Sleepytime Gorilla Museum

Sleepytime Gorilla Museum (SGM) - the most gloriously unclassifiable Americanband in existence - is bringing back the apocalypse.

The esteemed curators of SGM are proud to announce a series of GrandReopening tours, recordings, and related events.

On any given night, SGM's live set careens from euphoric to eerie to ego-annihilating wall-of-sound. Gleefully dark and joyful noise emanates from a wild array ofinstruments, many homemade. Crowds are engulfed in circuitous melody, strangebursts of color and light, unknowable time signatures, spasmodic dance.

A Sleepytime performance is never just a string of head-bangin' anthems. Eachsong is an elaborate journey of its own, often clocking in at 10+ minutes, framingcameos from friends and family in the form of Butoh dance, parades, puppet shows,even the occasional impassioned oration of Italian Futurist poetry. People speak inhushed tones about the live shows like rites of passage. What was an average localrock club just hours before is transformed into a volatile dreamspace where anythingcan, and does, happen.

Flustered reviewers, desperate to pigeonhole the ineffable, have labeled SGMeverything from neo-RIO (Rock in Opposition) to avant-prog metal to grindcore funktheatre to, in the words of one particularly rapt concertgoer, "some kinda SatanicAnarchic Viking Shit". None of those descriptors come anywhere close to conveying theband's ethos.

Sleepytime's arsenal of instruments ranges from the searing violin of a certainlady, standard rock fare of electric guitars, basses and drums, to intriguing contraptionsfrom various folk traditions, to junkyard percussion and Fisher Price toys, to horns 'n'bells 'n' rusty trash can lids, to a collection of handcrafted one-offs including thePercussion Guitar, the Wiggler, the Spring-Nail Guitar, and a brutal, seven foot longpiano-stringed bass behemoth called The Sledge Hammer Dulcimer.

Together the group has penned lyrics inspired by the Unabomber, by JamesJoyce, by Muriel Rukeyser, by madness, by a stroke-stricken obstetrician, by love, bydeath, by cockroaches, by the increasingly bleak industrialized end times we're allenduring. The band sports blackened teeth and spiked leather gauntlets and bonnetsand tri-hawks and military khaki and antique lace nighties. They croon lilting post-modern folk melodies enmeshed with face-melting blasts of pure untrammeled blackmetal.

Well, drop-kick a lithopedion, lizards and germs, because it's time to ROCKAGAINST ROCK AND REJOICE! Run, walk, crawl, slither your way to one of theirupcoming shows. Whatever you gotta do to get to the club, where some trulyspectacular DIY-or-Die-Tryin' art and community awaits you. Bring your body down towhere SGM always has and ever shall live: on the loving, bleeding edge of aninterrobang.

This singular act is not to be missed.
This message approved by The John Kane Society