Los Angeles, CA — I am trapped in a personal Hell, and you probably are too. My hell consists of waking up to an empty bed, and then finding that perfect cocktail of pharmaceuticals, caffeine and booze that’ll get me through another shift at a bargain bin chain restaurant serving overweight, under-tipping assholes prime rib in Chatsworth, CA. Which is basically like our nations capital, but for pornography. It’s a lifestyle that is robbing me of my soul.
So I go from this fast food world into a rock world that’s just as disposable. Populated by a bunch of cheese-dick rock and roll merchants of “cool” who want me to think that their nostalgia death trip of a band doesn’t suck. They try and impress me with their ability to get my on the list of second rate clubs to listen to their processed burger music that is about as disposable as the revolving door of girls and fans that they try and fuck.
While these assholes are stewing in their bubbling vats of animal oil, there is hope for us yet. And that hope is Terminal A.
Terminal A is a synth punk band comprised of vocalist Colin Peterson and guitarist Dr. Rev. Lee Busch, D.D. who together collaborate on the band’s synth back tracks. Their instruments are second-hand and outdated but they make it work. And its refreshing to see good music that’s not bankrolled by daddy’s fuck you money.
They emerge as the dark horse saviors of today’s music scene. And they’re full of crazy ideas like actually wanting meet you. “We’re all in this together. There shouldn’t be this division between fan and band. I’m an audience member too”, says the Dr. Rev. Lee Busch, D.D.
When Colin and Lee vogue their asses into the area dive its to perform a violent attack on an audience weaned on the teat of boring bullshit bands. They preform a kind of sonic rape that filled with poetic lines of sorrow and death-rock riffs.
Colin literally beats the shit out himself while Lee slices his wrists on the coils of his guitar strings, smearing blood across his cheeks, smoking a lucky strike all with a mad smile; perhaps in a display of absolute despair and desperation. When he plays the Dr. Rev. Lee Busch, D.D. goes to “a really dark place…that has nothing to do with the actual situation [of the show] it’s all just mental”. And in inviting us into their own personal hells we find a kind of strange freedom to reconnect.
While the audience claw and push each other, Colin goes on the hunt screaming at all the trendy poseurs trying to keep their shoes un-scuffed and grabs at those too embarrassed to let themselves go. His message: “I’m flawed, and I’m fucked, and I’m here, and you’re not”. Colin’s performance is so sincere that I guarantee that the stoic façade of just about any dumb bastard will be shattered by the end of the show and if they’re half way decent we’ll all be sharing a plate of tacos and a bottle of Kessler.
I’ll be out back having a smoke wondering where the fuck you’ve been.