Put down your spiked hair. Pull those safety pins out of your pierced ears. Trade in the leather jacket, the studded belt, the plaid pants, the violently political message, the inability to enjoy anyone within your immediate proximity unless you’re physically engaged in violence towards them. But don’t stop enjoying yourself. This is not the place for the energy to drop, for the volume to descend, or for the spirit of radical thought to become extinguished. This is the place for two-minute songs and stagedivers and snarling fuzz and harrowing reverb, all compacted together into a stick of dynamite that keeps burning for almost five solid hours. This is the first stop on the tour for Ty Segall, a veteran to the Bay Area garage-folk-psych-rock scene, which, tonight, has taken up residence in the Great American Music Hall, and is here to demolish the foundations — both figuratively and a significant bit literally.
