Superchunk

When the late Might magazine published a satirical profile of the "late" Adam Rich in 1996, the writers stumbled upon a fitting encapsulation of a certain Chapel Hill, North Carolina, band's exorcism-by-volume aesthetic; one of Rich's supposed "top 10 moving tips" was "Just turn on some Superchunk, throw your stuff in a box, and move it!" In its brilliantly noisy heyday, the 'Chunk were all about throttle and velocity, ecstasy-as-pathos eruptions of frustration narrated by perpetual-teen yelper Mac McCaughan, disguised as fist-pumping indie rock that ex-Nirvana fans could slip into their thrash/puke party playlists; 1995's Here's Where the Strings Come In remains the gold standard for cross-country relationship soundtracks. As the mid-'90s became the late '90s and the band aged, their albums lost some of their angst-y edge. Thankfully, a much-needed hiatus ensued—McCaughan and bassist Laura Ballance run indie-royalty label Merge Records—and Superchunk emerged earlier this year with the don't-call-it-a-comeback wallop of Majestry Shredding, which (somehow) bests everything that came before it. Yep, even "Slack Motherfucker"—and scream-along classic Incidental Music. So it stands to reason that this show will probably annihilate your week, in a good way. If you go. Which is a total no-brainer. Right? 18+.
Wed., Dec. 1, 7:30 p.m., 2010

 
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