Thursday March 28th 2024

Straphangers / Neighborhood Shit / Words Of Truth / Honest John

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Straphangers / Neighborhood Shit / Words Of Truth / Honest John
The Workshop, Quincy, MA 7/26/14

 

So the boys down at the local paper, Andy and Slimedog, put me onto this speakeasy in Quincy; where if you give the right knock and speak the magic words you’re let in. And once inside you are not only free to imbibe in alcohol but some pretty snazzy musical entertainment awaits you as well.

But I’ve been led up some dead alleys before, especially by these knuckleheads. If this place is as good as they say it is then why aren’t they here?

Truth or lies, either way, I’m here to investigate. You see, that’s my calling, I’m a private eye.

I get in and descend down a set of stairs. Hey, this reminds me of the Rat where you’d walk down into a basement of smoke and noise. And I can see that this joint is keeping in the true spirit of punk. The established clubs don’t really want us, could care less about us. And places like this provide a place for underage kids to go to, where they rightly belong more than anyone else.

Honest John is the first combo but I challenge the name as the lead singer tried to sell me a “used” wristwatch right before the set. This is a band that straddles the lines of hardcore and experimental, punk and noise, with a rhythm section that deals out equal doses of hardcore or doom adeptly. And they provide us with a set that is a good omen for the night to follow.

Words Of Truth are next and like “Honest John” before them I’m trying to figure out what this bands grift is. Of course, then I see them handing out these little religious pamphlets with proclamations like, “Where Is Your Reservation In Eternity,” while I’m happy just to eat at the local diner.

But once they start to play I notice how tight the band is. Playing in the New York heavy hardcore style they also pack quite a wallop and I figure, they’ll be the tightest band I hear tonight. I’ll be right in my prediction and some great tunes are heard during their set as well. This band seems to duck a little under the radar and I think they should show themselves more often.

Neighborhood Shit is the next combo to take the stage. I know them as a bunch of young hoodlums, prone to drunkenness with disrespect to authority and police. And they have an unwarranted appreciation of writer Charles Bukowski.

Though I can sense their unsavory characteristics, I hear tell that Slimedog goes around claiming them to be his favorite local band.

And I can see why. Their mix of crust/punk/metal/doom/hardcore creates a unique and powerful style. The guitarist and bassist trade off vocals, often in the same songs, the drummer is jazzy and solid while the bass tone is full and ominous. Above this the guitar throws in shards of corrosive metal, punk and doom.

These delinquents could really provide something to the musical community if they’d just stop hanging around the pool halls.

Straphangers are the last band to play tonight. From what I gather they’re one of the best bands out of New York right now. Two dames, three chaps who play metal mixed with hardcore but not like your usual New York combo. This is more like traditional or thrash metal mixed with hardcore and punk. And the end results of this concoction is a drink that is unique as it is appealing.

They play a set that is exhilarating, exciting and excellent and I notice their set really begins to take off when they play my favorite song from their new excellent record, the song “Better Business.”

Emily, the singer, after their set denotes, “I don’t think people know how much fun we have playing.” I also note tonight that Brittany is the lead guitarist in the band and does a great job as do the three fellows. Or at least they play, well enough for boys.

It was a great night and I kiss the hand of a redhead as the crowd is heading out into the night.

Just then Mitzi shows up and she seems a bit miffed but I smooth it over.

You see, we’re not a couple, though, in my wildest dreams she may be.

She gives me all my inspiration, my belief, all my desire…Hell, that’s not all true. It’s nights like this, bands like this, spilling their blood and guts, energy and passions at joints like this, just to have their sweat and desire swept up along with the peanut shells and cigarette butts, by the sweeper at the end of the night. That’s what really inspires.

And it looks like I just might be the sweeper.

I’ll pocket the stray change for my trouble.

 

(Samm Gunn)

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