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The Locust: Swarm, Plague Or Other
Four years after they last hijacked hardcore, THE LOCUST are ready to raze the rage republic all over again. But don't worry, bro-champ; you can keep your precious mosh. The bug-eyed ones are only after your brain.Story: Tristan Staddon "We're on this planet, rotating around the sun. And there are these weird germ-like creatures trying to figure out what the hell's going on, trying to understand it. And they make music and art. And what the fuck is that? How would you explain that to a hyper-dimensional creature if they came here? Like, 'What is the purpose of this? Why do you do this?' It's hard to explain. And I don't really know. We just do it." That's Bobby Bray, by day a thoughtful elementary school teacher and quantum physics enthusiast, discussing how humanity might explain its existence, its motivations and its art to extraterrestrial ambassadors. By night, guitarist for the Locust and, by his own admission, an existentialist hesher in a grown man's body. For the uninitiated, this casts him among the rarest of breeds in the hardcore community. The irony is though Bray imagines himself as the artist in his scenario, to most people-even most consumers of alleged "alternative music"-he and his post-everything band the Locust are the aliens we can only gawk at, confused, curious, terrified or flat-out enraged. What are they? What is their purpose? Why do they do this? Such questions aren't easy to solve, in no small part because, in the Locust's world, the answers never stay the same for long. Perhaps the only way to understand the agenda and aesthetics that fuel the Locust-Bray, vocalist/bassist Justin Pearson, synth op/vocalist Joey Karam and drummer Gabe Serbian-is to first understand their past. Much of the band's notoriety comes from Pearson's brutally honest worldview, a trait that has deemed him by both fans and haters as "fearless" and "an asshole." An only child, Pearson's life in Phoenix, Arizona, was troubled. Alcohol and domestic abuse plagued the family's home, and at age 12, his father was murdered. Eventually, Pearson's mother and a new boyfriend packed up fort Southern California in search of a fresh start they'd never realize together. "When my mom was with my dad, he was only physically abusive to my mom," remembers Pearson. "But when my mom got this new boyfriend, he was abusive to me, as well. The day I turned 16, I ended up getting kicked out because I was trying to stand up [to him with] the knowledge that 'Oh, you're going to hit me? Well, I'm going to call child protective services and you're going to go to jail.' It got kind of crazy. At one point, he pulled a gun on me. So, I was like, 'All right. I will leave, actually.'" By the time he formed the Locust in 1995, Pearson had already established himself as one of San Diego's most prolific hardcore figures, having played in bands like Struggle and Swing Kids, forming his Three One G record label (home to early recordings by the Blood Brothers and Black Dice) and helping pioneer an aesthetic that his many detractors claimed was ruining hardcore. Pearson even orchestrated an elaborate hoax on The Jerry Springer Show wherein he played off of conventional rock-star stereotypes by alleging to have cheated on his girlfriend with their roommate and best friend in an infamous clip that culminated in Pearson blowing bloody snot on Springer's carpet and making out with Lost Film Fest VJ Scott Beibin. All in a day's work subverting an avenue of American culture as a means of making people think. But as Pearson was learning both in and out of the Locust, his messages weren't always coming through clearly. "When it happened, I had my institutionally racist uncle and grandparents saying, 'That's so cool that you're on television!'" he says, laughing. "'Well, yeah, but, uh, I just made out with a dude. You don't like people doing that kind of shit, especially your grandson or your nephew. That's got to upset you, right?' And they were like, 'You were on TV! That's so great.' It was absurd." By the time the Locust recorded 2003's tightly wound, hugely destructive electro-grind communiqué Plague Soundscapes, they had aligned with Epitaph's Anti- imprint and assaulted countless social envelopes (Christianity, homophobia, war, sexuality) through venomous lyrics. Despite their uncompromising boycott of Clear Channel-owned venues, the band were expanding their audience by opening tours for popular acts like the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Andrew W.K.; acts whose audiences, like Springer's, were often drastically out of step with the Locust's regularly confrontational stage antics. Which, ultimately, is exactly what the band wanted. "There's a ton of people there to see them and we come out in our uniforms and they're like, 'What the fuck is this?'" Serbian says, laughing. "That to me, is amazing. That's almost more attractive to me than playing in front of a bunch of people who love it. There's nothing they can do, we're completely in control and the more beer that gets thrown at us, the more painful we'll make it. One time, I had my laptop on stage, running samples in between songs [and] it was raining beer. A beer hit my laptop and I fucking lost it because I'd just gotten it. So I grabbed a cup and I threw up in it and walked to the front of the stage. Everyone was freaking out. I ended up just pouring it on my head, but it's one of my favorite moments because all eyes were on me-and they were scared." "I don't think everyone in the world should like the Locust," says Bray, sternly. "Or any band or style of music. If people want to verbalize it, so be it. We're throwing up a mirror and maybe they're throwing up a mirror, too. Having pitchers of beer thrown at us? Retaliating with our own vomit? These things happen. I think it's good. It's healthy. It's how evolution takes place." Pick up AP 227 to see how all that vomit and otherworldliness influenced the Locust's newest release, New Erections. Click HERE for the official AP review of New Erections. |
