July 2003 Show Reviews

Crash Radio
The Waking Hours
Slowreader
Smile
May 16, 2003 @ Chain Reaction (Anaheim, CA)
By Kathleen Rivas

   Friday nights at Chain Reaction are always interesting. Tonight's line-up fit well together, with the exception of Crash Radio. Crash Radio, whom I came to love so dearly for their on-stage antics, lacked impressive songs and a memorable rhythm. Unsteadily fast and intensive, their style is best for a crowd that will be at Home Grown's upcoming tour, on which Crash Radio is an opening band.
Up next were The Waking Hours. I respect this band because they've been together for a while and have managed to maintain a fresh sound throughout (including on their newest release, THE GOOD WAY). The Waking Hours have had their share of temporary drummers, but they've finally settled in with Phil. He delivered a solid performance - especially considering he's been in the band for about a week. Lead singer Tom Richards and rhythm guitarist Ricky Tubb never fail to project good vocals throughout each show, most clearly showcased during "Hearts". Bassist Lisa Mychols kept skipping from one side of the stage to the other. During the song "Sunshine", she had to run back to the mic, missing her vocal cue. The Waking Hours are non-stop entertainment.

    Slowreader (featuring Gabe and Rory from The Impossibles) took the stage to perform their smooth, mellow songs mixed with a couple of impassioned guitar riffs. This was my first time seeing them live, but I soon became aware of Slowreader's keen ability to develop tasteful and melodic music. A crowd favorite that stood out was "Politics, Music, & Drugs", which had everyone singing along. With a good-sized fan base, Slowreader have been gaining momentum in their musical career, recently opening at Ozma's CD-release show.
Influential quartet Smile came up next to deliver their last all-ages show. As usual, Smile performed with the passion and intensity that their dedicated fans have all come to love. Lead singer Micheal Rosas, bassist Bob Thomason, drummer James Fletcher, and synthesizer magician Matthew Fletcher gave it their all. Songs such as "She Took Everything" and "Instant Brain Damage" had everyone dancing. No one left the show without having at least one drip of sweat running down their forehead.

Jet City Fix
Camarosmith
Hagfish
Zeke
May 29th, 2003 @ the Casbah (San Diego, CA)
By Angela Brandt

    The bottom line on this show is that it was a bizarre mix, but it worked. The main things these bands had in common were booze and rock-star poses.

    The show started with Jet City Fix. This Seattle band played loud and energetic rock 'n' roll. The lead singer shook pelvis (clad in tight jeans) while the guitarists did synchronized lifts and poses. More frail-looking and stylish than a lot of the crowd, JCF still rocked with their shag haircuts in a heartfelt and real way. They were flashy, but it was not overdone. They did have some competition for attention when a woman was worked into a frenzy by the band's grooves and started gyrating to the music, then upped it a notch by violently spinning around in circles and flailing her arms. This inspired the lighting guy to turn on the strobe light as she ended her dance by writhing around on the dance floor in front of the stage. The rest of the crowd lined the walls and stood with their arms crossed and giggled at the woman's somewhat impressive moves. The band snickered a few times at the display, not upset with her stealing some of their thunder with her stripper-like contortions. The only part that wasn't rock 'n' roll was the fact that the singer was sipping hot tea as they played. Other than that, they had all of the bases covered: talented musicians who looked like they were enjoying themselves, good stage presence, and a cheetah-print drum kit.

    Next came Camarosmith, who were a different type of rock, especially with the over-the-top sexuality of lead singer/harmonica player Ben "Devil" Rew. Ben was dressed in skin-tight bellbottoms, a "kiss my ass" belt buckle, and had a coif of long, dirty-blond hair, complete with mutton-chops that would rival those of fat Elvis. "I'm dirty and on my way to being drunk," announced Ben as he chugged from a bottle of Stoly vodka. After proclaiming his horniness, he warned everybody heading back toward the bathroom to watch out because "a hole's a hole." They also encouraged the crowd to respond to every song by flipping them off. Along with middle fingers in the air, there were an almost equal amount of devil signs. There were also phallic rock-star poses with guitars, mic stands—whatever they could rub their crotches on and draw attention to their genitals. The music and stage show were testosterone-filled and cocky, but so exaggerated and almost cartoonish that it made them almost lovable in that scraggly, homeless puppy dog humping your leg sort of way. They're so lewd and vile that you can't help but be charmed. The band has two members from the headliners (namely, the drummer and bass player) and is the mellower, '70s-inspired stoner-rock side of the speed and aggression of Zeke. They are much better live than their self-titled debut (which is reminiscent of early Soundgarden), which does not capture their energy and passion. The singer's antics were worthy of their own show, so when you add the head-banging-inducing tunes, you got yourself a rock 'n' roll show. "It's 2003—you can headbang," the singer ensured the crowd.

