THE BEST GOES ON
DETROIT—It was a sight that would surely strike cold fear in any mother’s heart. Mission Of Burma, lately one of America’s most widely acclaimed independent bands, was midway through a powerhouse set at Detroit’s City Club. Bassist Clint Conley and drummer Peter Prescott were giving the audience a good pummelling, alternating Gang Of Four-ish rhythmic interplay with a straight new-hardcore sledgehammer assault, and driving the crowd into a frenzy.
THE BEST GOES ON
Lock Up Your Children!
DETROIT—It was a sight that would surely strike cold fear in any mother’s heart.
Mission Of Burma, lately one of America’s most widely acclaimed independent bands, was midway through a powerhouse set at Detroit’s City Club. Bassist Clint Conley and drummer Peter Prescott were giving the audience a good pummelling, alternating Gang Of Four-ish rhythmic interplay with a straight new-hardcore sledgehammer assault, and driving the crowd into a frenzy. Guitarist Roger Miller stood off to one side, grinning like a man demented, unleashing a horrendous wall of feedback into the maelstrom, yet insulated from the barrage of sound by a set of Mickey Mouse earmuffs generally worn by guys who make their living hanging around artillery ranges and jet engine exhausts!
I’m glad my mom wasn’t around to see it, but I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. For as it turns out, the earmuffs were neither an affectation nor a gimmick, but rather a serious attempt to lessen the effects of “tinnitus”—a ringing of the ears brought on by...ulp...rock music. Due to the condition, the band had announced that the show was to be one of their last ever.