The flop was arranged. By proxy, by telephone, by rail. It was all arranged. The stone walls, the diy bar, the unscheduled acid trip. LE PETROLIER. By the time it was created it was dead.
The club was a flop. When I arrived with open arms and open beers I had been there before. The PA was set up downstairs, the 5 ppl in the crowd mingled and upstairs Trach held court.

The shows in Amsterdam sounded like stuff of legend. The stage was an old pump house, and through a series of pipes and (faucets) you made your way to the stage. The Sputnik served as the perfect squat for evening.

But tonight, LE PETROLIER was right. You had your type B, gracious, kingly host, and DJ , your drunker than thou bartender, and all of 10 people in the squat turned dorm turned metal showcase. The music was loud. The music was all around you. And where was everyone?

Not two hours after I got off a 7 hour train ride via the 24hr airport shuffle, Audiocum was blaring. Audiocum is from Bordeaux, and through a series of pre-amps, nobs and pedals spew vitriol at the highest decibels through his oral microphone. Imagine having two hyenas scream in each of your ears. And before the sound go to your ears, you ran the sound through a Bass Booster, delay, overdrive, and distortion pedals. People watched uninterested, like it was their right to deliver a blank stare. Two onlookers got into it, but there was really nothing to get into, there was not beat, just scream.

The second artist, Mini-Bacon, ex-member of French group Sgura, brought the goods. Using a Wii controller and a wireless mouth-mic (known in French circles as boucal), Mini-Bacon weaved clever, cartoonish lyrical patterns over his controllable beats while dancing around the room to the now awakening crowd.

Talking to Mini-Bacon afer the show, he told me about the scene in Bordeaux, and that his music, and the music of Audiocum and others similar, is considered punk, and not very welcomed there. Most of France, especially Paris, has moved away from live music, and has transformed into a club/lounge type of nightlife. Even with groundbreaking artists such as Mini-Bacon, the scene that supports fringe artists is quickly shrinking. Only a move to the United States, it’s said, can make this music hit, and be profitable.

As the evening wore on, what was needed more than ever was a soul…a rhythm, a beat, a groove. Anything to move you. And MC Trachiotomy did just that. When one thinks of MC Trachiotomy a solo vision emerges – the clean bald headed blinged out Grecian 9th ward rapper is what you see. Weaving heavy handed rhymes while roaming around the room with his keyboard strapped to his back, Trach is not alone this time, as the little flop is finally transformed. Behind him, behind his rhymes, behind his brash persona is a post metal maelstrom of a band. This group features Trach’s solid rhythm section of Ben Hare on drums and Ratty Scurvics on bass. On this tour, Trachiotomy’s band is rounded out by Bisquit on turntables, Chris Capdeville on keyboards, and DJ Urine on , well, himself. And some records.

Their groove is a mix of metal drums augmented with a soulful fuzzed out bass, ambient keys, and swashes of turntable space fuzz. And on this bed of super groove cacophony sings Trachiotomy.