The New Fumes at the Ridglea Theatre

On a Ship, Under a Bus from daniel huffman on Vimeo.

I the F.W. in DFW is for Fort Worth, it turns out.

Just kidding. Please don't accuse me of Dallas prejudice. At least not yet.

I just don't know the rest of the Metroplex as well, but this Friday I got some Ft. Worth on the bottom of my shoes.

The experience met with my approval. Ft. Worth is Conan the Barbarian strong.

My friend and I endured the 30 mile one way drive to the Ridgelea Theater in Fort Worth. We saw the Ft. Worth skyline like a forest of penises on the side of the highway. The band Joy Division loaned us some angst for the drive.

The Ridgelea was pleasantly sketchy. Maybe Reno's Chop Shop could take some hints.

We were lead to the front door by a friendly bouncer through a hole in the fence. Like going out the snatch of destiny.

We emerged on the other size. Dimly lit Ft.Worthery embraced us as we went in the club. The second deity we passed in the Ft. Worthean book of the dead was a biker type with a mighty mullet. And we were shown some stairs.

We ascended into a lovely purgatory, a small dive bar playing the finest of metal to my heart. Pantera, Slayer, Megadeth, Danzig and the Misfits were all cherubs on this slightly cyberdelic journey.

When we arrived good noise rock was playing. It included a three piece band, guitar, drums and violin. Good trio.

The names of these bands are lost to me.

They were never emphasized.

The next two bands were pure noise. Sound effects with electrical interference. It was tough. Mind numbing. Fucked up. And a little boring.

The second band did it with throwing furniture.

Bouncers came down like Judge Dredd and escorted the cultural trouble makers.

Then one of my favorite DFW deities emerged.

The cat-headed New Fumes plays a kind of music that I can only describe as pure unrefined 21st century rock and roll. It washes me like the blood of Shiva. I am purified in its ultra-dimensional afterbirth.

The New Fumes is Frog Boy. Film maker freakazoid from heaven who puts strange cyberdelic movies and molestations on a projector screen while playing guitar and interfacing with his Mac Book Pro and other digital friends. The outcome is a pure rock and roll.

The kind that defies genre.

The best kind.

I am always honored and happy to see this act.

I was not alone in my adoration. Everyone was happy after such a strange Twilight Zone of art night. People demanded an encore, as they should.

I patted his back, hopefully not leaving the poor bastard feeling sexually abused.

I left with a smile on my face, and wishing this motherfucker could get some cash to record an album.