   " Who are these fags in suits playing poppy stuff?" the guitarist of Hagfish asked as they took the stage. Hagfish had broken up for a few years and just got back together. They were an odd addition to this bill, playing the show on a night off from touring with Pulley. The members were all wearing matching suits and the guitarists and bass player even had matching bald heads. The whole style of music and visuals were in complete contrast to Camarosmith and Zeke. The guitarist had a silver glitter guitar, complete with a "bad motherfucker" strap. Their drummer was quite a spectacle, as he did drumstick twirls and tosses high into the air. Their songs were catchy, with many sing-along choruses(in one leading the crowd in singing "motherfucker" over and over again). Most of the Zeke crowd was out in the patio during Hagfish—and the guitarist encouraged them to remain out there and "talk about cars or something." Those fans who obviously came to see Hagfish were singing along to every older song and dancing to their new ones. The guitarist said that all of their songs were about fucking. The singer responded, "It's been a while." This was not very rock star—unless he was pulling for sympathy and a pity fuck.

    Zeke came out looking like they had just finished working on their cars with dirty, worn jeans (and not in that purposely-abused Urban Outfitters way), black T-shirts, Zeke tattoos, and motorcycle boots. The crowd went nuts as the band went from one short, hard-rockin' song to the next. The Seattle band didn't have much stage banter—aside from bickering over the set list. But there was no brawling—which caused the band to break up in early 2002. Don E. Paycheck (drums), Jeff Matz (bass), and Marky Felchtone (vocals and guitar) played tunes that are featured on their latest release, LIVE AND UNCENSORED, a retrospective put out on Dead Teenager Records. They rocked such favorites as "Wanna Fuck" and "West Seattle Acid Party". The fans could not get enough of the band and kept yelling for more songs after Zeke left the stage, so Marky came out and did an ad-libbed slow song about Camarosmith and a few other things. The crowd reacted in a variety of ways: some made their way to the door, others cheered, some booed. After a few minutes Marky gave up and left the stage, although the die-hard fans continued to cheer for more.

The Fleshies
Sexy
Tommy Lasorda
Donny Vomit
E.S.O.
June 5, 2003 @ the American Legion Hall (Norman, OK)
By H. Barry Zimmerman

    I sat on my front porch waiting for my man Mike to come and pick me up. The TV weather studs were talking up the possibility of tornadoes north of here. Lightening flashed in the distance, and there was that gyrating energy associated with high-octane storm systems swirling all around me. Storms were the first rock shows—free admission. I imagine the aborigines moshing in the primordial pit, beating the ground with grunting lyric. Mike arrived, and we cruised to the American Legion Hall, a brick building on Main Street, in the residential area of the east side of town. The floor is faded blonde wood. The walls are big brown stones in W.P.A. fashion with sections of wood paneling. On the paneling is hung hundreds of pictures of local war veterans. This room has a serious punk-rock history. Some of the many bands that have played here are Black Flag, Husker Du, D.R.I., Defenestration, Diet of Worms, and The Flaming Lips. The crowd is fairly small; the university is on summer break, and there wasn't a great deal of advertisement. I was excited to see The Fleshies. THE SICILIAN, their latest disc, is great.

    Up first was Norman's own E.S.O. (known to followers of the local digs as The Electric Shit Orchestra). E.S.O. plays hard, straight-up garage rock, ripping the molecules raw. This group has been together for only seven months, but their sound is highly developed and powerful. I see a lot of bands out there, and some of them are jokes, some are posing...but some are doing it with sweat and nuts, blasting the other groups to smithereens. E.S.O. is one of those bands.

   Next up was one of Norman's star weirdoes, Donny Vomit. I'm glad that we have a Donny Vomit in town. Donny is not a magician, Donny is a prop comic with a freakshow streak. Donny walked on broken glass, got his tongue stuck in a mousetrap, lay on a bed of nails, and got his hand caught in a raccoon trap. He ended his ride by swallowing a very long balloon and popping it while it was still inside. But what makes Donny Vomit so great are his skills as his own master of ceremonies. He is funny, and funny is harder to do than any sideshow bit known to man.

