This Is Meant To Hurt You: These Arms Are Snakes at the Black Cat
By DCist contributor Mehan Jayasuriya
I have to admit, I was a little concerned when I first showed up at the Black Cat on Saturday night. The crowd was pretty thin, folks seemed more interested in shoe-gazing than the band on stage and there wasn't a raised fist or pointing finger anywhere in sight. This certainly isn't the kind of scene that I'm used to seeing at a hardcore show; the last time I saw Seattleites These Arms Are Snakes, they were (quite literally) tearing the ceiling off of Chicago's now defunct Fireside Bowl.
Then again, it might have had something to do with the band on stage--Ohio prog-metalheads Mouth of the Architect aren't exactly the most mosh-friendly band around. In the vein of hipster-friendly metal acts like Isis and Mastadon, Mouth of the Architect craft expansive and mostly instrumental soundscapes using broad strokes; we're willing to bet that these dudes spend just as much time listening to Pink Floyd in the van as they do Sabbath. Unfortunately, most of the songs' subtleties were lost in the mix. We're not sure if it was the band's fault or the club's, but very little detail could be heard over the wash of their guitars. Which is a shame because you could see them tooling around with synths and hammering fret boards during the atmospheric bits — you just couldn't hear it over the drone. Still, the members of Mouth of the Architect sported the biggest beards and most tattoos out of anyone at the Cat — and that's gotta be worth something.
Being a recent transplant, I'm going to plead ignorance when it comes to not having heard local act French Toast before. Really though, that's no excuse. Not only does their resume read like a who's-who of DC punk (Fugazi, The Make Up, The Nation of Ulysses and Ted Leo and the Pharmacists, to name a few), they're also one of the most exciting peddlers of the Dischord sound today. The members of the breakfast-loving trio traded off instruments throughout their set, each taking a turn at drums, bass, guitar and vocals. The end result was that we got to hear tight, minimal post-hardcore jams filtered through three distinct mouthpieces. "If we sound a little scratchy, it's only because it's our last night," James Canty promised, before declaring "I'm gonna blow my voice out!" and descending headfirst into another song. Once French Toast hits a groove, it's really a sight to behold: their precision makes it seem as if the notes are locked in place. Still, it wasn't enough to coax very many folks away from the bar and toward the stage.
Despite the fact that there wasn't much of a crowd, These Arms Are Snakes didn't seem too worried when they strutted up to bat. Formed from the ashes of seminal hardcore acts Botch and Kill Sadie, the band has been touring relentlessly since the release of their debut EP, This Is Meant To Hurt You, in 2003. Since then, they've worked to develop a distinctive style of melodic post-hardcore that uses proggy atmospherics and mathy guitar noodling to build tension. It's the release where they really shine though: Steve Snere's piercing screams lead the assault while heavy riffs, a pounding rhythm section and wailing synths bring up the rear. The band made their best use of this formula on 2004's challenging Oxeneers or the Lion Sleeps When its Antelope Go Home, one of that year's best records. The newly-released Easter, however, unwisely eschews the build-up in favor of the break down and finds the band closer to their hardcore peers than they've been in the past.
Live however, this new focus proved to be something an asset. Launching into Easter's opening cut "Mescaline Eyes," the band soon had kids rushing the stage, pumping fists and screaming along. Choosing wisely to follow this up with one of their best songs, the dancey, synth-driven "Angela's Secret," the band whipped the front row into a frenzy while Snare repeatedly dove into the assembled crowd. Admittedly, there weren't that many kids up front but TAAS managed to put on one hell of a show for those of us who were. The band bounced around the stage, equal parts accurate and energetic while Snare took turns writhing on the floor and screaming in our faces. At one point he even walked out into the crowd with his mic, inviting outlying observers into the fold.
As we walked out of the club and into the open arms of 14th street, I turned to my friend, who had never been to a hardcore show before and asked him what he thought. He spent a few seconds diplomatically searching for the right word before commenting that TAAS's set was quite "interactive." "I had to move to the back of the room because I was scared that I was going to get spit on or something." He's right, it was a good show.
Photos by Mehan Jayasuriya.