Our Brother the Native, Ghost Ice, Bad Party, Dead Gods | Empty Bottle | Rock, Pop, Etc | Chicago Reader
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Our Brother the Native, Ghost Ice, Bad Party, Dead Gods 

When: Sun., Feb. 8, 9:30 p.m. 2009
Price: $3
There’s a rage not of youth but of age, when it’s too late to change: you’re a mean old dog now with a chewed-up ear, you’re totally nuts, and oh well, that’s just how it is. The Detroit duo Bad Party seem to have found it: both members have done time in respectably snarly bands—K. Michael in Tamion 12 Inch and Nate S. in White Devil—both projects that at least attempted some sort of emotional and tonal balance. Now they’re not even bothering. All their songs are like a firecracker in a tin can, trebly and fuzzed, blanketed by squeal. The guitar’s as gritty as a wad of phlegm on the sidewalk, spitting angrily even though it’s its own damn fault it has cancer; the drums are blown-out and crispy, basically full of nothing but dangerously lacquered, like a bluehair’s do after a weekly visit to the salon. Still, despite all their antisocial qualities, Bad Party take kindly to dancing. In fact, their destiny could’ve been the dance floor, but they sound like they lost a few too many teeth in bar fights for that, so instead they’re squatting in a warehouse on some godforsaken industrial corridor. Dead Gods headline, Bad Party plays third, and Ghost Ice and Our Brother the Native open. —Liz Armstrong

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