Lubricated Goat bleats out crude dissonance
By Michael Deeds
Senior Editor
The only slick thing about Lubri
cated Goat was the oil on their un
washed jeans, but the ruffians from
down under reeked a deranged cha
risma at Duffy ’ s on Wednesday night.
A clan of messy hair, tattooed
mistakes and malnutrition, Lubricated
Goat staggered onstage and plunged
into a couple of tunes from the band’s
latest release, "Psychedelicatessen.”
Guitarist Stu Spasm, the seizure
ridden singer of the band, immedi
ately awakened for "Spoil the At
mosphere,” a song he told the crowd
in a suong Australian accent was
"about trees and stuff.”
His head moved little, seemingly
attached to the microphone by his
lips, while his rag-doll body jerked
and writhed dangerously.
The Goal proved itself a tight grunge
unit with a certain magic, especially
when it tore into “Nerve Quake,’ off
last year’s “Lubricated Goat Plays
the Devil’s Music.’’ Though the song
lacked the sweetly distorted vocals of
the vinyl version, Spasm was plenty
strange, and he seemed pleased that a
few people recognized the tune.
Drummer Martin Bland whacked
his simple set in a soft Sub Pop style,
An inventive infatuation with au
ral oddity soon became evident. On
“Frotting with Ennio,” Spasm took a
guitar slide and holding it between
his thumb and forefinger, tapped up
the fretboard, drilling harmonics.
This strange, repetitious technique
created a bizarre song that had the
crowd confused and excited, a talent
that few band’s can claim.
It took little to incite a small core
of slammers in the audience, which
was typical for Duffy’s. Even during
“Can’t Believe We’re Really Mak
ing Love,” the band’s incredible Barry
White spoof, the crowd acted like it
was a Slayer concert.
But the Goal seemed quite appre
ciative. Overall, the show was a re
freshing change from the usual Sub
Pop pummcling, great as it is, and
Lubricated Goat walked out quite
pleased — except for the fact that they
See GOATon 11
Michelle Paulman/Daily Nebraskan
Stu Spasm of Lubricated Goat regurgitates some sort of guttural noise Wednesday night at Duffy’s
Tavern while the crowd bows in worship.
ROCK CITY
SATURDAY, OCT. 6
ELMS BALLROOM
SYRACUSE
(30 MILES EAST OF
LINCOLN ON HIGHWAY 2)
DOORS OPEN
AT 8:00
ALL AGES WELCOME!
Rocks
Continued from Page 9
Rock Climbing Seminar went quite
well aside from one minor spill.
Fifteen of us drove to The Pali
sades in South Dakota, ready to scale
any rock that came our way after
training on the East Campus training
wall and learning more knots than I
ever tied in Boy Scouts.
We stayed up late Friday night,
pitching tents in the dark and talking
and doing all those campfire kinds of
things.
There were not any logs within
miles since we were camped in a state
park, so we gathered the few twigs to
be found within acres. The resulting
fire was small, but it was ours and we
protected it, defending it valiantly
against marauders from a UNO group
who came to steal our fire.
We all slept late the next morning,
not wanting to venture into the brisk
South Dakota breeze. I was on break
fast crew and relished the stove’s
warmth while sneaking as much food
as I could.
Before climbing, we did some
stretching and a little Lai chi, practic
ing gradual weight transfer and con
trolled motions which would make
climbing more smooth. The exercises
were helpful but quickly forgotten on
the side of a cliff.
Our climbs were about as easy as
one could get on a vertical plane.
They were short and had plenty of
notches and ledges which made climb
ing easier.
Or so it looked from the ground.
Once I was there, on the side of a cliff,
every thing looked different: the nooks
and crannies had disappeared and the
ground seemed to slowly lower itself
ever farther away.
I must admit I was scared most of
the time, especially after a minor
accident while rappelling, or going
dow n from the top. My rope slipped a
bit and I sw ung across the face like a
pendulum, thankf ul we were required
to wear helmets.
I- -
They told us that climbing is safe
because a person should not fall- the
climber is anchored at one end and
has a belayer at the other. If a person
does slip, the fall should only be a few
inches since the belayer takes up any
slack in the rope.
Even so, it was scary for me. I
envied the others in the group who
zipped up the hardest climbs while I
groped along on the easy ones. Two
of the coolest people in our group
were high school students who seemed
to have no sense of fear or limitation.
Then there was Doc, one of our
guides and a near octogenarian who
still climbs hills and mountains. Doc
had just the right touch of assurance
which, with the encouragement of
another of our guides, kept me going
after my slip.
The dav passed quickly and dinner
came none too soon. It was starting to
get cold and another fire was duly
built. We all huddled around the fire,
acrid smoke getting in my eyes no
matter where I stood.
We awoke the next morning to
about an inch of frost on everything in
sight. Luck ily I had packed my pocket
blowtorch and was able to melt the
ice on my tent’s zipper in no time.
I skated across the icy grass to
ward the breakfast crew, hoping to
grab a quick bite before piling on
about six layers of clothes.
Things were a mess. Half the camp
was chasing a chicken around the
campsite and yelling about a warm
lunch. All of our dishes had been left
out to dry overnight and were frozen
together.
And there was one of our leaders,
walking around and w'hislling, stead
fastly refusing to put on more than a
pair of shorts.
Of course it got warmer and we
had a great day climbing, especially
since the cliffs were less crowded.
Saturday, there had been a ROTC
contingent nearby, full of yahoos
rappelling down Australian style: head
first. It did not do much for my ego as
I inched up and down the easiest
climb.
But Sunday was quite nice and we
all felt more confident. I was proud of
myself when I conquered the second
easiest climb.
Then I looked down to sec my
climbing partner ready to follow. She
was going to do the same climb blind
folded.
“Get on belay, poophead,” she
yelled.
Peterson is a senior psychology and phi
losophy major and a Daily Nebraskan re
porter and colmnist.
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Blue
Continued from Page 9
makes il so interesting to watch.
“It’s really crazy because it’s
really intense and serious at the
beginning and then it gets really
intensely farcical and then it gets
back to intensity.’’
A unique aspect of this produc
tion is the primarily student acting
and technical corps who have
brought it together. Stcgar is the
only faculty member involved at
any level of the production.
The all-student cast includes
Devon Schumacher as Artie, Kristy
Breen as Bunny, Jennifer Anne
Lewis as Bananas, Jenny Hall as a
hard-of-hearing movie star, Eric
Thompson as Artie’s best friend
Billy, Kent Knudsen as the White
Man, Patrick Lambrccht as an
military policeman and April Block,
Lori Edwards and Jen Duerr as the
nuns.
The all-student technical staff
includes Chip Mahlman who de
signed the set in partial fulfillment
of the requirements of a master of
fine arts degree in theater design,
costume designer Mary Bundy and
lighting designer Brian Russman.
Stcgar said the involvement of
st) many students brought an excit
ing energy to me production.
“I would say the most surpris
ing part has been the desire of the
students to really make this play
come to life,” he said. “They want
it so had.”
“The House of Blue Leaves”
runs tonight and tomorrow night
and Oct. 8-13 at the Howell Thea
ter, 12th and R streets. All shows
start at 8 p.m.
