Live Reviews
JOHN POWHIDA’S ALL-STAR CABARET
The Paradise Lounge
12/21/04
ANDREA GILLIS, THE DENTS, DEEP PURPLE HELMET, TONY GODDESS
Abbey Lounge
11/17/04
A very mixed bag in terms of art stylings tonight for Andrea Gillis’ month-long residency. And that’s a good thing as it allows us to sample some acts we wouldn’t see under normal circumstances. Tony Goddess and Deep Purple Helmet are new to me, and Andrea I’m mostly familiar with from seeing her around the Abbey in many different capacities.
Tony Goddess and his band get rolling by 8:30PM, which is unusually early but a swell idea that should happen more often (It won’t, of course, but ya gotta dream). Tony employs your standard rock ‘n’ roll (Meaning a strong guitar) but making it more interesting, there are ghostly hints of country and even James Taylor. That James Taylor thing is mostly in his voice and certainly not bad at all in this context. Very pretty stuff.
Someone comments to me that Deep Purple Helmet is definitely a “lighter” band. It took me a moment to realize they meant “as in cigarette” rather than lightweight. Yep, DPH is doing that old fashioned hard rock, like a more serious-minded arena rock act of yore (In sound, most surely not in posture, save for the continuous forking of the devil’s sign). Both DPH guitarists are heavy duty ax-masters, again making me think arena rock, but more Beck and Clapton, not Van Halen: very very macho only without the obnoxious chest beating and trouser stuffing.
Andrea Gillis takes stage with a large band (too big for the tiny Abbey stage, anyways) including a two-person horn section! To my amazement, the room suddenly grows hot and crowded (and this a Wednesday night). At last hearing Andrea, I can understand all the attention. Her strong voice is probably reason enough, as it brings power and an almost soulful quality to whatever she’s singing. That’s whatcha call good-god-a’mighty talent, boy. I don’t know any of the material (whether Red Chord or solo), I won’t kid you—but it all sounds great to me. Most impressive of all as far as I’m concerned is late in the set Andrea rips into a thoroughly convincing cover of “River Deep Mountain High” (Phil Spector’s glorious train wreck)—Her band isn’t quite large enough to get the Wall-Of-Sound’s sheer massiveness, but her voice does a heroic job of filling it out and yes, she pulls it off. Fuckin’ bravo!
And out come the Dents at the strike of 11:30. Maybe that should officially be “Our Beloved Dents”? Honest injun, it was total Dentsmania for awhile there earlier in the year around the time they were robbed at The Rumble (Shit, I like Jake Brennan and I still think it was robbery). Four months and one change of drummers since last they played, but ain’t no rust here. I was worried they might have lost ace guitar-man Craig Adams, but thankfully he remains in the line-up. Souped up and fun as always, they mix that Ramones school speed and melody with less obvious stylistic elements, resulting in a product that one would think easily salable on a national level. So what’s the hold up, America? Tonight’s set seems even better than before to this listener, and that may very well be the genuine truth, but it may be a figment of my imagination due to the long delay between Dents shows. Probably both. (Frank Strom)
THE BLIND KING, THE VINYL SKYWAY
The Lizard Lounge
12/29/04
The Lizard is packed tight for this benefit for the Shattuck Shelter, a Jamaica Plain-based organization that provides a wide range of services to combat homelessness. I squeeze in past masses of donated clothing just in time to see Vinyl Skyway’s set. They serve up a fine batch of indie pop-rock with a little alt-country seasoning (especially when lead guitarist Andy Santospago switches to lap steel). Frontman Michael Hayes (Lemonpeeler) has a strong, flexible voice with a pleasantly grainy tone and a well-trained high register; his songs tend toward pleasant melodies, minor keys, and thoughtful lyrics. Kelly Ann McCann’s harmonies are a perfect complement, and the rhythm section—stand-up bass and a modest trap kit—is solid and tasteful. At the end of the set, Hayes reports on the flashiest contribution of the evening, a Fender Telecaster auction, the proceeds of which will benefit the shelter.
