The Children, Norman Westberg, Eleanor Bostwick at Striphanger, April 12, 2014
video by Clint Spaulding

Each month, the cutting edge DIY space Striphanger takes a break from its usual roster of local lens jockeys, and hosts an evening of music. Striphanger #4 on April 12 provided an evening of dead plane cerebral noise — a No Wave resurgence with nothing original or fun, but with an excellent bar.

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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.

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In the desert, time is irrelevant, and music is a strong and powerful force. Groups gather, chant and drum, in mosques, at open air weddings, for hours on end. We sat and listened, waiting patiently for nothing.

When I first heard the music of Tinariwen broadcast from WFMU radio, I felt a deep knowing, an instant recognition, that stemmed from a wild adventure I had crossing the Sahara desert with my ex-husband in 1993.

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