This past weekend Killsonic gave three sold out performances of their opera Tongues Bloody Tongues, written by Joseph Tepperman, at REDCAT. This excerpt of their larger street performance version included all the shock and awe tactics of musical warfare that you’ve come to expect from them.

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Elaine’s Hella Hipster Hoedown has become a welcome quarterly distraction—I’d be happy if she staged one every weekend. An indie-rock barn dance held the first Saturday this month at Pehrspace in hella non-bucolic South Echo Park, this happening was packed to the paint with veal-eyed darlings of the Eastside rock scene. I could scarce wedge my lean geezer’s carcass into the room, much less commandeer one of the authentic hay bales strewn about the room as bovine bric-a-brac, so I tarried outside and talked to the hostess. Being a Dixie lady herself, she was pretty impressed to meet a (half) authentic Tazewell Co., VA, hillbilly and I found myself unaccustomedly bashful. (About in the only other social advantage my heritage is usually good for is informing the occasional obnoxious fuck he owns a real purdy mouf’ with just the right inflection, so this kind of approval is unusual.)

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