The ranks of The Blind King have swelled to eight: Josh Boughey’s acoustic guitar and voice are supplemented by harmony vocals, bass, (minimalist) drums, accordion, electric guitar, trumpet, and Andy Santospago (pulling double duty tonight) on the proverbial kitchen sink, which includes 6-string electric, lap steel, mandolin, and theremin. Boughey’s songs have stately tempos and simple harmonic structures which leave plenty of space for each member to play in without crowding. No one overplays, so it doesn’t turn into a sea of mud, but many of my favorite moments come when melody lines on different instruments almost fuse into new hybrids—anyone for trumpordian? Drummer Ned Armsby is fairly new to the lineup, but his presence transforms the band, defining the pulse more sharply and adding texture without overwhelming the hazy, melancholic mood. (Doug Mayo-Wells)
POLYETHYLENE, THE FERNS
T.T. the Bear’s
1/9/05
When The Ferns begin playing, it’s to me, my husband, and members of tonight’s other bands. In a situation like this, they could be forgiven for phoning it in, but they really seem to give it their all. It’s good stuff: poppy, melodic indie rock, played very well. I think of Foo Fighters several times. The singing is loose without being sloppy. I initially think the guitar sound is kind of muddy and boomy, but just moving to a different part of the room makes an enormous difference in the mix. The drummer seems to have a bit of trouble keeping the tempo steady across major transitions, so that the sections don’t flow together as well as they might, but he’s otherwise very good and that’s a really minor quibble. For the last two songs, the singer puts down his guitar and gets all young-Jim-Morrison for us; he’s good at it, but I think I like the two-guitar songs better.
I saw Polyethylene once before, and I wasn’t so impressed. I am very pleased to note that they have improved enormously in the intervening time. Their music is very mild and mellow—Tom says they’ve got their Cranberries on—with dual male/female vocals and lots of gently strummed guitar. The two singers switch off bass and guitar, and also have one song with two guitars and no bass, which gets even more ethereal. It’s all a bit blandly pretty for my tastes; if I had a testosterone-and-PCP blowgun right now, I would surely use it. But they’ve fixed everything that was overtly wrong with it: vocal pitch is fine, and the drummer no longer seems afraid to hurt his drums. And the female singer has a gorgeous voice. (Steve Gisselbrecht)
THE STONE COYOTES, THE UNBUSTED
T.T. The Bear’s
12/18/04
The first two times I caught The Unbusted, I walked away unable to comprehend what all the fuss was about. Tonight is different, and I think the boys can credit the old addition by subtraction theorem for that. Last time I saw them, I think every 20-ish wannabe rocker from the Vineyard was either acting goofy on the stage or acting goofy in the audience. Tonight, The Unbusted is down to a three-piece, and all their little buddies stayed home. What this means is that the audience can focus more on frontman Joe Keefe, and you just can’t help wanting to look at him. Standing still, he’s a compelling presence, and his songs are a better fit for a power trio. The songs are catchy and punchy where previously meandering and tight where previously sloppy. Now that the extra guitarists aren’t there to drown everything out, I can hear how damn good the bass player is. Frankly, before tonight, I wouldn’t have minded if I never saw these guys again, but I’m glad I did.
The Stone Coyotes are up next, and I’m pleasantly surprised by how many folks have shown up specifically to see them. The band does not disappoint, as they play music that is steeped in the rock and blues of heartland bars, but also acknowledges and revels in the existence of punk and metal. Singer Barbara Keith is old enough to be my mom, but other than the Britney Spears/ Kip Winger-style microphone, she would kick my ass in a coolness contest every time. Her voice sounds weary with experience, yet also celebratory. She is indeed, as she proclaims in the biggest crowd pleaser of the night, “The First Lady of Rock.” Husband Doug Tibbles is so with it that he only needs two drums to keep the backbeat going, and son John Tibbles flexes his Barry Bonds-on-BALCO arms and creates a rumble that sounds like an 18-wheeler flying down the highway at night. The set is over way too quickly, but I’m just happy they finally played a show in the city. (Kevin Finn)
MIKE VIOLA’S MIX TAPE
Paradise Lounge
11/16/04
Tonight’s version of the Mix Tape is kind of low energy, but maybe that’s just me. Things start out well; Mike does a couple of songs solo with guitar, and he’s as tuneful and winning as ever. He is also in rare form tonight, extemporizing really good, clever stuff. Then Corin and Dave (Ashley and Aaronoff) come on for a few songs, first as a duo and then with their as-yet-unnamed band. (They joke that they’ve considered and rejected “Carly’s Hymen,” which I quite like.) I love Corin, and his songs are energetic and fun. I also really like Dave Aaronoff, but his material is slower and quieter, and I need some stronger stuff to keep me going tonight. It’s also mighty countrified, with pedal steel on several numbers, and that’s less to my taste.
