I could be completely butchering the attribution and timing of this quote, but I believe sometime between The Downward Spiral and The Fragile, Trent Reznor told The New York Times that while he spent Nine Inch Nails’ Woodstock ‘94 set aware a deluge of rain had morphed into mud and rendered much of his equipment more-or-less useless, he had no idea how subpar NIN sounded until he got offstage. But the Woodstock crowd — like rock show audiences in general, Reznor mused — didn’t care about less-than pristine sound quality as long as they felt engaged. And when you’re swimming in mud, probably naked, possibly tripping, with “March of the Pigs” blasting in the background, then, well, if you hope to remain underwhelmed, lots of luck.
That insight also applies to much smaller contexts — specifically, every crappy punk band I saw between the years of 1998 and, roughly, 2006. Also, to the first three acts who plied their wares Saturday afternoon at the Middle East Upstairs, a show headlined by New Jersey punks Blanks 77.
DestrOi and Moose Knuckle might as well be the same band. But if you’ve never seen a guy with Misfits and Op Ivy tattoos and an absurd mohawk in leopard print pants singscream an anti-police song, then a pro-beer song, then stage dive ass-first onto the floor, then you’re missing a crucial cultural experience.
Inside sources tell Vanyaland that what was billed as The Murder — a street punk outfit that ceased official operations about five years ago — was conceived as a reunion of the mythic South Shore, Mass., punk cooperative Entrophy. But then Entrophy singer Nate Deviate remembered he can’t be in two places at once and decided to go to Burning Man instead. So, we wound up with an Entrophy/Murder hybrid whose set contained selections from both bands’ catalogues.
Unique among ‘90s punk throwbacks, Roach McKrackin and Juston Speed don’t still play Entrophy songs for a payday (there isn’t one), and (full-disclosure) I know those guys well enough to disqualify them for consideration as nostalgics. I think they just find it hilarious that they can still perform “20 More Years” more than 20 years after they wrote the kooky thing.
If Opposition Rising reminds you of Mouth Sewn Shut, that’s because they’re 75 percent the exact same lineup. Singer Bill Damon holds himself to a strict “no interviews” policy, so it’s difficult for us to determine why Mouth Sewn Shut essentially changed their name back in 2011. But given that Opposition Rising’s breakneck intensity on Saturday matched that of any Mouth Sewn Shut (or, going back further, Toxic Narcotic) performance I can recall, and last year’s Riot Starter EP handedly lives up to its pedigree, does it matter what they call themselves? If you think corporations are way lame (and who doesn’t? Those guys are assholes) and like to break stuff, then Opposition Rising could call themselves “Fluffy Bunnies Who Love to Snuggle and Give Each Other Cute Bunny Kisses” and remain your huckleberry.
Speaking of Mouth Sewn Shut, they used to routinely play shows with HUMANWINE, and that was a smart call. The former’s aggression sounded all-the-more blistering alongside the latter’s more ethereal sensibilities. Meanwhile, six bands who all deal in the same sonic trade, without offering much contrast, stacked on top of each other can grow wearisome. Especially if the noon start time mandated an earlier rise than at least one audience member (Hi!) was accustomed to. But New Jersey’s Parasitix weren’t letting anyone take a break. I thought I was safe from the mayhem in the big leather chair at the back of the Middle East; but nah, splashes of beer flung all the way from the stage via singer Paul Wilde still caught me in the face. Once in the eye.
On the brightside, Parasitix have mastered the art of the easy-to-remember chorus; crucial for inspiring audiences to sing-a-long to lyrics they might be hearing for the first time. I thought “Here To Stay” was a badass little tune until I found out it makes fun of AFI and Hot Topic in one of the verses. Now I hate that song. (Unless those specific references get changed to “Green Day” and “Urban Outfitters” or something akin. Then I’ll think it’s awesome again.)
Nonetheless, Parasitix deserve substantial credit for driving six straight hours to get to Cambridge on time, as did headliners Blanks 77. The quartet set up shop in 1990 and rode the wave of ‘90s punk revival through the rest of the decade. During that time and since, they’ve watched at least a few of their contemporaries become much, much wealthier, while their notoriety grew increasingly niche. If Blanks 77 were bitter out of their minds, we could hardly fault them for that.
Instead, they’re stoked to travel across a few states to make basically no money playing at 4 p.m. for 50 people, and refuse to half-ass a note of a performance that continued until the venue demanded Blanks 77 relinquish the stage. For supposed proprietors of nihilism, Blanks 77 demonstrate one heck of a positive mental attitude.
Follow Barry Thompson on Twitter at @barelytomson.
