Emmons_Quintron-13.jpg

I still don't know what hit me, even two days after experiencing all that is a Quintron and Miss Pussycat show. The New Orleans-based art rockers (which essentially consists of a one-man band and a Maraca-playing backup singer) played Santos Party House, the NYC venue owned by previous BUST Boy du Jour, Andrew W.K. He was the host with the most Monday night, and did his best to hawk the $4 Budweiser specials to a packed house. Here he is, looking snazzy in what a girl next to me noted as possibly trousers from Men's Warehouse. Good call, they were pleated and everything. Imagining A.W.K. shopping in Men's Warehouse just makes him more of a babe so whatevs.

After the opening band, Golden Triangle, jammed out (check 'em if you haven't yet), we were treated to a performance by hula hooper extraordinaire, Melissa Ann. Here she is doing her thing:

Emmons_Quintron-12.jpg

And that nuts-looking blue blob behind her? Yeah, that is a plushy "house" used to stage a puppet show by Miss Pussycat before Quintron went on. She had these crazy blacklight-lit, handmade puppets that acted out a story about a haunted art gallery and it was hilarious. And bizarre. What played out before me made me feel I had been slipped secret drugs, but I indeed, I had not.

Finally, with a puff of smoke, and some creepy, craggy ambient noise, Mr. Quintron, dressed in a Bedazzled mechanic's jumpsuit settled into his Franken-organ, (a keyboard with an old car grill attached), and rocked the ef out. Envision (with your ears?) a mash-up of '60s soul, gospel, gritty rock and blues, and a bouncing, vintage-clad crowd that just wanted to get the dances out, and that was pretty much the vibe.

Emmons_Quintron-2.jpg

The whole experience was part circus show, part acid trip, part dance party, and I advise anyone and everyone to take part while Quintron and Golden Triangle continue their tour. My only complaint of the night was the obligatory beer spilled on my hair while the crowd behind me rocked it and the fact that the ladies bathroom stalls are ergonomically incorrect (swinging doors with no hook for a coat or purse left me squatting while holding both in hand and peeing a bit on my leg. Not cute). I'll be speaking with Mr. W.K. about this.

See upcoming Quintron show dates here .

Photos by Molly Emmons.

After the opening band, Golden Triangle, jammed out (check 'em if you haven't yet), we were treated to a performance by hula hooper extraordinaire, Melissa Ann. Here she is doing her thing:

Emmons_Quintron-12.jpg

And that nuts-looking blue blob behind her? Yeah, that is a plushy "house" used to stage a puppet show by Miss Pussycat before Quintron went on. She had these crazy blacklight-lit, handmade puppets that acted out a story about a haunted art gallery and it was hilarious. And bizarre. What played out before me made me feel I had been slipped secret drugs, but I indeed, I had not.

Finally, with a puff of smoke, and some creepy, craggy ambient noise, Mr. Quintron, dressed in a Bedazzled mechanic's jumpsuit settled into his Franken-organ, (a keyboard with an old car grill attached), and rocked the ef out. Envision (with your ears?) a mash-up of '60s soul, gospel, gritty rock and blues, and a bouncing, vintage-clad crowd that just wanted to get the dances out, and that was pretty much the vibe.

Emmons_Quintron-2.jpg

The whole experience was part circus show, part acid trip, part dance party, and I advise anyone and everyone to take part while Quintron and Golden Triangle continue their tour. My only complaint of the night was the obligatory beer spilled on my hair while the crowd behind me rocked it and the fact that the ladies bathroom stalls are ergonomically incorrect (swinging doors with no hook for a coat or purse left me squatting while holding both in hand and peeing a bit on my leg. Not cute). I'll be speaking with Mr. W.K. about this.

See upcoming Quintron show dates here .

Photos by Molly Emmons.

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Tagged in: Music Stuff, General   

The opinions expressed on the BUST blog are those of the authors themselves and do not necessarily reflect the position of BUST Magazine or its staff.


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