Welcome to my review of the second show I attended after my near-death experience in October which consisted of five heart attacks and emergency double bypass open heart surgery. This show was without a doubt one of the most exciting and frightening shows I have ever attended. That is primarily due to the band Spunk. Those guys put on one of the most energetic and potentially dangerous performances I have ever seen! I’ve seen a lot of punk shows since my first show in 1981 and I have not seen anything like that since I saw Black Flag with Henry Rollins at The Vex in Los Angeles in 1983 (with Redd Kross, The Dicks, and Nip Drivers). Oh! Guess what? I lost my notebook for this one too, let’s see how well I put it all together from memory. Tonight’s show was at Flyway, a new venue in that is located on the 3rd floor of the historic Fox Theater in Pomona. It used to be a storage space that was turned into a small concert space. It has an eerie rustic charm as the Fox was built in 1931 and despite the clever and pleasing aesthetic of the modern decor of Flyway’s interior, it is easy to imagine ghosts of the past lurking in the many shadowy recesses.
Music for the Lost was already jamming as I arrived with my two guests; the ever-present Cathy and my ASVAB (military entrance exam) student Justin, who had never attended any concert in his life. Music for the Lost is simple and straightforward hardcore. This is the sort of thing we used to listen to while skateboarding back in the early 1980s. As this thought crossed my mind, I noticed the classic Duane Peters skateboard with Independent Trucks turned on its side in front of the bass drum. The band gets bonus points for that. I also detected a slight hint of a vato vibe. Overall, this was good stuff that was nothing fancy, but was still hard-rocking hardcore that makes you want to jump around while moving in a circle and pushing people you have never met before.
I had no idea that I was soon to be astonished. Spunk is an explosive quartet hailing “from the sewers of Hacienda Heights.” Cathy and I took our usual places at a gig, up front, right next to the stage next to the amplifier stack. The band assumed their positions and vocalist Bruno Bones shouted: “Turn off the lights!” The venue lights went out and the dim lights of the illuminated wall art provided a faint ember glow to the stage area. Then all Hell broke loose! The band exploded and so did the audience. People were slamming hard with no regard to their surroundings or concern for anyone who they might hit. It was dark and impossible to see who was barreling toward me or if I was going be clobbered. My sternum was still healing and sore from my open heart surgery in October, so I rolled up onto the stage to get away from the maelstrom. I saw Cathy was trapped in her chair in the corner pocket created by the stage and amp stack. She is a plus-sized woman who needs a cane to walk due to arthritis and could not escape inevitable injury. I ran ran off the side of the stage and grabbed my student Justin and pulled him forward toward Cathy. I then put his hands on the back of her chair next to mine and we pulled her backward through the churning bodies to safety.
I then returned to the side of the stage and marveled at the aggressive chaos that is Spunk. The venue turned on some dim blue lights and I stood aghast at what I was seeing. The band members do not jump around much considering the ferocious sound they make, but Bruno is a human nuclear bomb. The guy prowls, snarls, and writhes around like Darby Crash. He even kind of looks like Darby too. I have no idea what songs they played, but every one of them was a pummeling sonic punch that kicked my ass without ever being touched. I remember thinking: “I am in danger right now, and I love it.” This was the same fearful exhilaration I used to feel at the punk shows in the early 1980s when gigs were truly dangerous and the cops might show up at any minute to bust some heads. The lights came back and I just stood there on the side of the stage, transfixed by the energy, the rhythmic ferociousness, and the spectacle of havoc that was before me. When it was over, I thought: “Wow! What the fuck did I just see?”
I found Bruno afterward and I told him I loved it. I said I felt like I had just experienced what it must have been like to have seen The Germs or Minor Threat. He smiled, looked up and said: “Write something bad.” Okay, here is comes. Bruno, spitting on your audience is a fucked-up thing to do. Spitting on people is not punk, it is just stupid and disrespectful to the people who came to see your band perform. It is also a good way to spread germs and get people sick. I don’t want your dirty spit on me and I sure nobody else does, so stop doing that. Thank you.
