lucky dragons archival photo courtesy dublab

The early evening was broiling and the streets of Little Tokyo and the Artist District sloshed with bohos; the half-crocked vanguard of another giddy night downtown this recession-wracked summer. I talked a burner girl out of the blues by bidding her to a DoLab warehouse bash I would up missing, since the Upset the Rhythm label showcase was a rare old night at the Smell. I squeezed into a pre-packed sweatbox, with severalscore of the weekend hip milling between the front table and the Urxed, already cranking banshees under the control booth. I hadn’t heard this pre-High Spaces Rob Barber project in quite a while, but their set’s net effect is about the same- a solid tribal mass uncoiling in a droning ethereal Bristol Stomp. The applause hit like mortar blasts inside the tiny space and the crowd drained outside. Next was a long wait to KIT, who proceeded to wallop out short squealing bursts of designer sheet metal that made the walls vibrate. A feedback wail preceded Gowns, as the band lurched into a long trough of dainty work with sledgehammer and blowtorch. Erika Anderson’s impressive vocals are in the mold of Carla Bozulich’s, the high and vivid roar of a passing ghost. They howled to a climax at the midnight hour, with the madhouse percussion and yowl of Foot Village following. The ever-mutating Lucky Dragons—about the most notable band on the L.A. experimental scene these days—went on at about one a.m. and the room vibe at this point was as smeared my notepad. Most of the place looked ready for pajamas as I lit out for the Ultraluxx party on Mateo Street, as the Luckies closed it down.

—Ron Garmon