This venue turned out to be a small bar on
the corner of Grant and Green in SF's North Beach. So finding
a place to park within walking distance that was relatively
secluded from tourists and cops where one of my ex-roommates
and I could test the potency of certain substances
we'd acquired before the show proved to be difficult but not
impossible.
I
knew I was going to hate
Flexx Bronco after
overhearing one of their neo-new wave/mullet-metal hipster
fans describe them as "Trashed out party-music like old Mötley
Crüe, you know? Except they don't look it." True
enough, the band, except for lead guitarist "Filthy" in his
black fedora and eyeliner, looked like the kind of bar-jock
posers that hit Lucky 13 after a game at AT&T Park to pick up
"Suicide Girls" and played mid-80's cock-rock as if competing
to see who could outdo the rest in embarrassingly clichéd
onstage hamminess. You want an example? Try vocalist "M. Kells" announcing
Filthy and rhythm guitarist "JackII Lawless"'s incessant
two-man solos by shrieking things like "WE'RE GONNA KICK DOWN
THE DOOR AND PAR-TAAAY, MOTHERFUCKERS!" while drummer "Thor
Bigsby" would twirl his sticks between his fingers for added
theatrical emphasis. And the aforementioned hipsters, in their
own phony way, "loved" it. Raising lighters above their side-swepted
bangs or throwing up devil horns in ironic praise.
Sounding
like a watered-down American version of X-Ray Specs -
substituting droll anti-consumer culture sentiments for catty
"bad girl" shit-talking and relying on the same (early)
Blondie, Josie Cotton and Runaways influences as every other
local female-fronted retro-80's act,
The Mouth-Offs were nothing
to get excited about. I've always had a soft spot for early
"punk" bands that used synthesizers aggressively (ie. Catholic
Discipline, The Screamers, Devo, etc.) but their kind of
cutesy garage-wave like "Do You Wana Go Steady?" which
high-pitched lead singer/saxophonist Janette and keyboard
player/backup vocalist Shannon dedicated "To all these cute
boys we see here in the audience tonight," pointing a few of
them out for guitarist Doug to admire as well, was just
annoying. And not in a "good" way. Although Janette's pushing
some drunk shag-head left over from Flexx Bronco's
set, who stood infront of the stage with his arms outstretched
intentionally blocking our view during her sax solos, into a
puddle of spilt beer causing him to slip and fall flat on his
ass was pretty damn funny.
Agent
Orange has remained a favorite of mine throughout
the years in spite of the fact that I haven't liked anything
they've done studio-wise since When You Least Expect It...
based solely on the strength of their live performances.
Singer/guitarist Mike Palm and drummer Scott Miller cranked
out "No Such Thing," "Everything Turns Grey," "The Last
Goodbye," "Living In Darkness," "Eldorado," and "Bored Of You"
from the band's early singles and first LP, choice material
from This Is The Voice, and covers of The Chantays'
"Pipeline" and Jefferson Airplane's "Somebody To Love" at a
steady pace. Their hook-filled late 70's punk rock/power-pop
overdrive and reverb-drenched surf sounding quite a bit
"heavier" than usual thanks to bassist Bruce Taylor from
pioneering Arizona skate-core thrashers J.F.A. The only hitch
as far as their set went was Mike breaking a string at the end
of "Too Young To Die" after dedicating it to The Vandals'
original singer, "Steveo" (aka. Steven Jensen), who recently
died of an O.D., providing some of us in the crowd an
opportunity to sarcastically deride him with shouts of "Fix
your piece of shit guitar already, old man!" Their perennial
closer "Bloodstains" arousing a last minute tumult on the
dancefloor that all but knocked senseless an out of place
fetish/goth clubber dressed in a camouflage teddy and ski mask
ensemble attempting to do her "Gothic Tai Chi" dance.
