Death Valley Girls

The Lexington

Words & Pics by Captain Stavros

A Laughing Gas Gospel of Joy and Noise

As Bonnie Bloomgarden's supernova grin burned through the haze and her golden sax player sent sunbeams bouncing into the crowd like cosmic flares, it was clear from the first shimmer of ‘Abre Camino’ that Death Valley Girls weren’t here to mess about. They were here to bless us, baptise us, and blow the roof off The Lexington.

That opener? A psychedelic swirl more Marrakesh than L.A., the sax solo hanging over the crowd like incense while the rhythm section kicked in with piston-force precision. Bass thumped, kickdrum pounded, and then that guitar, slung high and scratching down the fretboard like nails on a chalkboard, announced the real arrival. You didn’t just hear this gig; you were wrapped in it. Full, rich, and beautifully balanced, loud enough to shake the room, never enough to drown it.

Bloomgarden, all gothic-Harley Quinn energy and spearmint bravado, slithered her vocals through the mic cable like a conjurer, weaving between the heavy and the heavenly. She looked like she’d been born grinning and never stopped, even mid eye-contact stare-downs that felt part flirtation, part spiritual intervention. Was it a hit of the gas? A higher power? Unclear, but whatever it was, she had it, and we were under her spell.

Death Valley Girls, rotating members or not, sounded locked in. Like a coven three weeks deep into a joyfully possessed tour. Everyone on stage had a mic. Everyone sang. Everyone meant it. The harmonies didn’t just land, they hovered, holding space between punk yelps and doo-wop dreams. Tracks like ‘I’m A Man Too’ were cheeky, righteous mantras in motion, a lo-fi surf-punk hymn for anyone who ever felt like the cool kids were missing the point.

Then there was the moment Bonnie swan-dived offstage, hugging every woman in the front row like some glitter-swathed spirit guide. It wasn’t a gimmick. It was the whole point.

As the set edged toward its finale, Bloomgarden turned to the crowd and cut the theatre: “This is the encore — right now, be here now.” No on-off pantomime, no need for formalities; just three final tracks delivered straight, sweaty, and soul-first.

‘Magic Powers’ hit particularly hard, a track that sounds like what you'd get if John Waters formed a girl gang and made them play garage rock under a full moon. By the time the set closed, there was no doubt: this was church for the beautifully weird. A last night of tour turned full rebirth.

As the last notes rang out and the stage lights melted down, you didn’t feel like you'd seen the end of something. You felt like you’d stumbled into the beginning of a better timeline, one with more saxophones, more spearmint, and more Bonnie Bloomgardens to remind us that joy can still come loud, proud, and slightly off-kilter.

October and the Eyes

At The Lexington

Words and pics by Captain Stavros

A hole is a weird thing.  I mean, if you stop and think about it for a while.  The aperture is a thin membrane but with sharp and defined borders.  It can contain not only the speed of light itself but the amount of it.  Not only that but, usually, it’s a one-way trip.  Stare long enough into the abyss, amiright?  On August 18, by some mad twist of fortune, I’d soon be falling through the eyeholes of October and the Eyes.  I just didn’t know it yet.  Thanks in part to the tube and bus strike, for giving me a minute to myself, I’d been afforded a moment to filter through a backlog of e-mails.  I’d used the time to compose a massive Singles that Mingle post when I came across OATE latest single, ‘Tit Pic’.  Even before the track finished, I knew it’d make the list but what I didn’t know, until a few seconds from then, was that they were playing on this fateful eve and that I’d be there to witness it.  With all of my holes.  All of them.

The Lexington, from the get-go, has an electric energy as I step into it.  Everyone looks awesome.  Not so much runway/airbrushed versions of themselves, just interesting and kitsch.  I rock up to that huge slab of wood they call the bar and, with bravado, I am feeling myself*, order a pint of the black stuff.  Seems fitting.  The pint, in a glass, for under 5.50?  In LONDON?  What sort of sorcery was this!?  Oi, oi, off to a good start already.  Not skipping a beat, I skulkingly make my way up the long staircase to the stage where I’m greeted with a literal blast of cold air from an AC unit humming the tunes of the Tundra, whoo ha!  It would, in a few short moments, be more necessity than luxury as the very flames of hell would be summoned upon us.

*Not literally.

Through a dense darkness the colour of squid ink and the fog, artificial as it may be, emerges what David Bowie must’ve meant by The Spiders From Mars.  These long legged, platform booted, muscle bound pipe cleaners open their set by ‘Playing God’ both literally and figuratively!  I didn’t know what to expect but when I saw Aldous RH tuning up before the set, I knew we’d all be in for something nothing less than spectacular.  Drowning in heavily soaked, grungy chords and tribal drums, October’s sensational vocals rip through a packed and undulating audience a la Karen O.

The performance feels massively charged, like a powder keg ready to blow but it’s more than just explosive.  October, a woman possessed by the dark arts in a way that feels familiar to her, has made a home in the void, making friends of shadows.  What is it with New Zealander’s anyway?  There’s a Crucifix behind you!! Imagine Wednesday Addam’s laissez-faire attitude to the ghoulish and obscene.  Totally our scene!

About three quarters through the set, October announces she’s going to slow things down with a love song. She covers Nine Inch Nails’ ‘Closer’.  She swoops down the stage above me until she’s perched, spreading her arms wide screaming, ‘I WANT TO FUCK YOU LIKE AN ANIMAL’.  I can literally feel the heat radiate off her and all I can think to myself is, ‘It's a funny feeling being taken under the wing of a dragon. It's warmer than you'd think’ - Gangs of New York.

Shit gets witchy AF when ‘Spiral’, the penultimate song, is set loose upon us.  The few remaining lights on are snuffed out.  ‘UV’ is scrawled next to the song on the playlist and, when those blacklights came on, October’s contact- adorned peepers and fangs light up with an intense madness.  The set rounds off with a janky, and frankly anticlimactic, ‘All My Love’.  A great tune for introducing a spit and sawdust roadhouse and its cast of characters, in our opinion.

We’re absolutely floored after the set, by hole standards it was the blackest of supermassives.  It was a rolling feast for the eyes and ears, we haven’t even covered the giant two-person saw played with a bow throughout, Joey Sheet Noise’s most righteous DJ set(s) comprised of ‘80s grinders, and the entire audience which was a giant oozing pit.  I fucking loved it.  For a relatively new player, October definitely has her game on lock.  The best part?  You never know if you’re coming up for air through the light or falling deeper into its blackness.  Regardless, we’d gladly, time and time again, fall through the holes of her eyes.