    The next two bands were both duos—one member on drums, the other on guitar. The first group was called Sexy. Sexy was as drunk as the 2:20 a.m. crowd at Denny's. The twosome's performance was like some frantic testimony to waywardness. The second duo, Tommy Lasorda, was a bit more poppy and sported great white-man fros. Both groups seemed talented and cool; however, the two-man shtick that these Bay Area bands were trying to pull off is a tough one. The two-member rock group idea goes way back to (as far as I know) Hot Tuna; and today's model is The White Stripes. Neither Sexy nor Tommy Lasorda were up to either standard; still, both groups were entertaining.

    The final band of the evening was Alternative Tentacles' bad-ass, cool rockers The Fleshies. The Fleshies are another Bay Area band with loads of muscle. The band came out and exploded non-stop for a solid hour, being loud, obnoxious, and tight. This was BIG TIME rock on parade. Lead singer Johnny No Moniker was a bona fide insane maniac. He literally attacked the audience throughout the set, mounting unsuspecting members of the audience, taking them to the ground, and spanking them—singing all the while. The Fleshies tore it up. When they were done, the stage area looked as though there had been an enormous brawl. I was floored. For more information on The Fleshies, see www.alternatvetentacles.com (say hello to Jello). For more information about what is going in Oklahoma, check out www.oklahomapunkscene.com.

    During the show the rain had punished the earth with thick, mile-long drops, but there were no tornadoes. When the show was over, the humidity was left behind—and very much in-charge. I lay down on the couch when I got home and drifted away to sleep. I dreamed of the touring punks on couches and floors across America, living the rock 'n' roll life/dream, living like Jack Kerouac with a guitar-shaped guide wind. I love that notion of the dreamers in their dream. Here's to those who keep the dream meaningful by living it. Cheers.

BUZZCOCKS
JOHNNY TALENT
GOD AWFULS
June 6, 2003 @ the El Rey Theatre (Los Angeles, CA)
By Marcus Solomon

   " They played all the good stuff," said my buddy Mike as we exited the theatre happily drenched in sweat while still enjoying the after-gig buzz. I could feel the lumps on the back of my head, souvenirs of another epic show. To experience Buzzcocks live should be on your "to do" list, as this is one of the few remaining seminal punk bands that is as good today as it ever was. While driving home, Mike said, "Dude, I was so excited that I almost passed out before the show even started!" I noticed many people excitedly screaming and jumping about during the suspenseful moment before the headliner took the stage. When Pete Shelley and crew finally appeared, there was a wave euphoria that continued to flow until the end of the evening.

