Perfect Pussy make a racket in Rochester

Review: The near homecoming for Syracuse's premier bands put on a powerful display of punk at Bug Jar that shouldn't be dismissed as noisy.

Tossing out a term like “noisy” when referring to Perfect Pussy is easy. In fact, it's too easy.

Some of the greatest punk acts of the past 30 years such as Sonic Youth and Hüsker Dü were rightfully admired -- or written off -- for being noisy.  And while still in the infancy of a musical career, Perfect Pussy and all its tinnitus-inviting clamor may have to endure that same label. Or better yet, embrace it.

Perfect Pussy’s live show defies pondering as to what their songs are actually about.

During Wednesday’s show at Rochester’s Bug Jar, Perfect Pussy’s members furiously punished their respective instruments, with singer Meredith Graves occasionally beating her body, to achieve a thick haze of grimy distortion. They played not necessarily in tandem with their bandmates, but with themselves, each one ferociously channeling an inner cacophonous spirit.

This barrage of musical brutality was a near homecoming for what has become Syracuse’s most recognized musical export in some time. There was a palpable sense of community with two Western New York acts among the openers. Notable as well is that all four bands on the bill were female-fronted, which Graves considered a victory.

Garage-punk three-piece Utah Jazz opened the evening with a slew of sloppy power chords, setting the tone remarkably well and even enticing some listeners to head bang and hop. Rochester’s Green Dreams took the stage after, blending a more aggressive and traditional punk sound with bracingly honest and revealing lyrics. The third act, Feral Future, hailed from Austin, Texas, and brought a throwback CBGB sound that even recalled Television in flashes.

All three primed the crowd for headliner Perfect Pussy, which conjured a grimy storm of audible muck that likely reverberated all along Monroe Avenue and into downtown. Climbing on stage just before midnight, stuffing in earplugs and swigging from water bottles, all five members delved into their band’s set with great urgency, none more than Graves, who did her best to howl over the sound but still got lost in the noise. Ultimately, it didn’t matter -- you didn’t have to hear her to feel her power.

As Perfect Pussy roared through a 25-minute set, covering the majority of their modest catalog (including frantic tracks like blog-favorite “Driver”), some folks jumped and tilted their bodies to the blistering sound. But an overwhelming majority of the crowd-goers, which encompassed older couples as well as young punks, stood in silence, eyes fixated on the chaos in front of them. They simply took in the primal noise.

It’s not hard to create this kind of raucousness (though the sound engineers in the back of the dive bar would disagree). What’s hard, though, is creating noise that endears itself to you, which is exactly what Perfect Pussy does. Songs like “Big Stars,” “I” and “Advance Upon the Real” are hardly arranged, but powered through amps cranked as loud as they’ll go. Still, on more accessible songs, like the excellent “Interference Fits,” some downright gorgeous moments can bloom when the noise aligns itself into shimmering silver shapes. Faint as they might be, you can still hear them if you try.

Perfect Pussy’s live show defies pondering as to what their songs are actually about. You get the idea based on the seismic racket they make. For further study, get a copy of their debut LP, Say Yes to Love, or last year’s four-song EP, I have lost all desire for feeling, and enjoy with a good pair of headphones. Let the songs organically burrow their way into your head. Then see them live for the full, unfiltered, completely authentic experience, whether they’re in a friend’s basement or the packed back room at a bar.

Just don’t forget to bring earplugs.

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