Mike returns to introduce Francine, which is represented tonight only by Clayton and Steve, Francine’s singer/ guitarist and drummer. Since they have some difficulties getting set up, Mike favors us with a Beatles medley on piano and also an abstract/experimental pedal steel free jazz meditation. Then we get a few Francine songs. I find Clayton’s songwriting very high in quality, but low in energy, even with a full band. In this setting, tired as I am, they’re pretty deadly. (He defuses this somewhat by joking about it, but still.) And next up is Merrie Amsterburg, who has a lovely voice but also does really slow, low energy rootsy stuff. Her poignant reading of “Darling Clementine” is excellent, but not calculated to keep me awake. Finally, it’s time for the less structured goofy covers portion of the evening, delayed and compressed by the late start tonight. This is a shame, as tonight’s theme (“Dream”) has a lot of promise. But the combination of J.Po and Corin on the same stage is a match made in high harmony heaven. Probably my favorite bit tonight is Crowded House’s “Don’t Dream It’s Over.” (Steve Gisselbrecht)
THE PIXIES
Tweeter Center, Camden, NJ
12/02/04
The first time I heard of The Pixies was back in the nineties going through my sister’s record collection. I didn’t like anything my sister liked so I knew I’d probably hate them too. Little did I know, in the next few years, this band would dominate my music collection and become like an addiction. I never got to see The Pixies, as they had long since called it quits by the time I hit the scene, so I was full on blowing a load when I heard about this reunion tour. Why were they waiting so long (so long, so long, you never wait so long!) to announce a show in Boston? Well here comes your man. Not willing to take the chance of missing them, I decided to pack up and drive down. They did “Wave” and “Velouria,” “Gouge Away,” and “Cactus” all note for note, all perfect. Each song I recognized in the first bar, as they had been engrained them in my cerebellum for years. With mixed feelings, I thought the set they were playing could have easily been cut right out of one of the many bootlegs I’ve collected over the years. I thought these guys would at least be a little livelier on stage, as they had won a 2004 Boston Music Award for “Act of the Year” and recently been nominated for an Xfm award for “Best Live Band in 2004.” With the exception of a false start and some inter-band joking during “Head On,” the whole time there was barely any movement or interaction between the band at all. No matter, it was still great to hear the songs that meant so much to me. I hope they don’t go away again because I’d like to come back soon… but with a few new tunes to mix it up. (Kier Byrnes)
THE DENTS, ANDREA GILLIS
The Abbey Lounge
11/17/04
I’m having a bit of a rough week, so I show up very tired. Tonight, however, I am provided with appropriate entertainment for maintaining my energy level. Andrea Gillis is a powerhouse rock and roll howler of the Old School. She has assembled a band that can play this style with grace and flair, wowing us with audio pyrotechnics as needed and getting the hell out of the way when Andrea really gets going, as she does on almost every song. There’s, like, one slow song, and it’s a soulful beauty, but most of it is wild, rootsy fare. The keyboard player sings some dynamite harmonies, too. There is a two-piece horn section off to the side of the stage, but since they don’t have microphones, it’s nearly impossible to tell that they are playing at all, much less what they’re playing.
