And thus, the Luttenbachers and their improv terror tactics were born. The Weasel Walter-led collective rumages through godforsaken landscapes of pure retina burning noise prog jazz abandonment that'll leave mouths agape and more than a few saying "stop that shit it's fucking obscene!". Xenakis meets Magma in Ayler's rehearsal space. For more about the great Weasel, go here.
I know some coffeehouses I would love to see become ashes