Up next was The Infirmities, and I owe these guys an apology. I had previously written that I didn’t like this band but that was an unfair assessment. A friend had detailed all the reasons why he did not like the band, so I was negatively primed and that affected my judgment. This time, I listened with an honest ear and I enjoyed what I heard. Hailing from the “Salad Bowl of the World” Salinas, CA, The Infirmities are anything but infirm. They belt out some good old-school hardcore with a bit of skate-punk edge. The bass lines really stood out as stellar and laid the foundation for everything they played. Vocalist J. Hawk has devoted his life to his music, his art, and his message. They had a pretty good slam pit going, but thankfully it was not a threat to human existence, and the kids got to pit it up with the old guys. They invited a fan onstage to sing with them and J. Hawk even had a slam dance contest with first, second, and third place prizes. I don’t know who won what, because I was blissfully enjoying my THC gummy experience and had a tendency to wander about aimlessly. My favorite song of the set was “Myself Wrex,” a tune J. Hawk had written when he first started doing music decades ago. Give this band a chance…they deserve it.
I had never seen Three Bad Jacks before, but I was already familiar with the band’s music. The night before, Cathy had looked them up on YouTube and she liked it so much she wouldn’t stop playing it. During a break between bands, I commented to vocalist/guitarist Elvis Suissa that I had never seen so much merchandise for one band in my life. He said with a laugh: “You have no idea.” They had shirts, stickers, buttons, hats, embroidered denim jackets, embroidered satin jackets, and they probably had socks too. This is the best rockabilly band I have ever heard. They also delve into high-velocity punkabilly and straight-up punk rock. The first tune was shredding cover of Motorhead’s “Ace of Spades.” That set the tone.
The rockabilly types emerged from the shadows and danced along to super catchy tunes like “Run Away With Me,” “She’s Gone,” and my personal favorite “Remember the Nights,” which has been stuck in my head for about two months now. I don’t mind. Elvis asked the audience what they wanted to hear and a kid that looked to be about ten-years-old with a big Mohawk called out “I Believe!” Elvis said: “You’re too cool, kid!” He then told the boy’s father to contact him so he could give the boy the denim jacket he used to wear when he was about the same age. Original drummer John Palmer was playing for this gig, and at one point, he left his kit and did some amazing percussion work on the microphone stand while Tony Slash thumped away on his big bull fiddle. Three Bad Jacks is so good that if I had hair I would brush it up into a greasy pompadour.
Then it was time for my favorite band of all time, The Dickies! Stan Lee was looking dapper in his trademark fedora and The Cramps t-shirt. Of course I returned to the front of the stage, and I got delightfully “Stan Lee’d” during the cover of Moody Blues “Nights in White Satin.” (Getting Stan Lee’d is when Stan puts his guitar so close to your face that you can actually lick it.) The slamming got rough so I had to retreat for a bit so I would not get hit and knock open my still-healing sternum. The melee calmed down a bit during “Gary Glitter Getaway,” so I resumed my previous position. From there, I could see a cute young punk girl in a leather jacket gleefully singing every word of every song. Right next to her was an older Asian woman who appeared to be in her late 60s doing the same thing. It was cool to see my generation (I am 62), and this current young generation enjoying the same music in the same timeless space that is music. Leonard told us that his long-awaited book will be available sometime this Summer. Rhythm guitarist (and sometimes lead) Ben Seelig was sporting a new mustache and I thought it looked weird. Bassist Eddie was still wearing his eternal camouflage shorts and yellow-tinted sunglasses and almost stole the show several times because he is so rad. Adam Gomez was his usual incredi-fucking-able amazing self on the drums. So much so that several people lined up afterward to get him to autograph some drum sticks.
During “Curb Job,” Leonard said something to Stan and they both laughed like kids. Stewart is still missing, so there was no “If Stewart Could Talk.” That sucks. The set ended all too soon, but we were loud enough to get a legitimate encore. Stan said Leonard needed a bit of a rest so they did the instrumental “Rondo (The Midget’s Revenge)“, followed seamlessly by the band’s smash hit “Banana Splits.” It got rough again, so I crouched down next to the stage and took it all in. It was a great night and I felt like a kid again. Be sure to check out The Dickies when you get the chance because none of us are getting any younger and one day, this will end.
Also visit Adam Gomez’s Drum-Thru Drive-In on YouTube for some cool content and his Sweetwater page to get his recommendations on what musical gear you should buy.
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