Rock
'n' roll isn't dead. It is alive in the seedy underbelly of New York's
sleaziest clubs, on display for those willing to look for it. Last
night, I set foot into Lit (again, one of my least favorite venues in
this entire city), eager for another dose of trashy, violent rock 'n'
roll, and that's exactly what I received, with interest.

First on the slab were The Hunt (pictured),
New York's premier post-punk patrons. Soaked in copious amounts of both
whiskey and gin, the band tore through a short, yet sweet set of
primal, beat driven rock, hell bent on fury. I've become extremely
familiar with the band's set over the years, but several new numbers
replaced old favorites this time around, each chock full of the same
infectious songwriting and epic choruses I hold near and dear.
Meanwhile, familiar numbers such as "Black and White" and "15 Minutes"
still sounded as fresh as ever, and it was impossible to resist singing
along to every single word. This band always sounds vital, and last
night was of no exception. 

Already,
the night was off to a chaotic start (complete with a crushed boot
courtesy of the Hunt's vocalist), but the energy xxxxx just a bit as
the New York Howl ...

However, to save us from such bullshit drivel, were The Bellmer Dolls
(pictured, left).  I haven't seen this band in years, it seems, since
we also shared a stage (I believe the same one mentioned just a few
sentences ago) at Crash Mansion. The band were a three piece then, full
of bass-driven, chaotic passion; spitting and snarling against a wall
of powerful sound seldom heard since the Birthday Party's reign of
terror.  Approximately two years have passed, and the band has built up
a rather devoted following, opening up for the likes of Nick Cave &
the Badseeds and the Secret Machines. The rather tiny basement
atmosphere of Lit couldn't contain them, especially after the booker of
the night made some rather derogatory comments about each band's darker
aesthetic, which incensed both crowd and bands alike. Bellmer Dolls
singer Peter Mavrogeorgis' eyes seemed to glow as the band finished
setting up their extensive array of gear, and began to launch into a
rather abrasive rant in response, setting the stage for what would
follow.

The Bellmer Dolls played just one song from their set,
before Mavrogeorgis' guitar went out. Rather than patiently fix it, he
encouraged his bandmates to raise hell and play whatever their hearts
desired. This went just as one might expect. In perhaps one of the most
truly rock and roll moments this blogger has ever seen, the band
proceeded to play for a continous forty five minutes, locking into a
primal, no wave-esque rhythm, complete with off-key organ dirges and
bursts of pure noise. What was hell to some was heaven to these ears,
as the band not only made a rather powerful statement, but managed to
create something far more dirty and deranged than I had expected. I
watched the chaos unfold with eyes alight, and I left immediately after
with a smile on my face, content to the brim.  Three cheers to
both The Bellmer Dolls and The Hunt for keeping rock 'n' roll alive in
these trying times. This boy appreciates it.   images by Frank Deserto