I’ve been so immersed in the metal world lately that sometimes I forget that I like other music. I especially forget that weird thrill of going mostly blind into a show. Sure, I may not know an opener or two, but it’s pretty rare for me to cover a band I haven’t listened to beforehand. It’s both exciting and nerve-wracking and, let’s face it, no one wants to be disappointed. Luckily for me, I at least knew of the other music projects of the artists on the night’s lineup, but even knowing that, did not prepare me for what I was about to experience.
I’ve never been to The Lodge Room in Highland Park before. I had a ticket for Mclusky in 2023, but that show got canceled,and the venue changed when they returned earlier this year. It’s a smaller venue that used to be a Masonic Lodge, on the second floor of a building on 56th Ave, near The Greyhound Bar, which I have been to. It had that nostalgic feeling of venues in my hometown scene, The Eureka Veterans Hall, in particular, though not nearly as large. It already had me feeling those rare twinges of nostalgia for home.
Opening first was solo acoustic artist Field lulling us with bittersweet songs about love, death, and other such feelings. He had a sardonic and self-deprecating sense of humor between songs and got quite a few laughs and chuckles.
The last time I saw JD Pinkus, of Butthole Surfers fame, on stage was actually with the Melvins when they were touring with Boris in support of their Pinkus Abortion Technician album, but frankly, I didn’t know about his solo works before, and fuck have I been missing out. He is such a great performer and an absolute wizard on the banjo. He brought that swampy southern blues with a mixture of originals and covers and covers of originals all while psychedelic visuals pulsated on two rather conspicuously “pear-shaped” projection screens.
I knew shit was gonna get weird when Trevor Dunn walked out with a fucking double bass and rosined up his bow. Having not listened to any of their previous collaboration before, it was a real treat as they mixed Melvins, Mr. Bungle, and original compositions with Buzzo on acoustic guitar holding down the main rhythm while Dunn matched him with incredible technical jazz bass and avant-garde free playing. The number of times I heard myself or those around me uttering a mystified “Wow!” or “Holy shit!” was innumerable. It truly blew my mind at how well those sludgy Melvins songs translated to a two-piece acoustic setup.
Going back to the weird nostalgic twinges for home, it’s important to note that I grew up in the home turf of Mr. Bungle, so when I heard McKinnleyville referenced in one of the songs of the evening, it felt as though maybe it was fate that I would be in this strange ex-masonic lodge, watching someone who grew up in the same place and that I have a bizarrely similar musical upbringing in common. If by some chance, you’re reading this, Mr. Dunn, my first instrument was also the clarinet, and I too, play the bass guitar–though not remotely as well as you. I may have walked into this evening without a single goddamn clue, but I walked out of it a new fan and forever changed.