Next are The Dents, and if Andrea had energy enough to keep me up, The Dents have almost enough to do me in. They have a new drummer since I last saw them, and he’s perfect. He’s not all that flashy or creative, but if he were, it would be inappropriate. These are upbeat, tuneful punk songs, fast and furious with the guitar solo coming after the second chorus like clockwork, and anything more than really good fills around the basic 4/4 beats would be overplaying. The bass amp cuts out during an early song, leaving Jen to attempt patter while they try to fix it; her patter is a little awkward, but is made endearing by her obvious “Fuck this, I don’t do patter” attitude. Aside from that, it’s a pretty flawless set. (Steve Gisselbrecht)
BOSTON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA
Symphony Hall
1/7/05
FLUTTR, HUMAN SHIELD, THE LOTHARS
Mobius
11/20/04
The Lothars bill themselves as The Only Theremin Ensemble That Matters, and since I haven’t heard of any other theremin ensembles taking exception to the claim, I say we give it to them. Tonight they are two theremins, one hammered dulcimer, and a flautist who also runs a lot of electronics (including the mixing board, which explains why the dulcimer is nigh-inaudible). The electronics unfortunately include some canned rhythms, but they are fortunately used sparingly. The theremins are both put through a bunch of effects, and if you’ve never heard a theremin with delay on it, you’re missing out. I mean, they’re spacey enough by themselves. You can just imagine. The overall effect is VERY trippy and ambient, and I’d actually like to hear a bit more structure from time to time, but it’s weird and different and arty as fuck, which makes it perfect for its environment.
Human Shield is certainly weird and different, and even arty in a deep way, but it’s not really perfect for this environment. Or maybe it is; maybe what this crowd of non-dancing art connoisseurs really needs right now is to be screamed at (“Is it good to be an art fag?!?”) and body-checked by a shirtless man with abundant back hair and a microphone. (I discover that, while it might be totally rock ‘n’ roll to have your drink spilled all over you by the singer when it’s beer, it’s much less so if it’s orange soda.) With all this crazed screaming and floor-clearing, it takes me a while to notice that the rhythm section is really good. Dual drummers set up a powerful beat, and the bassist (who starts out playing in oven mitts, for which two thumbs up) is fast and intricate and great. The guitars are a weird, noisy stew over the top.
Fluttr is a vastly better fit for this crowd. This isn’t exactly a real music venue, so there are some sound issues here, too, which manifest mainly as the singer failing to get any monitor at all. The only way we know this, though, is that she keeps asking for monitor; there are no sour notes. Fluttr are both arty and engaging, ethereal and visceral. The drumming is powerful and complicated, and the cello is surprisingly fierce. The guitar and marimba interplay is phenomenal, like we’ve all been waiting all our lives for someone to show us that guitar and marimba are supposed to be played together. Sometimes the singer gets a bit theatrical for my tastes, but that’s really just a case of something that’s basically good being taken over the top, and I rarely complain about over-the-top. (Steve Gisselbrecht)
UPPER CRUST, THE WORLD’S GREATEST SINNERS
The Overdraught
12/31/04
The World Greatest Sinners play rock ‘n’ roll with a bit of soul: good dance music, even though nobody dances. Mostly little known covers, at least I think they are, with the exception of “Mess Around,” familiar from the recent Ray Charles movie. The lead singer, Jordan Valentine, dominates the stage visually and engages the audience with easy movement and a wonderfully expressive face. Too bad you can’t hear her. She is so overpowered by the instruments that you only get a hint of what might be a deep, rich voice. I can’t be sure, but she may even have growled a few times.
Have to admit, Upper Crust’s type of hard rock wouldn’t be my regular choice of music, but the show these guys put on makes it work, even for me. They arrive on stage in white wigs and face powder just in time to express surprise in haughty English accent about the unusual time keeping device counting down to midnight. The new year begins with “Let Them Eat Rock,” and continues with plenty of crowd favorites—a group of faithfuls in the front seemed to know every word. They even get me dancing, albeit in place. The lead singer, Lord Bendover, gives fabulous face. I could have watched him look down his nose at us through the entire show except that he turns around occasionally for a drink and treats us to glimpses of his perfect little butt in his skin-tight velvet knickers—providing perfectly discernible contours. (Veronica Fox)
TWO VIEW REVIEW
THE PIXIES, MISSION OF BURMA
UMass Amherst-Mullins Center
11/30/04
Here’s the lowdown: Two “legendary” Boston bands together on one stage after successful reunifications. In short, you could say:
Burma equals classy; Pixies equal gassy.
