bring
them out in the wrong environment. First
case is "Andy," which is a requiem to
departed bassist Andy Crighton (who
played in both Snuff and Leatherface and
committed suicide in 1998). In the past,
when the song was played, people didn't
show the proper respects and after the song
ended, the band attacked the offending parties.
It'll be a rare occasion, if ever, when
the song is played live again. A favorite
Leatherface song of mine is "Baked Potato,"
and one that I've never heard live. When I
asked Frankie why that is, he said it was too
difficult to play live. Too many time
changes, too many things to do simultaneously.
Being that I live in America, I've seen
Leatherface only six times (Their first U.S.
show was in 2000 at the Che Café in San
Diego), so I may be wrong about this. Many
band members, when I meet them before a
show, seem polite, nice, and mellow, but
when they get on stage, they sound like
swarming insects and look like buffalo are
trampling them. The inverse happens if
Frankie Stubbs guzzles red wine out of a
sports bottle. The intense and focused man