Crash Gordon Rocks Exquisite Corpse

Apparently Exquisite corpse was an exhibition technique in vogue with 1920s surrealists where images are collectively assemble. The show included the main event, sort of gory somewhat disturbing pieces. The humor was macabre and maybe because it was brick space and based on an early 20th century European art concept, there was a palabtle steam punk feel to these amusing meditations on the fragility and mortality of the physical body.

The second level was another part of the show, Existential Dread, which I didn’t quite get that it was a different exhibit. Anyway, I sort of forget which pictures go where so I included them all here. On the second level of this remarkable space, I was trying to get a handle on things, and let the art set in as this trio musicians tuned up. Then, suddenly went into Honey Don’t. Crash Gordon is their name. I’m not sure if it is Crash Gordon or Crash Gordon Band, but here’s a myspace

A little tricky trying to find 190 Christopher Columbus, where the mutli-dimensional show the Exquisite Corpse was being hosted. It’s an old warehouse type building, I’ve passed it just about every day of the past almost two decades.

My mouth was agape, my toes were a tapin. I couldn’t believe it. Unlike some other bands in these parts who will remain nameless, this was a credible rendition of a Sun Studios classic. The sound was awesome. An old brick building, it was a contiguous space, a slight echo. Wonderfully, gloriously, loud! Less than half a dozen were being treated to this show. Next up, Matchbox! Rendering the Sun Sessions song book right before my eyes and ears. Synchronicity then, synchronicity now, synchronicity forever!

My cup runneth over. “We’re not Existential Dread,” the guitarist said. “Don’t believe the sign, they’re playing later.”

They were entertaining the crowd that was due to show up. It was me and just one or two others.

I guess this was a sound check. They played an original tune, a nice honky tonky country shuffle.

I signed my email on their sign up sheet. I told them they were great and as proof I said I own every Sleepy LaBeef record (a slight exaggeration).

I apologized for having to leave. They did one more cover. Little Sister. I forget if that’s Burton or Moore, but man the guitarist had the riff down pat, infusing it with a new life and damn that bass players was slapping that bass.

I was in seventh heaven. Luckily I was sober, pour me a Makers in that sort of situation I might just break out and do the Stroll.

It was a great space, and actually the art was thematic and startling. But more importantly, a trio was playing credible Rockabilly. How credible? Baby you’ve been growing from your head down to your toes! Open a Gallery show the right way kids, offer free Rockabilly