The Bloody Beetroots


“The Bloody Beetroots present Death Crew 77 / Webster Hall”
For Knocks from the Underground
By Michael Bradshaw


 

“Modernity is the transitory, the fugitive, the contingent, which make up one half of art, the other being the eternal and the immutable. This transitory fugitive element, which is constantly changing, must not be despised or neglected.”

What other techno band quotes Baudelaire on their MySpace page? (And a theory quote, at that.) Perhaps it is in Baudelaire’s limp-wristed summoning of hell (Or Satan, specifically) that Italian techno pioneers The Bloody Beetroots find a common vision. “Death Crew 77” is The Bloody Beetroots live show and when they took the stage in matching, leotard-grade tight jeans, black-on-white Chuck Taylors, motorcycle jackets, and silver Mexican wrestling masks Friday night, they appeared fantastically as a branded, coy, Italo-disco version of Black Metal.

Outside the show, a line of MetroNorth & New Jersey Transit ravers waited patiently to squeeze into a very sold-out Webster Hall on one of those first chilly New York autumn nights that forces you to admit summer is so, officially, over.

A separate line of equally colorful European models were ushered in quickly.

Inside, glow-sticks wiggled above the crowd in smokey, beat-filled air. Shirtless men mingled freely laughing, high-fiving, hats backward, among feux-leopard trim and cleavage. They’re here to see the Baudelaire band?

When the lights fell and the glow-sticks alighted to full-twirl, Death Crew 77 wrenched their skin-tight legs and respective groins into regulation rock position. Lead singer and Baudelaire visionary Sir Bob Cornelius Rifo stood between two banks of synthesizers, pointed his index finger to the rafters, screamed (I think) “One, two, three, four!” and then Satan, God, and everybody else had to go home because shit just went bananas after that.