24th January 2009 - The Bakery, Perth, Australia.

Rushing from the annual incest-fest that is the RTR FM quiz night, where the guise of a publicly open competition is used to camouflage the distribution of various gifts and promotional items to selected employees *, we're in time to be plunged into the grimy subterranean soundscapes of dubstep pioneer The Bug. The usual Bakery setup has been augmented by some gigantic, profoundly evil monitors; specialist hardware with unfeasibly wide bass cones to harness this sonic belligerence. My hair is vibrating, my bones are shaking, my internal organs are churning; God knows what's going on in my ear drums. This kind of bass isn't a sound. It's an experience. Hearing this at home is no preparation; the pure physicality adds an entirely new dimension. The molasses slow rhythm is impossible to dance to in any conventional manner. A plague of zombie elephant plodding has taken hold, heads rocking to the caustic sub-bass. It's so strong your knees remain wobbling long after it's cut and could probably be employed as an alternate method for controlled demolitions. Balancing the attack frequency, various laser-gun F/X ripple out as intermittent strobe flashes terrorize our synapses.

Intense and sinister, it's a little different to what I expected, but as the set progresses the more dance-floor friendly riddims begin rolling out. Rewinds are in full effect, not a common practice in Perth. A few headz look about in confusion as Jah War whips back to the beginning. This material might be more accessible but it's equally uncompromising in terms of sheer volume and attitude. We cheer, although it's questionable whether the Bug even notices given the sonic wall and licks of onstage smoke.

With twenty or so minutes to go Warrior Queen, an imposing lady armed with a whopping set of pipes, announces her presence with an interpolation of Dawn Penn's Jamaican classic No, No, No. Flaunting a near-impenetrable Caribbean accent, it's a struggle to dissect her bombast, even when Bug kills the music to facilitate her freestyling. The slivers I untangle suggest it's chiefly revolves around the men who make her dizzy with satisfaction and those that fail. Lighters are requested to be raised, not for ballads, but as reverence for the sinsemilla.

Poison Dart concludes the set: an anthem the dubstep generation can magnetize around. Sure, Burial may be making ghostly post-rave comedowns of striking emotional depth, but this baby's for the club, the drawn out vocals complimenting the tidal wave bass sumptuously. Warrior Queen is the consummate foil to The Bug, thrusting a truck-load of raucous personality into his digital warfare.

Transcribed by Reverend Chris.

Props: Major ones at that to Ted for getting me in gratuit. Boo ya.

* Just kidding guys. Stay strong.