Author & Punisher, Guiltless

You have tried to play this kind of music for someone in a car. You watched their face do the polite thing, and afterward you stopped offering. It became a private weather system instead — something you put on alone when you need to feel the inside of your own skull.

Tristan Shone builds the machines he performs on. He worked in a San Diego machine shop as a mechanical engineer, and the instruments he plays — drone machines, dub machines, slabs of aluminum riding on rails that he shoves and drags — exist because no manufactured instrument did what he needed it to do. Watching him is nearer to watching somebody operate industrial equipment than watching a band. He leans his entire body into the controls. The low end reaches your sternum a half-second before your ears file a report.

Guiltless opens. The room holds a few hundred, which means the floor participates.

Doors at seven, show at eight, Thursday the first of October. The Casbah sits on Kettner just up from Laurel.