    First on the agenda was The God Awfuls. Excellent musicians with lots of energy and enthusiasm, but a bit too clean and generic for my personal taste. I was often reminded of Rancid and The Stitches, with a bit of NOFX in the mix. This band is generally more aggressive in delivery, but in a painful sort of way. Maybe it had something to do with the sound mixing, as I found the higher notes were physically painful. It may also be possible that I am feeling the effects of hearing damage due to over 20 years of attending loud concerts. Regardless, whenever a band displays choreographed moves, I recoil and think, "Eww! Don't do that!" Also, I don't think anyone is entitled to shout "Oi! Oi!" unless they are working-class Brits. (As working-class Americans, perhaps we should chant "Oil! Oil!") Many of the hooks and melodies were indeed catchy, and I also liked the truthful and thought-out lyrics. Example: "The American dream is the American lie / For a million wastes of space!" Another positive factor is the band's ability to skillfully work tempo changes. And the girlies love them because they are so cute. I guess KROQ is playing The God Awfuls now. Was The God Awfuls god-awful? No, far from it. Did the crowd love them? Yes, that appeared to be the case. For mo' info, go to www.kungfurecords.com.
Michael J. Fox on crack—complete with Parkinson's disease—has a band called Billy Talent. Just kidding. Billy Talent is a great band from the Great White North (a.k.a. Canada) that is fortunate enough to be playing just before the almighty Buzzcocks. Vocalist Benjamin Kowalewicz has a very unique delivery, with such frightening intensity that I honestly thought he might have an aneurysm. I love the advance promo CD, so that confirms something was WRONG with the sound mix: the vocals were so shrill that I was driven outside reeling with cranial pain. Damn, the music was great, though! Talent delivers melodic aggressiveness without most of the trite and homogenized elements that infect "alternative" music today. Maybe the major labels are once again discovering the marketability of genuine creativity, as the band has recently signed to Atlantic Records. After the show, the band members told me the name "Billy Talent" is a reference to a character in a movie (I forgot what it was). Visit the Website at www.billytalent.com and hear everyone's favorite, "Try Honestly".
" BUZZCOCKS! BUZZCOCKS! BUZZCOCKS!" The crowd chanted in unison. Many were jumping around and yelling wildly—even though the band had not yet appeared. Mike and I pressed our way through the tight pack of fans until we were only three persons away from the front; and by the end of the show we were front and center. We did not have to wait long until the music started with "Boredom", which was a conscious nod to the early days, when this song was first released in 1977 on the self-produced SPIRAL SCRATCH EP. (This was the first self-produced punk product EVER. Write that down!) Pete and the boys launched right into "Fast Cars", another golden oldie (first released in May '78). At this point, my memory becomes jumbled, as the frenzied heat and constant bashing created a state of confused exhilaration. Each song was followed directly by the next, with virtually no banter between numbers. Occasionally guitarist Steve Diggle would exclaim something before a new song began, but he sounded like a Brit version of the adults in Charlie Brown cartoons. We all shouted "YEAH!" anyway. I do remember singling along to the lyrics that many knew so well: "I got this crazy current / Gets into my underwear / And when it really connects / I come and go everywhere" (from "Love Battery). Sometimes a person would suddenly grab me and bellow the words right into my face. It seemed like we were regurgitating the sonic spirit into each other's mouths like demented, pogoing punk penguins—and NO, I was not high on drugs. However, I was very much high on the experience of communal musical euphoria. I wish I had been on drugs, because it would have made the idiot crowd-surfers tolerable. I don't mind stage-diving and crowd-surfing, but apparently this bunch had never attended Punk Rock Etiquette 101. Most who chose to do the crowd-surf thing were fat-ass dickheads who thought it necessary to deliberately and repeatedly kick people in the head. I took the opportunity to punch these obese morons in the balls every chance I got. I wish the crowd-surfing mullet-head Chola lesbian had balls so I could have punched those also (no offense to Chola lesbians intended, you hotas). The whole set lasted about an hour-and-a-half, including one encore. Don't you wish you were there to hear "Mad Mad Judy", "Noise Annoys", "I Believe", and so many other Buzzcocks' creations? Mixed in with the old favorites were selections from the new (untitled) release, including "Jerk" and "Morning After". Judging from these new tunes, the newest record is much better than the last, disappointing release, 1993's MODERN. Feh! That one gets a C, while the newest gets a solid A. The main set ended in a rather creative way: while the audience sustained the chorus of "There is no love in this world anymoooore," Mr. Shelley quietly laid his guitar on the stand and walked away while the rest continued playing. A few moments later, Mr. Diggle did the same, soon followed by bassist Tony Barber, leaving only Phil Barker on drums and audience chanting. Slowly, Mr. Barker decreased the volume and tempo of his playing. Finally, all that remained was the fans still singing the chorus. It was a simple and effective exit. The encore consisted of "What Do I Get?", "Love You More", "Orgasm Addict" (a sure crowd-pleaser), and finally the archetypal "Ever Fallen in Love". Show's over! Now go home.

The Flaming Lips
Liz Phair
The Starlight Mints
June 9, 2003 @ the Oklahoma City Events Center (Oklahoma City, OK)
By H. Barry Zimmerman

    The Flaming Lips have spent the last 20 years making highly creative albums and working their way to earning the title of the greatest band on Earth. And while I love all of their periods of development, it is clear that The Flaming Lips have entered a period of enlightenment. The last two discs, THE SOFT PARADE (1999) and YOSHIMI BATTLES THE PINK ROBOTS (2002) are pieces of absolute brilliance. And as the recordings have evolved, so have the live performances. In the early days The Flaming Lips shows were raw volume tests of rock 'n' roll promiscuity, full of feedback wailing and setting the drums on fire. Now the shows are Fellini carnivals sprinkled with magical moments from children's TV. It's bizarre family entertainment.

    The Flaming Lips (Wayne Coyne, Steven Drozd, and Michael Ivins) have come home. Oklahoma City is where all of the madness began. There was a real extreme energy in the air. There were several people awkwardly standing about with V.I.P. tags around their necks who looked like someone's aunt or grandmother. This is a rocking night in Okieville, America. Oh my GAWD! It's The Flaming Lips!

