The Body/Saturday, Oct. 19

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our full Q&A with The Body here

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The last time I saw The Body, the duo literally blew the hat off the guy in front of me.

Portlanders Chip King and Lee Buford make a hell of a lot of noise for just two humans. Guitarist King creates a barricade of amps for live performances, shrieking like a banshee with his tongue outstretched as Buford pounds apocalyptic, gut-wrenching dirges on his drums. It isn’t metal, and it isn’t really noise rock either. The Body is its own entity, a duo of traveling doomsayers who pelt audiences with heavy sonic tidings of misanthropy, tidings that often manifest themselves in avant-garde song structures mixing choral music, musique concrete, and doomy sludge. And they’re really into Jonestown, Jim Jones’ ill-fated communal compound.

“I think it was really cool when it started off,” Buford says. “You know, it was this left-leaning thing full of people who felt like they really didn’t fit in with this world, so they just moved . . . to make a new world. Then they decided, ‘Ehhh, we’ve had enough,’ and they just killed themselves. I can definitely relate to that; living in today’s society is really tough, it gets tougher every day.”

The Body’s new album, Christs, Redeemers, out this week, is an incredible aural assault that plunges deep into familiar territory for the band—a palpable disdain for humanity. Lines like “the pain of living holds no victory” and song titles like “Denial of the Species” spell out the kind of antihuman message The Body has built its fascinating career on. The band’s shirts all feature images of humans getting their comeuppance: people decapitated with a sword, a man devoured by a ghastly demon. The eerie music videos take it even further; “An Altar or a Grave” consists of five minutes of blurry footage of a tied-up body drowning in a lake.

“I like to hope there’s a reason for how shitty the world is,” Buford says. “It would be great if there was a God who would come back and wreak revenge on all the people in the world; I think that would be great. In the world today I feel like there’s no consequence for people’s actions. Our shows are like tantrums; it’s like us just being personally fed up with the way things are.” With The New Trust, MTNS, Where My Bones Rest Easy.

The Highline, 210 Broadway E., 378-7837, 8 p.m. $7. 21 and over.

KELTON SEARS