Live at LPR NYC 11/9/25
Last night at Le Poisson Rouge, Earth held court in New York City, performing their complete album Hex; Or Printing in the Infernal Method before a nearly sold-out audience. The experience felt less like a concert and more like a ceremony—a slow, seismic meditation in tone, weight, and the deep spaces between notes.
From the first reverberations, the music didn’t just unfold—it breathed. It opened up canyons of sound that drew us in, letting us drift through their depths and feel a greater oscillation in the world. Mighty and tragic, solemn and transcendent, this was music of reckoning and renewal.
My friend Bryan mentioned after the show concluded how wonderful it was that there were no lyrics, no voices—just sound itself, raw and infinite. He was right. The absence of words let the music move through us freely, connecting us in a shared quiet understanding. It was a rare and beautiful thing in a time so filled with noise and discord: to be united in listening, to feel small yet bound to something immense.
Before Earth took the stage, the evening began with a mesmerizing opening set from the band’s trombonist— Professor Steve Moore—who spent half an hour delving into the philosophy and mechanics of sound. He spoke about its mathematics, its simplicity, and its uncanny power to connect us. His insights set the tone perfectly: that what may appear minimal is, in fact, spiritually vast.
As Earth played through Hex, each piece seemed to linger in suspension, a slow procession through desert skies and empty plains, filled with reflection and sorrow yet threaded with resilience. The music didn’t drain or overwhelm—it left us inspired, as if we had endured something together, crossed some invisible threshold, and come out the other side a little more aware of our place in the universe.
When the final note dissolved, there was no rush to fill the silence. The audience sat still for a moment, breathing the same air, feeling the same weight and wonder. It was as though Earth had reminded us that within stillness there is movement, within repetition there is revelation—and that sometimes, simply listening can be a radical act of connection.
Words and Photos by Jonathan Levitt
( Follow me @ ElChingonPhotography on Instagram)