    Me and my people caught the tail end of local breakout act The Starlight Mints. I was surprised at the degree to which the group was pulling off the new material from their highly-praised disc BUILT ON SQUARES. I have heard lots of moaning from the local rock scene about their shoddy, overpriced performances. Also, the album is very textured, with classic Beatlesque strings and cool sounds, by Chainsaw Kittens axe man Trent Bell. The Starlight Mints have obviously been working hard to get it together. It is also cool to see longtime scenester Alan Vest, (lead singer and guitarist; formerly of such classic Norman mid-'90s bands as Burnwagon and Shrinker) finally having his moment in the sun. The Starlight Mints sounded really good.

    When The Starlight Mints were done, I had a chance to look around. On stage was a hella big screen framed by enormous, primary-colored balloons. There were about two dozen balloons bouncing from crowd to ceiling. The place was stuffed and stacked full. Lots of young fans. The word spreads. The old fans lurked about. We're all very grateful to The Flaming Lips. The Flaming Lips are single-handedly re-spinning the image of Okie from backwoods cowpokes (e.g., Garth and Reba) to abstract genius rock weirdoes. Oklahoma hasn't been this cool since Woody Guthrie turned on Bob Dylan with concepts and points of view—who, in turn, took those treasures and explained to John Lennon that he should say something more with his music than "I Wanna Hold Your Hand". OOOOk-lahoma!

    Since the release of 1993's EXILE IN GUYVILLE, Liz Phair has been an indie-rock queen. She is still cool and still boy crazy, thank goodness. Suddenly the screen was full of Liz Phair's pretty face distorted with that psychedelic bubble effect (like you are seeing her through the world's largest peephole in the world's largest door). Her head was enormous. It was the attack of the 50-foot rock chick. She was joined on stage by an acoustic guitarist, while Ms. Phair played her Fender electric. As soon as they began playing it was obvious that this is the combination of instruments that makes up THE Liz Phair sound. She opened with a new song called "I'm Extraordinary" and worked her way through many favorites—including my personal #1 Liz Phair tune, "Supernova". She was a total pro. A lot of people could not have handled being so exposed on the big screen; she was very cool.
When The Flaming Lips frontman Wayne Coyne stepped out on stage smiling and pumping his fist in the air like a man who just hit the winning run, the crowd erupted with pride and anticipation. An introductory piece of driving music began as the big screen was filled with a topless woman dancing wildly and the words "Your Life / Will Change / Forever" in DANCE FEVER-style lettering. "It's / The Flaming Lips." At that point the balloon population in the Oklahoma City Events Center quadrupled. The energy was intoxicating. It was such an effective beginning, a real boiling-over moment. I got chills—and I'm sure I wasn't alone. Glitter fell from the sky, and the entire room erupted in a second of high-voltage theater. It was all that is good about drama. Ka-boom! Pow! Then The Flaming Lips broke into "Race for the Prize" from THE SOFT BULLETIN, and it was on. The Flaming Lips performed songs mainly from the last two discs, though they did reach back and do their MTV smash hit, "She Don't Use Jelly" (from 1993's TRANSMISSIONS FROM THE SATELLITE HEART). The Flaming Lips' stage team—in their now-classic animal costumes—were on either side of the stage waving long, thin balloons and shooting hand-held spotlights across the audience. The films continued throughout the show, working hand in hand with each song—so artistically cool. One of my favorite moments was a short public service announcement (without music) that went like this: A man goes into a bathroom stall, opens the top of his head (Note: this is a blatant tribute to the movies of Herschel Gordon Lewis), and removes a bit of brain. He puts the brain on the back of the toilet, chops it into lines with a credit card, and snorts it up. He then explodes. The message then reads "Don't Snort Your Own Brain / Relax / and Enjoy / The Flaming Lips." The big surprise of the evening was a killer version of Pink Floyd's classic "Breathe" from DARK SIDE OF THE MOON. Sweet! The Flaming Lips shows remain a spectacle. Wayne made a nun puppet sing. He organized a group rendition of the singing of "Happy Birthday" to five front-rowers. Wayne rehearsed the crowd for about five minutes so that we could get all of the names down. The crowd did pretty well: "Happy birthday, dear Becky, Elisa, Jenny, Mike, and Nathan...." Also, Wayne glowed happy. Every single time that I see him, be it on TV or in person, he is a poster boy for a positive outlook. He is a great rock star. He's not a bitcher or a pussy. He seems to radiate joy related to the fact that The Flaming Lips have arrived at the top of the mountain, where all is dreamy and rocking. Their massive creativity is obvious, as are their efforts to insure the absolute quality of each performance; and the hard work is paying off for everyone. You never feel cheated with The Flaming Lips. The group is spreading the message of John Lennon: love, peace, and personal evolution. What a show. What a night.

