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Blush / Sweaty Suede Lips / Atomic Numbers and Deathgirl.com St. Andrew's Hall, Detroit 3-24-01

Blush / Sweaty Suede Lips / Atomic Numbers and Deathgirl.com
St. Andrew's Hall, Detroit 3-24-01

Live music events are for voyeurs like me and, luckily, exhibitionists like the dozen or so plaid-skirted, knee-socked, pigtail-ponies who sauntered through the crowd and hovered over the balcony rails at St. Andrews Hall for the Blush / Sweaty Suede Lips / Atomic Numbers / Deathgirl.com show on Sat. March 24th. "School-grrlz" feigning pre-pubescent naiveté and bearing upper-thigh seem to have become a fashion (or is it fetish?) in Detroit, much to my delight. It makes you wonder what the next decade will bring to the crowd's dress - or lack thereof.

Blush

I missed Blush - again, which is a stupid shame. Not only was it billed as their CD release party, but they were to perform with a more electronic approach, having recently lost their drummer, Kelly, a former Stun-Gun-ner who's sold her kit to pursue her passion for sequencing. By all accounts, (even the other bands) Blush "kicked-ass" and didn't suffer for the vacancy.
I can never get into the city before 10:30 pm. Another time perhaps. My apologies to that fine band.

Sweaty Suede Lips

Sweaty Suede Lips seem to get better every time I see them. This electro/gothic quartet was shaking the old hall with enough bass amplitude to make your head vibrate to a throbbing "auralgasm" - to borrow a term posted on the bathroom wall downstairs.
The crowd looked too stunned to appreciate the shear hedonistic vibe emanating from the stage that should've had them rolling on the floor touching themselves. Although movement front-stage was kept to a minimum, I could tell they were teetering on the edge of abandoning their inhibitions. I moved a bit closer just in case somebody did.
S.S.L. did an excellent cover of Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill" adding a noisy electronic edge to the glossy original. Bret Haupt's guttural voice and dramatic phrasing was surprisingly suited to the task of delivering Bush's lyrics. Keyboardist Justine What's-Her-Name was staid and nearly motionless as she lay down a bed of thick timbres to pillow Haupt's drama.
While valid comparisons to Nine Inch Nails persist, I believe there will always be a market for this brand of sado-electonica. The rousing cheers of the crowd at St. Andrews after each of their tunes support my argument. And I think Sweaty Suede Lips will succeed in carving out a niche that doesn't lend itself so easily to those similitudes.

Atomic Numbers

I've been dying to see The Atomic Numbers ever since I listened to their clips. I'm a sucker for finely crafted pop music of any flavor. I cut my teeth on music that lent itself to singing along, unlike the more vibe-like tunes that get-off younger listners today.
Though the Atomic Numbers were misplaced in this mostly electonic show, to catch them performing with acts of this caliber, for seven bucks, was a steal. So it took a bit of a paradigm shift to listen to straight rock/pop after listening to cooly-produced electronica. The performance almost seemed rough by comparison.
But the passion of their performance had the audience dancing and bobbing their heads. These guys lovetheir music and the love rubbed off on the first three rows. The intensity of the performance was only outdone by the sheer volume which made my nose itch by standing too close to the speakers. A girl close by covered her ears throughout the set.
The high point of the set was their closing cover of the Faces "Stay With Me," complete with Rhodes piano decrescendo and slide guitar on loan from Brendon Benson. Everyone over thirty (there may have been three or four of us, not including the band) was reliving a past life, vicariously through their talented performance. At some point toward the end of the performance the stage lights went out completely, but that didn't deter The Atomic Numbers from playing on while their stage hands fell overthemselves looking for that wayward plug.

Deathgirl.com

Finally, the headlining act with the coolest name, Deathgirl.com, took the stage in complete darkness. Rolling spires of multi-colored light pierced the blackness and the room shuttered with an electronic droning that intensified until the band exploded onstage. Very dramatic.
Melissa, a bi-chromatic haired Lolita with a sheer belly-shirt and child-like voice, took the crowd through their set of futuristic synth-pop with nary a pause. Actually. they segued their songs with some really bizarre samples that kept the set moving from song to song. Great idea, really.
Equally hard and sweet (that's rock candy baby), Deathgirl.com plays both on your taboo fantasies and your most gorilla-thrusting base instincts. Their electro-pop dance music is both hypnotic and seductive which was enough to keep the "school-grrls" hips gyrating on the balconies over my head.
Thank you Deathgirl.com.

Mitch Phillips

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