15/06/2025

Earth Tongue & Troy Kingi – Double Whammy: June 14, 2025

It was strange stepping into a venue that felt both completely new and intimately familiar – like walking forward and moving backward in time.

It was my first time covering a gig at Double Whammy – I know, I’m terrible – now slickly stitched from the bones of its predecessors. The old raggedy carpets I once called home were gone, and the stage had been flipped to the far side of the room. But the soul was still twitching underneath.

The night opened with a surprise: Troy Kingi, The Cactus Handshake, slinking onstage without warning – but with immediate, vibrant presence – and detonating a wall of sound into the eager crowd that only made them ravenous for more.

There was a dusty, psychedelic drawl to opener Silicone, and by the time Mezcal landed – all snap-tight rhythm and heat-stroke distortion – the room was simmering. Guitarist Ezra Simons, pulling double duty last night, leaned into his strings and delivered a full-bodied screamo howl that felt somewhere between Black Sabbath bootleg and banshee. It was thrilling. Raw. Almost feral.

Speaking in Tongues and Ocelli stretched out like mirages – heavy, humid, hypnotic – before the band tightened into the punchier trio of Momentary, Hot Med, and Nam Must Stay, the latter landing like being kicked in the teeth by a tequila-soaked cowboy boot. The set drew me back to first hearing Rated R and discovering the sludgy distortion and howls of early Queens of The Stone Age.

By Rhino, the band was fully fuelled by the crowd’s energy, churning through fuzzed-out riffs and sharp, sharp drums. Kingi’s vocals soared through the heat while the guitar wailed. It was equal parts desert ritual and dive-bar exorcism – a hell of a surprise, a new musical addiction for me, and one of the best openers I’d seen in years.

Then, emerging as if from a smoky 70s psych-fuzz portal: Earth Tongue.

They walked on without a word and launched straight into Reaper, a song that didn’t so much start as it materialised. Thick fuzz, stretched vocals, a distorted guitar haze that filled the room like fog. Gussie Larkin, who I’d last seen with Mermaidens (and found completely entrancing both times), brought that same timeless, ‘70s Suspiria energy to this gig – and now, the magic was dialled up from ethereal and into musical alchemy.

Hidden Entrance followed, and pulsed into Portable Shrine which hit with that perfect kind of grime: thick, distorted, and just slightly unwell, before Sit Next to Satan (SNTS) leaned into occult rock imagery with a groove that could raise the dead. This is broomstick doom rock – riffs that feel both charmingly vintage and cursed by an ancient relic.

They segued seamlessly into Astonishing Comet, its broken, jagged groove giving way to Symmetry Dripper, where the chemistry between Gussie and Ezra became impossible to ignore. They’re both just so in it – conjuring sound to each other. A distorted reverse White Stripes formula – drums, guitar, and the secret third ingredient: spooky synchronicity.

The next run – Demon Cam, Micro God, and Sentient – stretched the set into deeper psychedelic territory, witchy doom riffs, half-swallowed screams, pedalboard chaos – a building ritual. Ezra’s drumming grew sharper, looser, drums rolls carving out the shift in rhythm, before locking back in like a guillotine.

Nightmare built from creeping dread into a shrieking climax. Out of Hell and Bodies Dissolve were drenched in distortion, and Ezra let out a scream that could’ve stopped the room cold – long, guttural, and completely unhinged in the best way. A guy to the side of me started air-drumming the fills like he’d been waiting his whole life for that exact moment.

Between songs, the band were gracious, reflective – always a joy to witness. Gussie took a moment to talk about how good it felt to be back – her first time playing in this new version of the space. They thanked the crew. The venue. Reminded us to keep showing up. It wasn’t performative, just real and genuine love for the support.

They closed on Pentagram on the Moon, a slow, snarling finale that felt like it was pulling the stage underground. It ended with a rumble, a shimmer, and applause – the duo thanked the crowd again with that earnest, authentic charm, and gently released us from their musical spell.

And I found myself thinking… we’ve been doing this a long time. Making music. Going to gigs. Sharing sound. And still, nights like this feel rare. Precious. You hear a riff like Portable Shrine or a howl in Nightmare, and for a second it’s like time doesn’t matter. The people change. The room changes. But the magic remains.

A perfect night of distortion, sweat, and the kind of low-lit psych-fuzz spookiness that makes you believe – just for a moment – that music just might be the closest thing we’ll ever get to time travel.

Oxford Lamoureaux

Click on any image to view a photo gallery by Chris Zwaagdyk:

Earth Tongue: