This is an mp3 blog attempting to document the gross amount of music I listen to. About once a day, I'll post something I like. If you're a copyright holder on anything I host, get in touch, and we'll settle things in a steel cage instead of a courtroom.

Monday, June 04, 2007

Grandpa's on stage!

Got-DANG is it hard finding pictures of old obscure British punk bands. I should probably just start posting T&A shots in lieu of a bunch of gap-toothed limeys who can't pronounce any word beginning with "h."

Ah, but I digress. After a weekend that involved mildly entertaining b-movies ("Virus," "The Devil Times Five," and the original "House of the Dead" amongst them - "Driller Killer" and "Slashed Dreams" proved too unwatchable for even me to make through) a rain-soaked Nationals game, and most importantly concerts by the Pipettes (who fucking SLAYED) and Spitfires United, I'm in the mood for some fuck-you oi! music. Maybe it was singing "Hooligans" for the first time since high school with the lead singer of All Night Drug Prowling Wolves. There's no real way of knowing (yes the fuck there is).

So what group of old-school soccer hooligans have I chosen to bring to you today? Menace. I actually saw them in concert once. Story behind that.

It starts with a club in west Springfield (happenin' place, it is) called Jaxx. Even for all it's foibles, I miss going to shows at Jaxx. Yeah, it smelled like hesher ass and played host to washed-up hair metal acts with two original members still slogging through "Everybody Wang Chung Tonight" to an audience of enthusiastic tweakers, but they would sometimes host cool bands and even northern Virginia bands, who sometimes got upturned noses in the DC clubs. While now all they do is host has-beens that make Hagar look like Roth and metal bands with names like Abortionator, Mystic Goat Slaughter, and Cryptorium written in completely illegible fonts, they used to host punk bands every now and again.

When Menace were booked to Jaxx, I made it a point to get tickets, even if I thought it was going to be yet another band trading on songs they wrote when they were 18 in a style that had failed to evolve AT ALL in 20 years. Still, every local punk band worth their salt did their best to sign on for this bill. (To the best of my recollection, I Blame Myself Mostly played, although I might be the only human being on the planet who remembers them, including members of the actual band.) It was a long night, one of those punk shows where after around band #5 you start to get bored and wonder how many ashtrays you can throw at the soundman before they throw you out (answer: 1). Still, Max and I stuck it out, which is more than we can say for most of the crowd. The band was late, and it was pushing 1 AM before they even showed up at the club. When they finally came on, there were about 12 people left in the club who weren't employees. And you know what? Despite looking like Oasis' dads, they ROCKED we 12. We all went nuts, singing along to every word of "I Need Nothing" like we were a pack of rabid east enders out for a night on the town back in the day. Everyone ended up storming the stage for their best-known song, "GLC." It was a pure, unadulterated frenzy, and it felt like one-in-a-lifetime things. The bootboys in DC can grimace and roll up their pantcuffs, but I sang "GLC" with my arm around the lead singer of Menace. Top THAT, fuckers!


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