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My buddy Jason scored us free access to the Tomahawk show a few weeks ago at Spectra Base OOZ. We had a fifty fifty chance of getting in since the securitron was a little dicey, but the Ganesha/Gek tag team paved a red velvet way. Inside a throng of kids, Patton heads, cowboy chicks, death metal freaks and yupsters. While Jason scored free drinks I spotted Patton amid the crowd and made a mad dash. He was looking slick as ever in his old ARMY shirt (that he wore two years ago at a midnight Maldoror show) and the same green striped shirt from the Fantomas show on the 30th. The king of slicked back hair sauntered outside and Jason returned with some Shiners. It wasn’t long before the opening band Syrup hit the stage. They’re ok- nice synchronized dance moves and cool cowboy get up sure to give ladies and gay gents a rise. They sounded good- not really my thing but I had to admire that all three o these boys pulled off their country rock vibe with confidence and delivered a tight set. We started out upstairs but seeing that the house wasn’t yet packed I immediately made a move for the front.
It wasn’t long before a drunken fat head took a place next to me. At least he was a Patton head. The curtain came down and we swapped show stories. The house was full now but we weren’t getting sandwiched. Behind me were several chill Patton heads ready to snap photos and start their recorders. A CBGB wannabe stomped to the right- catching the eyes of all the boys. Don’t let the red velvet pants, pink dreds and supermod bod fool you boys- that’s some loose goose psycho shit. A teenage blonde that would send porno studios in a bidding frenzy took root next to me with her David Schwimmer duckling. The fat head kept peaking under the curtain telling Mike HE FUCKING ROCKED- how could he disrespect the sacred Patton like this? It would be like sneaking up on Jesus and sticking your finger up his ass. Mike went through a brief sound check- tossing us scraps and getting us all amped. The lights went down further as the curtain parted ways and there is Mr. Patton not six feet in front of me wearing a gas mask which quickly reveals to be a microphone as they slam into God Hates a Coward. Patton wears a tiny girl’s cheerleader top and work pants sagging down to reveal his Calvins and a wife beater holding back the slightest pouch. He is as explosive and precise as ever- a genius dynamo working four microphones (2 regular, 1 CB mike, and the mask which he coolly only used on parts of the opener) keyboards and his mad scientist panel. I never seen him so close and it was a real treat to watch the man work- doing all this amazing shit with his voice, twisting his knobs and occasionally disengaging into an Evangelion worthy whiplash around the stage. The band was totally full on as they worked their way through the whole album as well as four new songs. Every time Mike used the CB mike it came out of the speaker right in front of my head, which kind of distorted the rest of the audio and fucked my ears – a small price to pay for observance of Patton’s splendor. After the first few tunes, Patton was already drenched in sweat so he whipped out this hairnet- transforming into the uberfry cook- the Batman of cafeterias. By the time they encored with Violence, the hairnet was decimated by Patton’s spazzing; fucking drooling all over the keyboard as they crunched through the heaviest ditty of the night. The fat head got Mike’s attention at one point for being a total disrespectful ass. Mike dissed him and dedicated a song to him. This nasty little jailbait piece pushed her way up and started playing the fathead and trying to sucker punch me in the tummy. It wasn’t long before my demons sent her packing. Damn near perfect show- even with the ugly little Listerine microchip invasion. The only problem was that there wasn’t enough room for my full on robotron. Alas…
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, so even if I borrowed a tape recorder I'll probably end up in the back and all you'd hear are crowd noises & moshpit sounds as I try to move towards the stage. I may try getting my camera in and shooting a roll of film, though... 
") that metamorphosed into a blistering Mott the Hoople song...it was all good, really.