
No one who attended the sold-out show at House of Blues on Friday could accuse the performers of lacking energy. Continue reading…

No one who attended the sold-out show at House of Blues on Friday could accuse the performers of lacking energy. Continue reading…

Now that the horror genre is seven Saw movies deep, it might seem like there’s nothing that could be done to possibly shock fans. The last decade’s foray into torture porn has emphasized the fetishization of suffering over suspense and existential dread, and piled on the gore so thick that no part of the human body has emerged unscathed.
Thanks to the brazen novelty of its premise, The Human Centipede — out today on DVD as an unrated director’s cut — succeeds in not only differentiating itself from the glossy, contemporary crop of Hollywood horror, but manages to wring a surprising amount of humor from its sadistic plot. The independent film centers around a crazed German doctor (Dieter Laser) who kidnaps three people and surgically attaches them via their gastric systems to create the titular creature. There are no subplots to be found here, only the shocking, central story of a crazed doctor and his medical atrocity.
The centipede itself consists of two American tourists (Ashley C. Williams and Ashlynn Yennie) as the middle and rear segments and Akihiro Kitamura’s loudmouthed Japanese businessman at the head. During the film’s dialog-heavy opening sequences, Williams’ and Yennie’s acting is shaky at best, but the two fare better once wide-eyed terror and disgust are the only emotions they’re expected to convey. (This raises the age-old question: is it easier or harder to evoke an audience’s sympathy when your mouth is sewn to another actor’s anus?) Continue reading…

Sunday’s lineup at the Belly Up boasted not one but two noteworthy bands: North Carolina’s The Love Language and LA’s fast-rising Local Natives. The Love Language and Local Natives aren’t exactly kindred spirits; the former is known for brittle tavern rock, the latter for catchy, world music-inspired compositions. Despite these differences, both bands suffered from excessively uniform sets. Continue reading…

Menomena‘s sound is that of a mind wrestling with its demons. Their songs careen between cacophony and quietude like an agitated stream of consciousness. The music swells and darkens but, just when it seems as if the demons will win, the band reins in the discord, and serenity is — at least for the moment — restored. Menomena’s mastery of chaos is one of their greatest strengths but, at their recent Casbah show, some real life chaos threatened to derail their performance. Continue reading…

Back in early 2004, The Walkmen rolled into San Diego, touring off of their breakout album Bows and Arrows. I had yet to hear the album, and the nation was still about six months away from unanimously agreeing that the searing anthem “The Rat†was the best rock single of the year.
So it was just dumb luck when a friend and I — having just moved to the city and wanting to introduce ourselves to the live music scene — basically closed our eyes, pointed to the concert listings, and chose The Walkmen. At the Casbah. It was a hell of an introduction. Front man Hamilton Leithauser was a whirlwind that night, slightly drunk, perching on the monitors and throwing around mic stands, and stalking the stage like he owned the place and everyone in it. We were all instant fans. Continue reading…