What an overrated band The Pixies were/ are. So they wrote a couple of good tunes with some “hooks”—they wouldn’t have meant shit had they not worked with decent producers back in the day. And at tonight’s performance, which includes cheesy fog/ smoke, a backdrop that looks like a low-rent set from Dr. Who, and a stage manner that makes The Cars look like a hardcore act, it is clear the band is just going through the motions. It doesn’t say much either when the best song is a cover (Jesus and Mary Chain’s “Head On”). Alarmingly, the little college teenyboppers freak out at The Pixies like it was the second fucking coming of Cobain, yet just kind of stare vacantly at the stage when Burma are on (who play an AMAZING set, full of the energy and vitality The Pixies completely lack), the highlights being great versions of “Trem Two,” “Wounded World” and “Absent Mind.” Overheard after Burma plays an awesome version of “Revolver”: “Hey, that was a Moby cover!” Ignorance is bliss for some people. It’s obvious The Pixies reformed for the money: not to hold that against them, but at least some conviction during their set would have been refreshing. They should take a lesson or two from MoB, as Burma totally blew them off the stage, even though they are “opening” and only play a roughly 45 minute set that is worth the two hour drive. Intelligent songwriting, passion, and variation always beats boring, formulaic bombast, hands-down. Glad to have you back, Burma. Pixies: stay in LA, hang out with Axl Rose, and enjoy the sun, food, earthquakes, mudslides, etc… (Chris Pearson)
THE PIXIES, MISSION OF BURMA
Tsongas Arena
12/1/04
It is a night to remember for those who go to see the return of two local punk giants. To open the show, The Bennies, I was told, after getting in a bit late, provides a good ignition for the fiery bands to come.
The frustration and anger in Mission of Burma’s political and socially charged punk is just as timely today as it was 20 years ago when Burma churned out sounds inspired by the likes of The Clash, Ramones, and Sex Pistols. They ravage through their short, but searing set, infecting everyone and refreshing memories to the rage and truth of the punk message. Clint Conley says, “The Pixies wanted us here so we could make them look young.” MoB still provides high-octane fuel for the hordes to dance wildly while feeding the intellect with calls for revolution and action against the establishment. “Once I had my heroes/ Once I had my dreams/ But all of that is changed now/ They’ve turned things inside out/ The truth is not that comfortable, no/ That’s when I reach for my revolver,” sings Conley.
The Pixies scorch through “Debaser” from Doolittle and Tromp Le Monde’s homage to their UMASS-Amherst days to “Broken Face” from Surfer Rosa. They whip the crowd into an orgasmic frenzy barely allowing time to catch a breath before ripping another hole in our heads. Twenty-somethings in the crowd, like Pi guy (a scientist with the pi tattoo factored out to 90 places on his arm), his lovely girlfriend, and his gorgeous sister, are just as hardcore as original fans. They know the words and are highly charged. Another lovely young lass with the “tattooed tit say number 13” still vibrates long after the show. Contorting her body in perfect rhythm to the screeching sounds, the co-ed stops only when she spins into the arms of the pleasantly surprised writer. The Pixies leave the stage asking, “Where is My Mind?” Ours are yanked out scrambled, stomped, on and lovingly slammed back into the skull. We will never be the same. (Rick Dumont)
PETE HENDERSON
Stone’s Publick House
Ashland, MA
1/1/05
THE DUCKY BOYS, THE MARVELS, AVOID ONE THING, FAR FROM FINISHED
T.T. The Bear’s
12/10/04
There’s nothing like a night of quality punk rock to make you forget you’ve just entered the last year of your 20s. I walk into T.T.’s somewhere in the middle of Far From Finished’s set, and despite it not yet being 10:00, the room is pretty packed. I immediately recognize them as a band that I’ve seen before. I’m not feeling them as much as most of the crowd, but I notice some serious improvements since I saw them about a year ago when they seemed to have a little too much of an early Dropkick Murphys fixation. The band is tighter and their sound is grittier. The hooks are still there, but being aggressive serves them better than being overtly catchy. Unlike most of the audience, I don’t think Far From Finished is all the way there yet, but they could be before too long.
