SUICIDE: HOT FOOTING THROUGH EDGE CITY
The atmosphere at most performances of Suicide is not unlike that which I imagine permeates a power plant in the midst of a nuclear accident. White knuckled and feathery-brained, people think quickly about finding the nearest exit door and heading someplace nonpolluted to detoxify.
SUICIDE: HOT FOOTING THROUGH EDGE CITY
FEATURES
Toby Goldstein
The atmosphere at most performances of Suicide is not unlike that which I imagine permeates a power plant in the midst of a nuclear accident. White knuckled and feathery-brained, people think quickly about finding the nearest exit door and heading someplace nonpolluted to detoxify. “We’ve been known to empty places out of a couple of hundred people in three minutes,” grins Suicide’s peppery vocalist, Alan Vega. He and his sidekick, instrumentalist Martin Rev, have almost completed their first decade as New York’s group-you-love-to-hate, and are highly amused to watch the times attempt, but never quite suceed, at catching up with them.