Whitehouse played a couple weeks ago with Wolf Eyes and Pig Destroyer. Even though Peter Sotos wasn't there to balance out all the piercing Englishness, they were still really on-point and spent the last five minutes of the set locked in twin stances of shirtless victory.In addition to the anticipated dearth of women, there was a strange preponderance of plugged ears in the crowd. I understand that since sound guys generally mix the treble at shows high enough to hear over their tinnitus, some people (read: nerds) stuff little wads of tissue in their ears to dampen it out … But for Whitehouse?! I mean, what's left to hear, their fingers tapping on the keyboard? "Now I enjoy my sonic walls of completely unbridled vitriol as much as the next guy, but that doesn't mean I have to forego proper ear caution." Do you also have the bartender pour your beer in a plastic sippy cup, and put on wrist-guards in case someone knocks you down? Sorry, I forgot; nobody touches each other at shows anymore. It isn't polite. It never ceases to utterly astound me how "safety first" this generation turned out. Can we not leave one fucking corner of existence unrounded? I bet somewhere Sotos is sitting staring at his feet and rubbing the back of his head going, "Where did we go wrong? I just don't understand it. We gave them everything we never had growing up, and still, this."There were also a good number of baldies in attendance, although I didn't notice any crossover.
