Guts Pie Earshot

So Thursday morning, No Nickname Guy and I trained up to Berlin, checked into an apartment, explored the city, and then went to the Guts Pie Earshot concert.

Guts Pie Earshot is described as “Live Drumnbass Punk”—and I went completely blind, not knowing what kind of music I was getting into, only going on the fact that it was “punk” and at SO36, so I was hoping for a large contingent of punk boys with cute Mohawks, blue hair, and a badass attitude.

Instead I got a mixed crowd, with the only Mohawk appearing on the drummer and a sound that was, according to No Nickname Guy, more “industrial” (and maybe “post-industrial”) than anything else. Unlike the last concert we went to, this concert was fantastic—and we stayed for the entire show.

We were positioned right in front of the stage, on the right hand side (as viewed by the fans), in front of the drummer, Jean Jacobi. He was amazing—really into the music and able to keep going for the entire show, despite the fact that he was throwing himself into every piece and working incredibly hard. On the other side of the stage the cellist (you read that correctly), Patrick Cybinski was equally amazing.

Since I lack the ability to use the technical terms to describe the music, I could only describe it as sounding like traditional Irish music gone electronic—but only at times.

Both No Nickname Guy and I really enjoyed the show and would happily see them live in concert again (although, oddly, neither of us were interested in owning the CD; I think that listening to it recorded would lack the energy of seeing it live).

The concert was well attended and it turns out No Nickname Guy and I are both somewhat catty and cruel in our comments. There was a short girl (I say: “I hear smoking stunts your growth.”) who was somewhat of an asshole in her behavior. Now I understand being short (under 5 foot) means that you want to be toward the front of the crowd in order to see what’s going on, but there are polite ways to get to the front and asshole ways to get to the front, and this girl chose asshole ways. I let a nice woman (same height) to the front without any issues; this girl pissed me off enough that I started purposely blocking her as she came back from her (many) trips to the bar.

At one point in the concert I turned to No Nickname Guy and asked him, “Do you think she’s having fun or does she think she’s having fun.”

No Nickname Guy managed to get me: “I think she thinks she’s supposed to be having fun.”