Avoid One Thing is up next, and I’m always struck by how happy Joe looks playing to crowds that are small fractions of what he played to with the Bosstones. And he should look happy because the band once again sounds great. I’m not hearing as much of Amy’s guitar as I’d like to, but Johnny is pounding the skins ferociously, which combined with the rumble of Joe’s bass has my insides pounding in a very pleasant way. A couple years ago, AOT was pretty much a straight up punk band, but now they’re letting other influences show. “Next Stop Is the Last Stop” would have fit nicely in the Pixies set I caught the night before. But the real show stopper is “Watching Us Anyway,” which builds a tension you keep expecting to release, but keeps holding off until finally Joe lets out a holler; Amy’s guitar kicks into overdrive, and Johnny’s beats come crashing down. It’s a cathartic moment from an underappreciated band.
This is only the second time I’ve seen The Marvels, which only goes to prove that I’m not getting any wiser with age. By their appearance and their stage presence, they seem to want you to think hat they’re a messy garage punk band. But despite Staffy belting out songs about being drunk and ugly, his band is way, way too tight for that simple a designation. They squeeze about 135 songs into their set, and I love every one of them. I love how Staffy looks like he’s going to fall off the stage at least once per song; I love the way Michelle and the others shout along to the choruses, and I love how Jesse’s drumming keeps it all glued together. “Sorry” will be in my head for at least a week, and the Marvels get bonus points for being smart enough not to try to make their U2 cover sound anything like the original. Even better, their version of “I Will Follow” comes across as sincere, not ironic or condescending, as too many punk covers do.
Who better to top off a night this good than The Ducky Boys, the band that many consider the face of Boston punk? I’m pretty tired at this point, and I have to work tomorrow, but there’s no way I’m leaving. That said, I move toward the back of the room, which for my old bones turns out to be a good move, as the crowd is rapturous, full of testosterone and more or less teetering on the edge of chaos. At the club’s behest, Mark and the boys instruct everyone to take it easy. Everyone behaves, although some are somewhat reluctant, as when the band rips into the anthemic “I’ll Rise Up”, some dude I’ve never spoken to tells me “this is usually about when I slug someone.” He, of course, meant it in a friendly way, as songs like “I’ve Got My Friends” act as unifiers with every voice in the club singing along. The most impressive thing about the set is while it’s definitely punk rock, the Ducky Boys are smart enough to mix in touches of hardcore, Social D’s swing and even some pop. A good ending to a good night. (Kevin Finn)
TWO VIEW REVIEW
THE CHUBBS, NOBODY’S HEROES, THE SPOILERS
The Beachcomber, Quincy
12/23/04
Two days before Christmas and it’s torrential rain and I’m riding along Wollaston Beach, rain coming off the ocean. No visibility, hey, the other drivers can’t see either so it’s all fair. Driving in a rainy fog with a pleasantly fogged mind after a couple of scotches and Rolling Rocks. Rolling along on our way to the Beachcomber for punk rock, me and Mrs. Slimedog, Slimey, our cat, stayed home.
Christmas, the time of year when anyone who isn’t or hasn’t had the storybook-American family-upbringing feels disconnected and disenchanted from this holiday mirth. This religious holiday and money being our religion, we pray at the retail stores. But, hey, it’s a good excuse to party.
“I want to thank all the other bands for coming out to see us play,” the Spoilers’ guitarist says, referring to the small turnout. It’s the weather and maybe a venue more known for its bad pizza and Irish music. The Spoilers are two boys, two girls. The more aggressive gender (girls) consists of the singer/ guitarist and drummer. They play the kind of punk that sounds more like the ’70s style to these old ears—when not being proficient wasn’t a drawback in expressing oneself. (ln fact, it was a plus.) The drummer, though not technically great, has a style that fits the music perfectly. The singer has a nice whiney, snarling voice that recalls a great band—The Avengers. Two thumbs up my ass, Roger, on this band.
