{"id":4522,"date":"2014-07-28T00:16:00","date_gmt":"2014-07-27T23:16:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.thesenseofdoubt.com\/?p=4522"},"modified":"2016-12-10T21:48:39","modified_gmt":"2016-12-10T21:48:39","slug":"live-dressmaker-terminal-gods-buffalo-bar-london","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/box2305.temp.domains\/~thesent5\/live-dressmaker-terminal-gods-buffalo-bar-london\/","title":{"rendered":"LIVE: Dressmaker & Terminal Gods @ Buffalo Bar, London"},"content":{"rendered":"

LIVE: Dressmaker & Terminal Gods @ Buffalo Bar, London<\/h2>\n

Alejandro De Luna<\/h5>\n
Review originally published for Gigslutz<\/a>.<\/span> Read the original text here<\/a><\/span><\/h5>\n

If you\u2019ve never been to the Buffalo Bar, the place is a cramped venue with no distance between the stage and the audience. The combination of red and dark lights, along with the black leather obsessives, tattoos, Doc Martens and body piercings that visited the obscure basement in Highbury & Islington, gave the impression of being in some kind of community waiting to be disturbed by a funereal wave of sonorous anarchy.<\/p>\n

Loud as fuck, disturbing and perversely beautiful; that\u00b4s the sound coming out of trashed amps when you listen to\u00a0Dressmaker<\/strong>\u00a0\u2013 one of London\u2019s most satisfying experiences if you are looking for something to outrage your inner peace. Besides the perturbing sound full of gloom-like fuzz and sonic violence, Dressmaker<\/strong> is a cocktail of hopeless obscurity: punk-like aggression, heavy post-punk bass lines, vocals that claim for Ian Curtis\u2019 throne, noise rock-like cacophonic guitars a la Sonic Youth<\/strong> and The Jesus & Mary Chain<\/strong>, and the howling beauty of industrial misery that despises digestible and joyful sounds.<\/p>\n

They came up on stage with an unconventional approach that immediately grabs your attention: an outstanding drummer and full-time athlete that leads the hysteria, caused by barricades of noise between a bass and a guitar played at their loudest, while Charles Potashner \u2013 Dressmaker\u2019s<\/strong> vocalist \u2013 waits off-stage before entering into his\u00a0schizophrenic horror show full of screams and drama. Then, the band enters in some sort of catatonic and violent state and the result is a perplexing pandemonium, only comparable to twisted miserables like Xiu Xiu<\/strong> \u2013 an experience definitely not suitable for all those \u201cKasabians\u201d out there.<\/p>\n

If you listened to Dressmaker<\/strong> before in your cheap speakers, these Hackney-based perverts offer a highly superior proof\u00a0on-stage. From \u2018Glass\u2019, a Sonic Youth-esque rendition; \u2018The Future\u2019 with its deafening drums and somber textures; their savage 7-minute long goth opera, \u2018Skeleton Girl\u2019; to one of the darkest versions you\u00b4ll ever listen of The Ronettes<\/strong>\u2019 \u2018Be My Baby\u2019. Unfairly compared to The Horrors<\/strong> and A Place To Bury Strangers<\/strong>, Dressmaker is a highly superior pursuit of darkness and disruption of noise.<\/p>\n

Tight and dark, but unlucky of headlining a show next to Dressmaker<\/strong>,\u00a0Terminal Gods<\/strong>\u00a0\u2013 a post-punk drum-machine oriented quartet that comfortably rests in the legacy of The Sisters Of Mercy<\/strong> \u2013 brings a more melodic experience in comparison to the previous fuzz obsessives, although not as perplexing as the previous ones. Not even their cover of \u2018White Light\/White Heat\u2019 and a setlist full of garagesque reminiscences and dark \u201980s paranoia were enough to put me out from the tinnitus caused by Dressmaker.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Remember Dressmaker<\/strong> and remember the\u00a0drummer. This band is not your typical digestible picnic band. They are one of London\u2019s hidden treasures, sitting in a dark legacy and waiting to destroy your inner peace. Just brilliant.<\/p>\n