Brothers of the Sonic Cloth play the Sub Pop Silver Jubilee tomorrow in Georgetown.

BROTHERS OF THE SONIC CLOTH
  • TERESA BERG
  • BROTHERS OF THE SONIC CLOTH
The belly of Seattle's rock-music scene has spit out few beasts more magnificent than Tad Doyle. He possesses a combination of brains, brawn, and barbarous waggery—the likes of which have never been seen before, nor since. Back in the day, his band TAD bored a hole in your head, and you loved them for it. They were big, nasty, nutso—their deafening, darkened heaviness helped usher in the hallowed sound of Sup Pop's dominant early-'90s era. Exhibit A: "Behemoth" off TAD's 1989 release God's Ballsa perfect storm of punishing guitar, crazed vocals, and blistered playing. Onstage, Tad enacted the character of a madman-butcher to the hilt; his oversize frame and agile hurling of meat-flesh-riffage and hair was a thing of wonder. Between songs at shows, his chatter with the crowd was renowned. If you were lucky, Tad would tell you to fuck off. If you were luckier, Tad would dive off the stage and crush you, and then tell you to fuck off three more times.

Life after TAD for Sir Doyle brought about more heaviness with now-defunct band Hog Molly, and his current band, Brothers of the Sonic Cloth (his wife, Peggy Doyle, on bass and Dave French on drums), who pound and roam down stoned, 12-minute-long corridors of doom, psych, and metal. As well as playing music, Tad Doyle also applies his engineering knowledge to recording, mixing, and mastering bands in his own Witch Ape Studio.

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