Mushmaus stood just a few doors down from 2720 Cherokee. It was a beacon of nightlife; the yin to the average clubgoer's yang. If dubstep was down the street, Mushmaus would likely host a dance party of warped wax and broken strobes. Its two stories of gear and garbage often bustled with noise, hosting the seedy underbelly of St. Louis music. Artists such as David Burnett occupied the space with dangerous contraptions, while bands like Britches performed in costume with projections. Many used Mushmaus as a blank slate for their endeavors, and cretins of south city flocked. The collective here lasted nearly one year, warming last winter with an aural flare. The final show, a low-key and hush-hush affair, had David Wolk of Cranky Yellow exploring erratic raps atop mini-installations — a charming and eloquent end to Mushmaus' bizarre and lovable tenure.
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