Nobody’s Heroes starts with the bass player warming up playing “Beat It” and “Summer Love” of the Grease soundtrack. I would’ve loved to hear these songs in their entirety but what follows is still pretty swell: full throttle punk rock with Bernie Nobody’s eyes rolling up into the back of his head each time he moves toward the mic. Mrs. Slimedog is quite alarmed but with a frequent theme of insanity in the songs, it fits quite well. “I’m in Therapy” and “Retard Retard” are two of my faves. During the chorus of “Retard Retard,” I sing along in my seat while pointing a finger to my head at each syllable. My wife nods in agreement to this gesture. As the set gains momentum, they do a song called “Merry Fuck’n’ Christmas,” jolly in the traditional Christmas spirit.
The Chubbs are four guys laying down the punk in an equally righteous way. Check them out (and other local punk bands); they’re almost all doing things right. I entreat you. (Slimedog)
THE CHUBBS, THE DIMWITS, NOBODY’S HEROES,
THE SPOILERS
The Beachcomber, Quincy
12/23/04
I love the Beachcomber. It reminds me of going to the Foxboro VFW with my Dad when I was 6. The ceiling is too low, the walls are too dark, the tables are too close together, and the men’s room smells worse than one of those portable outhouses at the Marshfield Fair. It’s absolutely perfect. Especially on a cold, rainy night like this. The fact that I arrived early enough to avoid paying the $5 cover charge only makes it that much better. As The Spoilers take the stage and tear into their set of short but poignant songs, I can tell it’s gonna be a good night. When the opening act is this much fun, can what follows possibly be anything less? As it turns out, The Spoilers actually play the best set of the night. They’re a four piece, girl drummer, girl lead singer/ rhythm guitarist, boy lead guitarist, boy bassist. The singer has a strong, emotive voice, and the band plays exactly the kind of hook-filled punk I like the best. I expect you’ll be hearing more about The Spoilers in the next year or so.
Next is Nobody’s Heroes, who play fast, tight, Ramones-style punk. They’ve apparently been using a new bassist, the guy from The Dimwits, and while he’s a fine player, it seems he still doesn’t know all the arrangements. But they sound good despite the occasional mistake from him. Meanwhile, front man Bernie has an endearing, understated kind of charm, which doesn’t exactly fit the punk image but works anyway. He sings about stuff right out of his own life with no artifice, no poetic turns of phrase. Just the facts, ma’am, like if Joe Friday had been a punk. Nobody’s Heroes are pretty much the perfect party band. Go see ’em.
The Dimwits step up next, and they’re not exactly my kind of band. The first thing that bugs me, as irrational as I know this is, is that the lead singer doesn’t play an instrument. Instead he stalks around the otherwise empty dance floor with the microphone in one hand and the microphone cord wrapped around the other hand. He doesn’t sing so much as bark his nihilistic lyrics into the air, while the other four Dimwits do a fine imitation of The Ramones (although not quite as convincing as Nobody’s Heroes just did). I’m probably just not understanding though, because the rest of the audience seems to be enjoying it just fine. Which reminds me that I wanted to mention that, besides myself, my friend Vinny, a few Quincy townies, and Lenny Lashley, there’s nobody in the audience other than the members of the other bands on the bill. I know it’s two nights before Christmas, and it’s a lousy, rainy night, but c’mon, even a mediocre band like The Dimwits is more entertaining than whatever’s on Fox TV.
Last up is The Chubbs, who prove once again that experience definitely counts for something. While they don’t quite have the charm of Nobody’s Heroes, or as good songs as The Spoilers, the fact that they play such a tight, well-rehearsed set puts them on a different level than the rest of tonight’s bands. It should come as no surprise that their lead singer is wearing a Ramones T-shirt; the whole night has seemed like an informal tribute. After ripping through a collection of three minute, three-chord gems, they bring the evening to a perfectly appropriate climax by launching into an extended version of “Louie, Louie.” I think every band should play “Louie, Louie” (or, at least, “Woolly Bully”) every time out. As we leave, the rain has just ended. It’s a good night. (Brian Mosher)
We get lots of calls from bands asking for coverage of their live shows. Please be advised that shows are never assigned for review. Noise writers cover what they choose to attend. It’s logistically impossible to honor or acknowledge these requests. The Noise has always had its ears closest to the ground in greater Boston. If you’re doing something even remotely exceptional, we’ll be the first to tell the world. If you’re horrible, same thing.
COURTNEY SWAIN: THE BROAD STROKES OF IMAGINATION 
