Wavves sound meaner live than on record, more taut, as if they’re being jerked around by strings suspended from the rafters. Audience members lap it up. There’s a vibe here. My girlfriend calls it “snotty indifference” but I’m not so sure. They’re with it—they’re bashing it out hard. It seems genuine. They’re saying to us, “You fuckheads really wanna know what happened to Milo Aukerman? He didn’t go to college! He moved to Tijuana and started huffing a bunch of copier toner!  Then he killed his girlfriend and buried her in the desert! BWAHHHH.”