Tuesday, April 08, 2008

a lesson in why it's dangerous to stray from punk rock.

Pissed Jeans, Empty Bottle, 4/5
working in a record shop with high-traffic sales centering around popular "indie" rock, WXRT adult alternative, and anything doted on by tastmaking Pitchfork reviews has slowly rocked me out of punk/hardcore/under-the-radar weirdness. to my absolute dismay, me and the DIY underground have become increasingly disconnected in the past 5 years. a lot of things can explain this, ie: the end of shows at the Fireside Bowl, growing older, having less expendable income for shows/records, working in an indie-rock stalemate, what have you.

regardless, punk/hardcore is in my heart forever and once in a while i manage to get back into the world and saturday at the Bottle was an instance of punk rock love reinstated. Pissed Jeans, notorious "post"-hardcore sludgey noisemakers (whose newest full-length is strangely out on Sub Pop), raged. they raged my face off, everyone's face off, shoes flying across the bar, maniacal punk raging, it's what i needed. after the first quarter of 2008 being a total shitsystem, rage is what i needed. i've forgotten how much the live experience of punk/hc has been an outlet for the inexplicable rage that has burned inside me since my tender preteen years, and disconnection from that has been problematic at best. all it takes is seeing a fucking righteous show. did i mention that Pissed Jeans' drummer is most definitely the best drummer in punk ever? fuck. did i mention that the singer moves about the stage in such a way that can only be compared to an insane version of Ian Curtis + Mick Jagger? shit. did i mention that the guitarist can make fast punk riffs AND loud noisey psych-y weirdness, like, at the same time? and it's all hollering and blasting and the perfect balance of alienating brutalism and Flipper-esque riffage? FUCK.

this weeks' Onion spotlighted the show by saying:
Slathered in dissonance, misanthropy, and every manner of glandular discharge, Pissed Jeans' breakout 2007 album, Hope for Men, is a fucking wreck- and it's the ideal antidote to the new millenium's overabundance of bland indie pop.

hallelujah. rage on.

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