    On the other hand (every yin has its yang), this was corporate rock: $24 tickets...in the Oklahoma City Events Center, which is the worst-sounding room in Oklahoma. The building is an enormous concrete shoe box. The bass tones were squashed and choked, coming across as the ugly, gutless thud of a cheap car stereo overloaded with low-end rumblings. The entire aural experience ping-ponged around like the sound in a basketball gym. Lovely. Also, if you were not one of the deeply devoted, the in-between-every-song ramblings of Mr. Coyne would have gotten old. Most every Wayne-to-crowd chat lasted at least one to two minutes. He comes across like he thinks that he's on your couch explaining himself (as the water-pipe makes another round). And due to this casual, rambling approach, I can see how Wayne could seem to be in love with the sound of his own voice and/or concepts. But these complaints are all peripheral, really. When the music was playing, all was forgiven. Go and see The Flaming Lips. It'll do you good. Cheers.

Alkaline Trio
One Man Army
The Start
Paris Texas
June 12, 2003 @ the Glasshouse (Pomona, CA)
By Carlos Cuesta

    I was originally supposed to do an interview and show review with Alkaline Trio, but this time I had to settle for just a show a review—although I must say, a show review of Alkaline Trio is satisfying alone. I arrived at the Glasshouse to a sold-out show (with a number of people outside begging for extra tickets). Admittedly, I arrived late and was only able to catch the last few songs of opening act Paris Texas. I tried to gather what information I could about the band from friends who had been before me: all reports rated the band as poor, at best. Furthermore, despite the fact the show was sold out with a large crowd out front, the inside was relatively empty during Paris Texas.

    The next band up was The Start. The first time I heard about them they were playing Chain Reaction in Anaheim on a Wednesday night with minimal turnout. The press for the band stated that they just got off a tour with No Doubt. A band that toured with No Doubt has to be good, right? You'd think that, wouldn't you? But apparently this isn't the case. Their whole performance was marred by their singer's tireless efforts to get the crowd engaged. Ultimately, her efforts were unquestionably ineffective, and the band lacks charisma. They have energy, that's easy to see, but it's spastic, lacking a certain focus. I guess that's the biggest problem with this band. I don't know what they're trying to do with themselves when they're up on stage.

    One Man Army is a great punk band. I know some people call them generic (some going as far as to say they lack originality), but this is punk rock we're talking about here. They've got the two best ingredients any punk band can possess: catchy songs and the ability to sing along. Despite constant touring and several albums, One Many Army still remains under the radar, without the attention they deserve. I thought they were excellent precursor to Alkaline Trio and did a great job of warming up the crowd—a complete turnaround, as far as crowd participation goes, from the mess that The Start left.

    Finally, the main even of the night, Alkaline Trio took, the stage. They opened up to a chorus of dark music, fitting the image that Alk3 portrays. The first song of their set was "Maybe I'll Catch Fire". For those of you who have never had the opportunity to see Alk3 live, they're as good as they are on record and a true rock band in every sense. During the show two incidents stood out that proved Alk3 is a down-to-earth band. The first occurred halfway through the set when lead singer/guitarist Matt Skiba gave away his guitar to a fan in the crowd, leaving everyone else in the Glasshouse jealous. The second again involved Skiba, who threatened to "beat the shit" out of a man in front who kept spitting on him while he was playing. Basically, I learned two things about the band: they're non-materialistic (in accordance with true punk-rock ideals), and they're not afraid to kick the shit out anyone (even if they are in the middle of a sold-out show). Now that I've establish who Alk3 is as a band, a word needs to be said about their fans. As a testament to Alk3's diehard fan base, when the band's equipment broke down a few bars into "Armageddon", the crowd simply carried on without them. They sang "Armageddon" in time, on key, and without missing a single lyric, while the band tried desperately to get their guitars going again. The band finally got their gear together and carried on like nothing had ever happened. Throughout the set Alk3 played almost all their favorites, but absent from the set list was "Radio", which they almost always close with. This time around Alk3 closed with "Hell Yes" for their encore. For newer fans who may never have seen them play "Radio", it was disappointing; but it was a breath of fresh air for seasoned Alk3 fans.

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