Slick black caps, tight tuxedo vests, stunna shades, G STARs, and baggy white button downs swarmed the stage at Bittersweet last Sunday. The men cloaked in the free swag uniforms cruised the stage with assurance and ease. They looked like the Navy Seals division of One Nation Under a Groove, or Special Forces for The Black Planet; each piece of brass a different, military caliber weapon. Once the President declared war, in this case a wispy bearded Dutch nerd hollering “Ladies and Gentleman, The Hypnotic Brass Ensemble!” the elite squad brought forth a fury akin to Genghis Khan.
When accessing an army of such high quality, individual marksmanship is vital. The Hypnotic Brass Ensemble, I am happy to report is chalk full of snipers. The trumpets hit fake notes up in the tops of trees and the trombones slung swarthy midrange progressions around the room like they were spewing machine gun fire into the crowd. The Tuba all the while laid a strong soulful baseline; each pursed lip blow, a land mind.
The Hypnotic Brass Ensemble unleashed a full armored assault on Bittersweet, and rolled through their short set with the technical acuity and attention to detail of General Sherman. Not only did each song strategically stumble itself into another, each solo, each chorus and each refrain progressed equally as fluid. What I am trying to say is quite simply, the band is tight. They burned our barns, let loose our cattle and sewed salt in our cropland.
Lest we forget, The Hypnotic write their own music. They are not mere foot soldiers, covering the Funk Generals and Colonels of old. Instead they offer an original battle plan. Their arrangements are heavily layered, pouring new riffs and sounds over an existing construct literally dozens of times in just one stanza. This cascading effect begs the listener to cringe and smile at the mere detail of the sounds they hear. It also forces said listeners to fuckin’ dance! Or at least, it should have! Sorry for the tangent but it must be said: If you are person who doesn’t dance on principle or fear, you’re pathetic. Fuck you. Honestly, you ruin scenes, stay home. As my head bobbed and swayed with the beat, I kept glancing at heaps of people loafing around, making small talk at the top of their lungs. I’m up here comparing this show to all out warfare while some people are cowering in the back like draft dodgers. Fuck’m.
Their is a reason the Army uses a bugle to wake up the soldiers and royalty use trumpets to announce grand entrances. Nothing on earth beats the power of a full fledged brass band. The Hypnotic Brass Ensemble is just that. They are also, “all blood” which I take to mean, a group of people willing to stick together. If they hold true to their convictions and keep on fighting, I predict they take over the world.