Urban Waste / Disaster Strikes / The Nasty / Red Line Rebels / Red Tape
Midway Cafe, Jamaica Plain, MA 12/1/2012
This is another night, the beat I walk. The slick city streets with a sheet of rain; the alley ways, the juke joints, the wrong side of the tracks with the right slice of people, forging forwards with the wrong kind of music- noisy, discontented, too loud- not the kind of music most people want to hear, still it’s music to my ears, so to speak.
I park in the back, I walk towards the front. A cold early winter breeze blows against me as I pull my coat and fedora closer to my face. I step inside the club; T.J. The doorman, lets me in; Jill, the bartenderess greets me with a recognizing smile. The barflies are laid out across the bar. Rocky, the little pug dog, is doing tricks for treats and beer; musicians are bringing in their instruments, fans idling about. The jukebox’s playing, the cigarette smoke is swirling around the ceiling fans and it’s time for me to get down to the business at hand.
Red Tape is the first combo to make their way toward the stage. I’ve seen these young cats employ their trade several times before but this is the best I’ve seen them, I bet. I’m noticing the hardcore, today, much more in their style, and I can’t help but notice the moshing going on early in which they incite. A bunch of young stalwarts that will only get better, I predict.
This dame, I’ve had my eyes on; she comes into the bar. I got my line out but she’s not biting. I offer her a martini but she wants a Shirley Temple instead. Makes sense as she looks like her as well. I pass one onto her as she glides and dances towards the dance floor, a beauty, inside and out, to my sight.
Red Line Rebels are the next combo bringing their instruments onto the stage. They play songs that if you blink an eye you’ve missed one. If Iggy Pop was fronting a combination of The Germs and Minor Threat, you might get something sounding like this. They turn in a pulverizing set that is noteworthy for when the crooner, Jay, while hoisted on the shoulders of others, somehow gets caught on the revolving ceiling fan and after several revolutions is propelled into the bass drum, somehow unhurt.
I drink my coffee, I smoke my cigarette, I drink my shot of whiskey. Sometimes it gets monotonous, keeping straight on my beat. Then I see a band like The Nasty that makes my ears perk up and believe. Hard to describe, easy for me to truly say that they’re great, a really good mixture of hardcore, thrash and traditional punk. A band I’d gladly cross the street to see and I hope we cross paths again.
The rain beats against the windows, the street lights lend shadows across the street as the cars whiz by. I go next door for a sandwich at the diner while the drunks and lost ones wander the alley ways and streets, unknown.
Disaster Strikes is next, they have socially conscious lyrics of which the singer comments on in between songs. Biting and incisive as the lyrics are, they pale in comparison to the ferociousness of the music. The singer reminds me a bit of Henry Rollins in his intensity and the band plays excellent hardcore. What more could I want?
Urban Waste is the main attraction tonight and I’ve seen them at other venues before but I feel tonight is the best I’ve seen them. Perhaps they were inspired by the strong bill before them but today they turn in an electrifying set. They’re a New York hardcore band with a bit of history and reputation before them. And tonight they show why.
I sip my beer, I watch the couples mingle, the hookups begin. Jill and T.J. have a shot of rye before the later show drifts in. I’m in no hurry, my deadline for the papers not till next Friday and I got nobody waiting on me. The empty beer bottles are shuttled up towards the bar, the smoke circles around the ceiling fans, the crowd’s dispersing out into the night.
A great show and I’m sure they’ll be more like them. As I drain my beer I hold the bottle up into the smoky, dimmed light and think, “Here’s a dame that will never leave me, that I can count on, one I can always hold in my hand, one that I can put to my lips and will never lie.”
I grab my hat and coat and move towards the door.
(Slimedog)
