Gay Cum Daddies, Imp Cru, Good Pollution, Gr3yboy
The Pouch
Philadelphia
Sept. 9, 2026
In wandering into DIY spaces, you can end up witnessing all manner of crazy shit. Sometimes a no named band opens for your friends and blows your mind. Sometimes you've listened to a group's recordings, thought it wasn't your thing, and in turn are floored by their live performance. Sometimes the stars align and just the right bands play one after another like they were born to be listed on that flyer together. And sometimes you find yourself in a dark Philly basement to watch a deranged band from Texas who call themselves "Cum Daddies" play along next to a very intense queer electronic duo who are trying to pollute your mind and drop trou, all while a guy with a deformed cat head and tight undies wanders feral into the crowd, and a piss-jug themed supergroup compels you to fist pump to their catchy and gross lyrics. One can only be so lucky so many times.
I've harbored a fantasy in my mind about Gay Cum Daddies traveling in their touring vehicle and getting pulled over in Arkansas by a buzz-cut highway patrol man with mirror shades and a toothpick. As he approaches the vehicle to ask for license and registration he notices all the music equipment: "You boys in a band?" "Yes, Sir." "What are y'all called?"...
I'm glad the Cum Daddies made it up here in one piece. We were all excited to see them, and all those road miles hasn't seem to dampen their assaultive powers. It sounds funny to say, but Gay Cum Daddies were a no-nonsense straight up noise-rock band. I was impressed with just how tight and cohesive they were as a unit even as they actively derailed. They have a discipline that feels like it stretches out of Texas noise rock history. I heard lineages coming from Texas fuckery like Pain Teens, Ed Hall, or Scratch Acid. They were guitar leaning, but with a heavy dose of keyboards. The keyboards gave it an evil, trebly, circus effect. The singer had an odd vintage guitar and played with a biting attack, hitting heavy and atonal. Coupling the guitar with the wild honking carnival keys made for a deranged soundscape. Throughout the performance, the bassist was often grinning ear to ear or laughing, adding to a feeling we were on an amusement ride gone wrong.
The two openers were both acts you'd want to brace for. Gr3yboy is their own feral entity. He donned an ominous, large, cat-like head mask, that reminded me of a Halloween outfit you started but abandoned because you realized you were actually materializing a nightmare. He had a pad of effects which he manipulated to get cool, echoey, dreamy, and funny sounds from. It came off raw and a little sketchy, with a dose of dark humor — but something about his delivery felt heart felt. Terms that usually apply to louder solo electronic acts like power-electronics or noise didn't really describe this accurately; it's his own thing.
Next there was Good Pollution. Also originally from Texas (now a Philly group), they are a collage of noise-rock, experimental electronics, performance art and plundertronics. Like Cum Daddies, I could hear a very specific lineage drawing on the Texas group Culturcide, a distinct and highly underrecognized early Texas experimental band. Pollution used an elaborate system of visuals that looked like they took a lot of time and effort to piece together. There was all manner of warped and fully satanized commercials and pop culture references, much of it synchronized with the performance as it happened. As their performance became more unhinged, and the duo seemed to be falling apart, the singer collapsed on the floor in a ball yelling. The act was high drama with loud electronics and clown makeup. The climax of the performance involved a sudden dropping of trou as they finished the set in undies, fully setting the crowd up to be rocked by the likes of the Gay Cum Daddies.
While most folks were across town watching Algernon Cadwallader, those gathered at The Pouch were watching a very different kind of band. Some bands are obsessed with one thing, and Imp Cru's single-minded vision consisted solely of jugs of piss. I can say without a doubt that Imp Cru are the very best piss jig themed band I've ever heard. To prove their seriousness, the singer held a gallon of yellow tinted liquid, a quarter filled aloft throughout the whole show (I can only assume where the other three quarters went). The lyrics of their first song work well as a thesis for the band:
"If you don't gotta gallon of piss for me, you can go get stuck in a chim-a-nee. If you don't gotta gallon of piss when I arrive, you go stick your face in a beehive. If you don't gotta gallon of piss ready to go, ask me if I'm having fun, Imma say no. If you don't have a gallon of piss ready on deck, go get a tattoo of a butthole on yo neck."
Besides being catchy as hell, it is in turn also gross as fuck. Not a lot of bands are willing to roll around in the dirt like that and I wanna give these guys full props. They come off like a pissed obsessed Beasty Boys. The Cru are a combo of some heavy hitting local noise enthusiasts, with members of Sweepers, Half, Gr3yboy amongst others. It is genuinely stunning how absolutely memorable these piss-soaked little bangers are. My favorite of the evening was a heavy-hitting mantra about drinking a gallon of piss everyday of your life and going home to lie to your wife about it.
The Imp Cru are a very proud crew. Remember when you'r eplanning your next event: there's nothing quite like impressing your friends with a super-blaster of urine soaked hits coming from the upper echelons of the Philly noise rock community. All they need from you is a large jug.
