The night of March 30th was typical a Sunday at Union Pool, with a clientele of creeps downing beer-and-shot combos and scavenging for last-minute scraps before the workweek. More interested in the music than the meat market, I felt the need to venture from the bar and thru the cattle-filled courtyard into the venue on the other side. Glad I did. When a band can transform its spectators from stiffs to maniacs, you know you’ve got something. Good job, Tournament.
The band took the stage, and their set rapidly overcame the audience. Fans treating their drinks like second-class citizens was a good sign, it warmed my heart. The band opened with “Scattered,” taking my brain on a ravaged joyride out of the daily cognitive BS to the mindless, infernal space of collective mayhem. In “Collar”—maybe a love serenade, maybe an ode to submission—Tournament shouted that “if the collar fits then I’ll be your dog,” punctuating their caveman groove with nightmare riffs and a noisy, wall-of-sound guitar solo. “RX,” with strong, confident drums pushing its apocalyptic cadence, crescendoed from a whisper into a shout of night doctor guitars that woke the spirit.
