Paul Barker is playing upstairs at The Slipper Clutch, in a tiny, attic-like space covered with murals and old show flyers. It’s loud, and I forgot my earplugs, so I hang out towards the back of the room, which is what I did when I saw Ministry many years ago— back when Barker was in the band— at a show that ranks at number 2 on the list of loudest concerts I’ve ever attended. This show at Slipper Clutch, however, isn’t as much of a raucous. The raw and rhythmic music is comfortably booming where I stand.
As for the vibe, it’s one that I’ve always known, the fringe of L.A. nightlife. It’s also one that I often fear is edging closer to extinction because there are fewer independent spaces in L.A. and fewer events that are more about the music than whatever shit went viral last week. And, in the most pessimistic moments, I think that there are simply fewer people who are interested in leaving the house and taking the chance on something that an algorithm didn’t send their way.
But, this isn’t one of those pessimistic nights. The crowd at The Slipper Clutch is solid and lively. Paul Barker is revered in industrial music. In addition to his own, longtime project Lead Into Gold, he was part of Ministry for well over a decade, when he played on and co-produced landmark albums like The Land of Rape and Honey, The Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste and Psalm 69. He was also part of Lard and Revolting Cocks and a bunch of other projects that have been influential in some way, shape or form. Getting to see someone of that caliber in an intimate space like this is a real treat.
The Slipper Clutch is a downtown rock club, situated behind the Grayson cocktail bar that’s right next to Grand Central Market. It’s an indie venue, so you can go to a show here and not deal with the much-maligned U.S. concert duopoly. L.A. Industrial, who put on a ton of DJ and live music nights around the city (some of which I play), promoted this night with a topnotch lineup.
I arrived at the tail end of the opening set from Oakland-based Vague Lanes and wandered up and down the space for a bit. The bottom level of The Slipper Clutch is a bar. You can hang out there without having to pay a cover. (The covers for upstairs vary depending on the night and the venue posts their schedule on Instagram.) There’s a pool table, a few pinball machines and a smoking patio. A bonus is that, when there’s a show upstairs, you can hear it downstairs on the patio— or, at least, that was the case on Thursday night— so you have an idea of when you need to run up to catch the next band.
So, I hung out on the patio, played some pinball and ran up when I heard Jane Jensen’s set. Jensen was part of the 1990s group Oxygiene 23 and has been releasing solo albums since later in that decade. (Fun fact: Jensen also played Juliet in the cult classic Tromeo and Juliet.) She played an energetic, industrial rock set backed by drummer Shok on Thursday night. After the set, I caught up with Shok— who I’ve known for a really, really long time— downstairs and chatted for a good while until it finally hit me that Paul Barker had already started his set and I ran back upstairs.
All this might sound like extraneous info, but it’s part of the point. Going to shows isn’t about staring at a stage with your phone out trying to capture a fleeting moment. At some point, you will do that, but that isn’t the sole objective of the night. They are inherently social experiences. You go to one, maybe you meet people who tell you about another event, so you go to another. Next thing you know, you’re part of something.
But, in order for that to happen, there has to be small venues who will take chances on subcultures and there have to be people willing to put in the work— and it’s a lot of work— to organizing events. Plus, there has to be people who aren’t just willing to leave the house and go to an event, but will help spread the word. If those things don’t happen, then we’re basically going to end up in a city with nothing but really big, really expensive concerts and club nights named after TikTok trends.
Upstairs, as Barker plays, lights pulsate against the wall behind the stage. The music is, as industrial often is, heavy, a little unsettling, and with beats that hit like a kick in the ass. It’s energizing. You have to dance and, at the end, it all feels cathartic.
Liz O. is an L.A.-based writer and DJ. Read her recently published work and check out her upcoming gigs.
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