Iceage And The Men – Culture Collide Festival: Day One

Los Angeles – Eyes glazed and already slurring Elias Bender Rønnenfelt squints looking to the back of the room. He asks for more bass in the monitor. Sound problems. The already sweating singer of the Danish punk hurricane, Iceage, has the look of a hand grenade that is about to go off. He’s been on stage for all of 15 minutes.

The Echo is small enough for something dangerous to happen when a powder keg like this plugs in. The quartet’s face punching musical thrashings can draw blood if you’re not careful. It’s during the group’s second song, “Everything Drifts,” where the combustible mettle of the unit is tested. Somewhere between yelling the lyrics “Nature is violence/Bow in its grace” Rønnenfelt is struck square in the face with cup of water – the cold splash of bad intentions.

It would take a lot more than some iced tap water to silence the defiant singer, but even as he traverses the stage like a European dictator – even fit with a brown leather glove on his left hand – his growing disgust for the sound issues plaguing his band is palpable. The band’s distinct distorted metallic punk fuzz was not up to Iceage code and it bothered them.

A cover song penned by the Bahumutsi Drama Group, though, had all the mechanics of a band firing as it should. “To the Comrades” proved to be the evening’s most complete offering from the abbreviated set. Its pogo-y bass line and galloping snare hits complimented the partially inebriated, half enunciating Rønnenfelt. Fists were raised as bodies smashed together in the pit.

The clanging guitar part of “You’re Nothing” is where the things took a turn toward maddening as the guitar’s sound kept dropping. Two songs later it was non-existent. Though the venue did its best on numerous occasions to repair the problem Rønnenfelt had had enough. “Fuck this, we’re not playing anymore.” he says. As he turns his back on the crowd and begins to pound a tall can of Tiger beer the audience begins to clap.

Astonished, he mouthed back to the exiting crowd, “What the fuck are you clapping for?” Sadly, the mic only picked up the first two words of that statement before it went dead. A 33-minute set with about 10 minutes of problems and standing around. It’d be nice to have a do over.

The supporting band of the evening, The Men, had more luck when it came to the soundboard. The sludgy, punk rock with an Americana twinge was in full effect and songs like “I Saw Her Face” displayed the genre bending ability of the Brooklyn band. When Kevin Faulkner’s lap steel is prominently displayed the band is all the better for it as it enriches the band’s subtle country twang. “Night Landing” with it’s chunky echoing bass riff drives the up-tempo track to cacophonic end where with all its chaotic buzz was easily the group’s best effort of the night.

For more on Iceage go HERE and HERE. For more on The Men go HERE.

About
Latest Posts

Ian Joulain

Somewhere between Sublime’s 40oz. to Freedom and Dr. Dre’s The Chronic something clicked inside a young Ian Joulain’s mind. His love for music had taken root and the only way to satiate this newfound passion was mass consumption of any and all genres. While gravitating toward punk rock, hip-hop, and jazz he discovered his distaste for pop-country, but blames that mostly on the excess of tractor and NASCAR mentions in the genre’s lyrics. That said, Joulain has never met a drink that was too stiff or a beach that he didn't like. He hopes to one day hug a koala and would love to ask Greg Ginn why he’s such a dick.