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Kick Out the Jams

Jucifer at the Rock, June 6

Judging by the people fleeing for the exits, their faces contorted into various states of panic and loathing, their hands clamped tight over their ears, there were two schools of thought on Friday's Jucifer show at the Rock.

The first--that the show was adolescent rock 'n' roll masturbation, a strident, self-indulgent cavalcade of feedback and drum solos--was perhaps the ruling of the majority. At least it seemed that way as the showroom emptied out like the SARS wing of a Beijing hospital, leaving only a diehard core of metalheads to weather the fury of the 15-odd speaker cabinets precariously stacked behind singer/guitarist Amber Valentine and drummer Ed Livengood. Indeed it was an unsettling experience--one that almost completely defied the aesthetic logic of their studio recordings. If Jucifer's most recent album, 2001's I Name You Destroyer, was vaguely reminiscent of PJ Harvey, then the band's live show might better be compared to that of The Melvins--a 70-odd-minute low-end assault to which both vocals and melody fell casualty. In fact, only an occasional trace of Valentine's lullaby soprano could be heard above the rumbling din. Like the girl trapped in her car beneath a snow drift in "Little Fever," the room was consumed by an elemental surge that left the audience breathless and disturbed.

But I find myself partial to the second school of thought--that the show was a calculated "fuck you" to the tyranny of convention and expectation. Snubbing discernible structure, intelligible lyrics and pauses for chit-chat, Jucifer instead delivered a wall of sound from a wall of amplifiers. Even the low-budget lighting, from Christmas to strobe, was a refreshing departure from the norm as it pulsed in time with Livengood's frenetic pounding (of both his drum kit and a series of Coronas). Even if Valentine's Nuge-esque swagger--an attitude ostensibly at odds with her flip-flops and stretch pants--did seem a bit over the top, the whole effect was visceral and ultimately cathartic (or so it seemed as the remaining crowd roared its approval at the end of the show).

And like it or not, my friends, Jucifer's is the sound of the future. Like the White Stripes and Immortal Lee County Killers (both duos as well), Jucifer elevates noise and distortion to art, giving a sonic enema to an industry immersed in tired themes and artificial rhythms. Or as Simon Mandell--singer/guitarist for local rockers The Displaced--summed, "Well, they were loud." To which there was only one possible reply: "Did you say something? I can't hear a goddamn thing."--Newt Briggs