Open Your Eyes
Crash Worship - Discordia
As has been the case lately, a plate full of things to get done is leaving me with less time to wax poetic (or ramble, however you’d describe it) about today’s tune, but at least I’m on schedule I guess.
Crash Worship wasn’t something one listened to as much as something one experienced. In the late 80s to mid 90s, they struck a chord with kids like me, who thrilled at the type of collective experience that had felt a generational duty, like Lollapalooza or raves. I did own a Crash Worship album, but it grew tiresome and I packed it in with a grip of my more challenging collection like John Zorn’s Naked City, which I traded in for credit at the CD store next to my work in a then life-affirming purge meant to suggest I was maturing and that I’m sure I used on mellower jazz CDs. It was a later album, not as good as this, and I sort of wish I still had it, but not enough to find another copy.
The Crash Worship live experience was a different story than that album. I have no idea how they managed to keep getting booked, given the reputation of their “shows”, but they did. There was a time I saw them during one SXSW (when it was still interesting), that was quickly put together, and spread by word of mouth, and took place at some warehouse or something that was less focused on things like insurance. I’m not sure of how many times I saw them, but it was at least a few. I imagine that there were more shows like that for them, than in established venues but I have no real idea without doing some research.
They were a guerilla attack on the senses. Crowds would gather, waiting for the madness (and probably for the mushrooms to kick in) while the tension built, and teeth grinded. Then, the whistles began in the distance, followed by the drums. A thunder, rumbling closer and closer, the audience jittery for the parade to reach them. A combo between an incoming battle and Mardi Gras. The collective marched in, first the fire dancers, then the drummers, and all of the whistling and smoke. They’d be flanked by the audience, joining them as they marched into the gathering spot, where the guitar would begin to groan, then howl it’s primal feedback call. The parade also included wine, anointing everyone in a spray of wetness and fruit pulp and mysterious splashes of cold while a woman was carried above, doling it all around. And fireworks. Black Cat firecrackers. Sometimes bottle rockets, and people brought their own and it felt so lawless. It was chaos and one hoped it was controlled, but really that the whole thing didn’t fall apart and that no one was hurt or died or that it didn’t all burn to the ground was a lucky fluke at best. At least that’s what it felt like.
There’s not enough footage of these transcendent moments, and even what I’ve seen doesn’t capture the actual gleeful fear of the discordian moment they created, over and over again.
Their visual look was also fantastic and so I had to include that image above to accompany this song, something I haven’t normally done.
Like what I’m doing here? Let me know by suggesting it to someone else that may like it. Not into this song? Stick around for the next one, it may be what you didn’t know you needed! Remember, there are only two genres of music here at SERMONS!: good and bad, and I have too much to do to waste time on bad music