Saturday, February 12th, 2005. The lineup also included The Plot to Blow Up the Eiffel Tower, and Ex Models. Filmed by Aaron Thornhill.


I was gonna be late to the show at the Epicentre in Mira Mesa, a spacious all-ages venue normally about a 20 minute drive from where I lived in Golden Hill, a neighborhood east of Downtown San Diego. My car had been totaled in a hit-and-run a few months before while parked in the College Area, so getting to this show was going to take over an hour on public transportation. As the bus eventually made its way from surface streets to the northbound freeway, I realized that the only people left that were in it for the long haul were two kids sitting a few feet away from me. One of them looked about 15, with Nirvana Unplugged-length greasy hair and the classic teenage sullen glare; the other about 13, with a new-looking leather jacket, some freckles and a demeanor that suggested he was having the time of his life and didn’t care if anyone knew.
With the bulk of the pilgrimage remaining, I decided to break my typical bus-ride oath of silence and inquire if they were also en route to the show.
“Yeah!” exclaimed the leather jacket kid, with all the sneering punk rock attitude of the Pillsbury Doughboy after a good tummy tickle.
“If it’s all sold out… I’m gonna fuckin’ kick out a window or whatever to get in, I don’t give a fuck” declared Unplugged, then spit into his hand and rubbed it into his stringy hair. I quickly assured him we would be able to get in and he eventually cracked a smile, declaring in a flawless Captain Kirk cadence “my goal tonight… is… to smoke weed… with The Locust”. Pillsbury Leather, ever exuberant, looked back and forth between us to gauge whether this normie with a camera bag could even handle the utter punk rock-ness of his older friend. I could indeed, but with each gob of spit casually hacked up and used as styling gel, I became increasingly aware of how long it had been since I had also been a teenager.
Upon getting into the very much crowded venue, I realized that the sax-punk antics of openers The Plot to Blow Up the Eiffel Tower were well underway. Having lived the first 24 years of my life in Tulsa, Oklahoma, I could immediately tell that between the singer’s Jagger-prancing about the stage and the band’s persistence in slathering any and every otherwise pleasing riff in a heavy, chrome glaze of atonal clatter, these folks had intentionally and effectively curated an aesthetic ready, willing and able to, offend middle American sensibilities. Their set was concluded by repeating the mantra “it’s your stage too”, as they pulled members of the crowd up for their last song until I wasn’t sure if I could even see them anymore.
I was able to work my way much closer to the stage for the next group, a New York duo called Ex Models. I knew nothing about them other than that they had a record on Three One G, which didn’t narrow it down for me sonically at all other than it would probably be weird. Out came the two Ex Models, who turned out to be pretty normal looking dudes. There was a drum kit on the stage and some guitars, which they strode right past in favor of kicking things off with some ear-splitting drones and rhythmic blurps from various guitar pedals on the floor. One thing that set them apart from the staunch introversion typical of noise artists was their obvious attitude. Instead of staring coyly at their shoes or instruments, they gazed out at the crowd, challenging them as their pedals saturated the air with whirrs, clanks, and robotic wheezes. After establishing the vibe, they brought in the drum kit, repetition-based guitar riffs, howled vocals, and pre-recorded drum grooves in different combinations. While the music was more helicopter/car alarm than Lennon/McCartney, the precision delivery of the songs could not be denied, and before I could even get a grip on what I was seeing, the barrage stopped and they departed the stage.
The Locust were up next and while they were setting up I noticed some very strange music and spoken word playing over the PA. Later I would find out that guitarist Bobby Bray had taken the cheese masterpiece Fabio album “After Dark” and edited out all the actual songs. What remained was an unsettling montage of spicy, pre-song monologues delivered over a sumptuous bed of adult contemporary synths, and a glimpse at the band’s sense of humor at work behind the stark white uniforms and masks. Before long they took the stage, and wasted no time setting about shredding everyone’s face off, debuting material from their soon to be released “Safety Second, Body Last” EP to the packed venue.
After they finished I ran into the kids from the bus again. They were ecstatic, and asked if I could get their ticket stubs signed by the Locust for them. I went in the back and was able to get them signed "mustache" by bassist JP. I said my goodbyes and got about the business of mooching a proper ride home.

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