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The Silver Daggers
2005-Present
Born of the deteriorating turn-of-the-millennium downtown Los Angeles
art loft landscape in the winter of 2003, Silver Daggers is the
necessary output of over three centuries of ridiculous urban development
and displacement. From the first "settlers" moved here
by force to the modern "homeless" being jailed, there
is the unwanted presence of determination. This is one of the greatest
tragedies above all, and applies to anyone living under a framework
set forth by those not living under that framework. When the location
of our community is determined not by our state of mind, but the
amount of capital we accrue, a vacuous space exists in the creative
forces of our disorder. As the powers of commerce succeed in arranging
us into color coded cubicles wherefrom we create homogenized waste,
this entropic vacuum widens. A discommoding weapon is continually
needed to maintain entropy in our living situation. Silver Daggers
pierce the hearts of tyrants.
>> Silver Daggers
website
See Also
Megafuckers, Landed, Yikes
Press
"Borbetomagus-friendly saxes slowly unfold like a fine compliment to mid-'00s doom drone. When the band finally joins in, it's typical
no-wave boogie down to the Lydia Lunch yelps—'cept the cowbell-happy drummer has probably listened to one too many Refused records, the
bass player plucks with Mike Watt-precision, and everyone plays this traditionally 'innocent' music like a total badass rock star." -- Village Voice
"Orchestrated skronk stumble songs here, a lumbering style of performance despite their agility and deftness, and interesting Eastern
European-meets-prog song structures give these kids something to cry about. They definitely put the fucking lotion in the basket, that’s
for sure." -- Dusted Magazine
"Attack skronk no-wavey prog jazz agitprop indictments on society, corporations, the environment and capitalism, set to grinding, atonal
music you can’t dance to so much as seize up over. Vocals are either laid down by a woman or a kid who hasn’t reached puberty yet. Sax,
bass, keyboards and drums lock in on each other in a struggle to sand off each other’s fingerprints." -- Dusted Magazine (again)
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