This review comes from my friend Evan, who’s currently traipsing through Western Europe. Right now he’s in Germany and decided to see No Age in Berlin.
“Ist dieses die Anordnung für No Age?”
“Yes, and you’d better get in there now, as I believe it will sell out.”
“Thank you, man.”
The queue that was only about eight-deep outside this unmarked (save the multi-layered graffiti mosaic) entranceway to Kreuzberg’s renowned yet claustrophobic concert venue – the cheekily-named West Germany – extended much further than it appeared from outside. The concertgoers were young and varied; I only heard German about half the time (so, par for the course in Berlin). Three hipster-saturated flights of stairs above me stood the doorway to the tiny club, a space only slightly bigger than my parents’ basement, and its soon-to-be crowded balcony overlooking the bustling and, I am told, drug-infested U-Bahn station at Kotbusser and Skalitzerstraße.
We get in. Thankfully. Grizzly Bear’s “Two Weeks” flows through the speakers. It’s hot as hell already and there’s no coat check (hence the jam-packed terrace). Before long, though, the floor is full and the night’s opening act, Bostonian Kevin Micka’s solo drone-punk endeavour Animal Hospital, begins clicking and clocking and thumping and scratching his way through the opening movement of his set. The sounds grow and pulsate as Micka weaves his sonic web on the dingy floor (I couldn’t even see him) and what started off pretty quiet sure as shit isn’t anymore. We in the crowd become hypnotized as the layers are built up and torn down and built up again in a way that is ever-changing yet never loses its allure, something to which native Berliners could surely somehow relate. Machinegun drum loops and throbbing bass onslaughts mix with guitar cries and god-knows-what-else-he’s-doing-down-theres until suddenly you’re standing in the middle of a war where bombs are being dropped from the sky, windows are being blown out on all sides as buildings crumble around you, and above all the bedlam you can hear sirens in the distance. But nobody wants to be rescued.
Remnant sound waves from the wonderful chaos that was Animal Hospital are still resonating in the far corners of the room when the evening abruptly switches gears. Yes, No Age were making noise at the front. Lots of it. “Teen Creeps” kicks off the LA punkers’ Berlin debut with an enthusiastic bang. There is no slow, methodical build-up in No Age’s set, in stark contrast to the opener. They rip through “Here Should be my Home” with a thrashing so sincere you could swear they were talking about Berlin. For a stage comprised of two rockers and an inflatable skeleton, the audio output is staggering. A few more hard, fast, and refreshingly to-the-point pieces hit your face like a bucket of cold water and the mood in the room is beginning to build. The performance is raw. Dirty, even. Drummer Dean Spunt’s slightly-off-key shouts and microphone fellatio emphasize the point and reinforce the effect. Guitarist Randy Randall replaces a broken string as fast as I’ve seen anyone do it. People far from the stage probably didn’t notice. Unsatisfied with the sound in the room (as he later informed me), Randall fetches help from a friend and props his amplifier atop an existing stack. “This might be a bad idea,” he says. No matter. The experiment works and the sound grows louder still. You don’t know whether to stand back, in awe of their energy, or jump into the crowd and join in. The energy is furiously positive and positively infectious. The walls are shaking. The skeleton is crowd-surfing.
The duo pound through a slough of old favourites (can something from 2007 be given this designation?) and promising new tunes like there’s no tomorrow. Few bands are capable of pulling off a sound that is at any given time so unkempt and dishevelled yet forceful and concise. The pace never lets up, either. There is no reprieve, no downtime.
A frantic hour-ish set of ferocious noise-punk mini-anthems leaves the crowd and the band alike sweating, shouting, and smiling. A warm “Danke schön” from Randall and explosive finale from the band kept their young faces happy as they filed out of the building and into the foggy Berlin night. The boys have come a long way since The Smell. If and when No Age decide to return to this vibrant town to play a second show, they can rest assured they’ll be welcomed back with open – and raised – arms.