HIP TO DEATH, CAPIBARA, THE PINX Armed with heart-wrenching melodies, tastefully stoned riffs and the most fully realized (and good) rock songwriting this town has seen in decades, the Pinx are Atlanta's best-kept secret. Hip to Death plays jagged, morphine post-punk. Capibara opens with fierce, though undercooked noisy rock rants. $5. 9 p.m. Drunken Unicorn. www.thedrunkenunicorn.net. — CR
The Pinx opened up to the frozen crowd with mixed emotions. At first, I didn't feel my mouth watering for the souped-up lyric review that you have just read above. As the band played on, their genuine enthusiasm became contageous. Everyone enjoys good showmanship, and this trio of guys were all over the stage. The Pinx tore it up with lenghthy guitar riffs, physical action, and melodic singing that reminded me of Weezer. I heard that the drummer was playing with some broken ribs - but he's obviosly one tough bastard. Overall, it was a sweet beginning to my frothy night.
Up next was Capibara. First let me say that looks are deceiving. Do not judge a Thom Yorke look-a-like dressed rather preppy for anything less than what he is - damn talented, and obvioulsy under appreciated. The string of quick lyrics that flew out of his mouth were captivating. The band was tight, and each song was crafted like a fun shot on your twenty-first birthday. And this band also grabs the attention of the ladies - always important, and quite often overlooked. As the crowd swelled even at the stroke of midnight, I knew the last band had to be interesting.
Hip To Death opened with a catchy tune and I eased back to enjoy the view. The setup was different, and obviosly took the eye of some serious artists. The special lighting, the intricate triangle art on canvas, collages, and my fave - tv's with surf and skate videos playing. It all meshed together like a video on the Fuel channel. Song 2, which I found out is called Red Blood Lips, was dark and heavy on the shadows of bass bass bass. One thing I can say about the lyrics from this band -some of the words and lines really cling to your mind. I'm not sure if that's frightening or facinating. The singer stands tall in stature and spits out his words like a mad man. He was backed occassionally by a sultry bass player who helped drive the nail into the angry song and finished with a little Pixie style. The drummer whaled out punk beats from behind his camp-fire-esk lit drum kit. The music was definetely a style I've never heard before. I'll have to check this trio out again.
Nothing's better than ending of good night of music with some late night food at the Magestic. My hunger had been satisfied, and all of the dark souls could sleep soundly at last.
Music Monkey gives this night 3 bananas.
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