One of Perfect Pussy’s well-known songs to this point in their brief career is called “Interference Fits,” and though to my knowledge this was not a part of their set at the Cobalt on March 25, interference certainly did fit for both opening act N.213 Group Vision and PP themselves.
Vision—a Vancouver group comprised of members of various noteworthy Vancouver bands, including Shearing Pinx and Korean Gut—fittingly opened with a discordant cacophony, drilling at the senses and weakening our defences for an assault on our modesty. The unifying rhythm of certain songs was naturally difficult to get a hold of from time to time, but this was satisfyingly so. They left the air a bit wired and left over some tension still needing to be cut loose.
The hype building around Perfect Pussy over the last few months has certainly been overblown. The expectations of a groundbreaking record or performance could imaginably be quite disorienting for a young band, and frustrating even for a listener or viewer intent upon remaining impartial. But the narrative, once lodged, gets stuck in the back of your mind. So, for this reviewer at least, a simple Tuesday night punk show was carrying more weight than it deserved, every action was a conscious statement, and every reaction was painfully aware of its being influenced by a confused mess of outside voices. The place was full in eager anticipation, there was noise, and then there was some more noise.
The distinguishing characteristic of the performance was the virtually muted vocals, which were completely drowned by the raging tumult of distortion behind them. I maintain that this was an intentional construction. This may or may not escalate the aura of pretentiousness surrounding the band, and certainly could be simply naive on my part, but every PP song screams and struggles against such recognitions of delusion and naivety. Singer Meredith Graves’ relentless activity and strenuous screaming to no purpose but her own discomfort (during the second song she apparently chipped her own tooth) stands as a perfect symbol for the painful struggle to find sincerity, to be genuine amidst all the noise of a life in which everything has already been done before and will continue to be done again and again after you’re gone. PP’s lyrics often focus on the immediately thrilling yet nonetheless ancient and trite constructions of love, but the same concepts can be applied to their brand of brazen punk rock.
Transience was apparent that night, as they blasted through their set in no more than 20 minutes. Whether or not one takes this as a grand metaphor for the transience of life and love or rock bands barraged by opinionated music writers, the abrupt conclusion and departure does act in conformity with the overt sexual insinuations of the group. It was immodest, dirty, and quick, yet somehow fearfully exciting, and possibly meaningful.
Perfect Pussy walked off to static background noise, the pummeling drums, and persistently thrashing guitars of a minute before just a memory, leaving only an empty droning husk. Maybe they will or maybe they won’t return to the same fanfare, maybe I will and maybe I won’t care anymore. The show was a good one either way.
