At first, the club was absolutely packed with people ready to see what Squid Pisser had to offer. Then everyone realized they were about to be subjected to some seriously pissed-off avant-garde crust mixed with grindcore, noise, and hardcore — and suddenly, making it to the end of the set became an endurance challenge. Not everyone made it. To be fair, there was plenty to watch. The vocalist showed up wearing a reptilian mask — although the rest of the band was also rocking similar rubber masks, presumably designed to turn musicians into human crockpots. He spent most of the set bouncing around the stage wearing nothing under a sundress, which is certainly one way to establish a dress code. At some point he climbed onto the bar and continued screaming from there, because apparently the stage wasn't providing enough real estate for the performance art. And that's really what Squid Pisser is about. This is less a traditional band playing a concert and more a performance-art piece that happens to come with an absolutely unhinged soundtrack. The music is loud, chaotic, abrasive and deliberately hostile, but the real attraction is watching four people sweat themselves half to death in rubber masks while doing things that probably weren't covered in the venue's original risk assessment. Which brings us to the $40 T-shirts, plus tax. For a band whose main product appears to be controlled sensory assault, that's a surprisingly serious investment. To be fair, the shirts are actually pretty damn good. So, was it a concert? A performance? A noise-induced fever dream? Honestly, Squid Pisser doesn't seem particularly interested in the distinction. And after this show, neither are we.