Dead Dog creates a racket that is both threatening and atmospheric. I caught the act Wednesday night at an undisclosed location, where Eric Frate presided over a table laden with electronic devices that, though intimidating to me, he manipulated in such a way that I found myself dancing to the eerie noise. When he growled guttural vocals underneath it all, the lightless room took on the doom and gloom of another dimension. (The fog machine helped, too.)

After Dead Dog's set, the scene shifted to another room, where Autoanimal had set up. This band played extra loud, and lacking earplugs, we shamelessly stuck our fingers in our ears. It actually helped me dig the screaming noise Joel Dow was making, or rather what came from the array of noise-making boxes and things he was perched over. (Sorry guys; I'll learn eventually, but I just don't know what that stuff is yet). I got into the primitive beat of Cameron Farash's drums, and though I had to head outside to give my ears a break, it was audible (and sounded fine) from there, too.

My favorite of the evening was probably Col. Parmesan, who usually goes by Mr. Brian Blatt (or so I'm told). But last night the Colonel became a trio, accompanied by players on guitar and trombone. I swayed and grooved to this band, and heard what I'd have to say are the best sounds I've ever encountered coming from a shopping cart. I can't get the image of Blatt crouched inside the thing out of my mind.

I was excited for the chance to catch Pegacide, a band I've been meaning to see for awhile, but it wasn't meant to be: there was some talk of car-towing, then the cops came around, and my man and I decided to beat it. Next time, Pegacide.

Next up: House of Hamez open mic, and the CoMMoN (Rochester music collective) show: A Drum and an Open Window (Mass), Mike Arthur (Mass), Yer Friend (Ithaca), Mike Brown (LA), Tim Avery (Rochester), and Karrah Teague (Webster), at the Black Pearl.

Plus tons of Jazz Fest stuff, of course.