Critic's Notebook

Aqui

Yikes, what hath the Darkness wrought? It was only a matter of time before you'd want hammy operatic shrieking delivered by a chick who could scale heights even gonads scrunched up in spandex never dreamed of visiting. The idea of bearing witness to the spectacle of head-splitting Stephonik X and...
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Yikes, what hath the Darkness wrought? It was only a matter of time before you’d want hammy operatic shrieking delivered by a chick who could scale heights even gonads scrunched up in spandex never dreamed of visiting. The idea of bearing witness to the spectacle of head-splitting Stephonik X and her robotic band of art-rockers in the small confines of the Emerald Lounge sounds more like a dare than anything you’ll look back on fondly, so be forewarned. Many of Aqui’s call-to-action song titles average two exclamation points each (“Kick! Score!”, “Open! Go! Begin!”). So if you gotta go, “Prepare! Medicate! Plug!”

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