Restless L.A.-via-Miami no-wavers Period Bomb return to Uncle Lou’s

“I didn’t know how I’d landed this amazing band in L.A., but it was really, really good. Then we played some shows and I almost felt like I was gentrifying Period Bomb,” says Camila Alvarez. “I’m like, ‘I can’t do Period Bomb this good with these special musicians.'”

Alvarez, vocalist, guitarist and leader of Los Angeles-via-Miami no-wavers Period Bomb, is mostly joking when she confesses doubts about a recent “all-star” lineup of the band. But as a musician who had to leave Miami because she was priced out and all the venues had shut down … well, maybe there’s a sliver of truth amid the self-deprecation.

That particular lineup of Period Bomb included “a renowned Nigerian drummer, this fancy violinist and a bassist who’d played with Lydia Lunch” and Maya Rudolph’s Prince cover band (!). It has now scattered to the four winds, save for Alvarez, the sole mainstay of the group through its entire run of over a decade.

Orlando Weekly reaches Alvarez midweek in Los Angeles, where she’s preparing to play a noise show in a few hours with an all-new lineup, and she’s optimistic this configuration will be more true to the project’s chaotic and freaked-out roots.

“Typical Period Bomb,” posits Alvarez, “is like, whoever’s our biggest fans that go to all of our shows and I’m just, like, ‘I can tell you all are freaks, let’s just get together and jam.’ “

But this lineup, however, will also not be the Period Bomb lineup storming into Uncle Lou’s on Wednesday night, Aug. 13. For this occasion, Alvarez is rounding up a bunch of the usual Florida suspects — old comrades, weirdos and troublemakers, particularly longtime bassist DJ Deyo (who now plays in openers Selcouth) — to make the most glorious and cathartic noise possible.

“Whenever I’m in Florida, I’m definitely back with the real freaks,” she says.

Are you confused? Excellent news. It’s never an easy answer or business as usual with period Bomb. This is a band — Alvarez describes it as “organized chaos” — that revels in no-wave snarl, art-damaged punk and unhinged scree with nothing in the way of academic pretensions.

“One thing we all have in common is either some kind of trauma we’re still trying to get through with music — using music as free therapy — or just relating to each other’s traumas and being just, like, too poor to afford therapy,” says Alvarez.

Over the last 11 years, they’ve toured relentlessly, gone through numerous line-up changes, shared stages with idols like Lydia Lunch and Dame Darcy, and flown the flag fearlessly for Floridian freaks.

And life is finally starting to calm down for Alvarez a couple of years after a move to the opposite coast, fires, personal upheaval and, oh yeah, Ariel Pink.

“I came here [Los Angeles] after a tour opening for Ariel Pink, and he is a disaster. We always talked about making an album together, and I just figured, like, after touring with him, now would be the time. But he kept saying, ‘Oh, but I can’t handle the pressure of you needing a due date,'” remembers Alvarez. Waiting around to record with little money to begin with ended up with her deciding to stay in Los Angeles and make a new life there.

“I’m trying to look at it like it’s the opportunity I’ve been lusting after for years. My friends who did stay in the punk scene here, there is a lot more respect and resources for that. Both USC and UCLA have whole libraries dedicated to punk,” says Alvarez. “They just don’t have anything like that in Florida. I just keep reminding myself how lucky I am to have survived the year. … It seems to all be coming together now. I feel more integrated into the scene and supported, which is so nice.”

One of these opportunities is a new collaboration with cult 1980s Cali synth-punk trailblazers Los Microwaves. Alvarez is currently filling the formidable shoes of the late, iconic Meg Brazil with David Microwave and other surviving members.

“It was a lot of pressure for me because I’ve never been a singer of another band. I only know how to just explode freely with every song, but here I had to memorize all this stuff,” she says. “They have a strong local legacy.”

Their first outing — and the first Los Microwaves show in years — was at a recent Los Angeles show, playing alongside The Weirdos along with, surreally, DJ Lance Rock from Yo Gabba Gabba DJing in full orange regalia.

Besides chance encounters with synth-punk innovators and kids’ TV stars, Alvarez has also been very busy of late on a variety of non-music fronts: preparing to relaunch a Period Bomb-themed DIY fashion line after a 10-year break, and releasing a string of music videos around the 24-Carat Clit EP (which Alvarez promises is “crazy, cunty, cool”).

“We were doing upcycling before it was even named upcycling. Nobody was doing that stuff back then, so it’s cool to come back to it now,” says Alvarez. “There’s like 80 or 90 custom garments. Pretty much every single one, I did something to give it its own individual fingerprint and flair,” says Alvarez. “Hopefully people are excited about this kind of style, very DIY, handmade. If not, maybe I’ll try it in another 10 years.”

This kind of whirlwind of multigenre creativity is in line with the onslaught of creativity that Period Bomb was always awash in when they lived in Miami — running Crass Lips Records, booking shows, curating a stage at International Noise Conference (though they still do that) — it’s an energy that’s much missed in the wake of their coastal migration. The connection was a two-way street, though, with Alvarez still sentimental about the Florida underground.

“I’ve toured the whole country 11 times, and every time we would come back to Florida, it was such a noticeable difference,” says Alvarez. “Everything seemed so much more … alive, like you just feel the energy and the vibrations so hard the second you enter Florida. I miss it all the time.”

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This article appears in Aug 13-18, 2025.