Merry Swankster

This much is clear: I don’t always get around to timely reviews of shows. Sometimes they lay around gathering dust for so long that other things are placed atop and forgotten they lay beneath the stack. This year I’m committed to clearing house before the end of the year. I’ll be dusting off a bunch of stuff left behind. – Merry Swankster

Parenthetical Girls

[Photos by Merry Swankster]

This was a memorable show, to say the least. A stunningly standoffish Mad Men-era vixen in a short pencil skirt, red stockings and the young Billy Corgan looking geek in a sweater that spelled “Downey”. Parenthetical Girls make music that is called “Panic Rock” – a more appropriate term for their awkward brand of discomfort inducing act there is not. Is it funny or stupid? Is it valid to conclude such high concept avant garde showmanship as art? How are we supposed to accept their music and let it represent itself when the main focus is a raving loon commiserating with the crowd below the stage? Taking cue balls from an innocent billiards game and rolling it across the room. All the while literally tripping people up with a constantly tangling mic cable? Theatrical dramatics of an overacting, way-off Broadway displaced actor relegated to those distant zip codes away from the Great White Way for extremely legitimate reasons.

Oft repeated phoniness like “this is our favorite venue anywhere. We don’t say that at every show.” And interruptions such as, “I’d like to dedicate this next song to my brother” before every single song was the shtick of the night (of the band?) I guess it was funny in a I-think-they’re-taking-the-piss-but-I’m-not-sure-so-I’ll-laugh-so-as-to-not-increase-the-discomfort-factor-and-look-like-I’m-not-in-on-the-joke kind of way. Truth is what’s most memorable besides the antics is that I can’t for the life of me tell you a thing about their music. That’s definitely not a good thing. I’m sure the Parenthetical Girls don’t care. It’d be against everything they stand for, whatever that is.

Appropriately, I think it’s fitting to end with Mr. Zac Pennington’s (Downey boy) own words as he wandered off the stage. Whether they were joking or not, again, is besides the point. Since really, these words could not be more valid if, you know – he meant them.

While waving his arms above his head I overheard a frazzled Pennington say to one complementary fan, “I’m sorry for everything. I’m so sorry.” He ran off.

Starfucker