| The
Wasted Ones/Decry
The Garage, Los Angeles, CA, August 28th
The coolest aspect of the LA hardcore resurgence is that I
might not call it a resurgence. It is allowed to live here,
though it might be caged. Scant few bands can justify not
writing new material. The relic-like, anthem-esque stance
of hardcore makes the whole show more like a church event,
a bi-monthly “Resurrection” for the purpose of
keeping the message alive. As if in these days of depthless
pastiche and nod-scene nostalgia the pillars of a scene are
brought together to march against the “actors”
in the movie of music. There’s identification within
hardcore and late-punk culture that is harder to capture than
in other genres. I think this has to do with hardcore’s
overt, radical political stance and the alienated appearance
of it’s followers. Unlike the groveling grabbers of
regurgitated giblets—like copping a buzz from Methadone
puke-up—who appropriate Ron Wood’s haircut, Vince
Neil’s eyeliner, Adam Ant’s stripes and the “do
me in the ear” sexuality of Iggy, hardcore has remained
just what it is, “Hardcore”. You know what I mean
because you use the word “hardcore” to describe
all that which is true, tough, holding fast, or just fucking
there. And here it was, is.
Stagnation, it could be argued, is the meaning of the hardcore
upkeep. But to counter stagnation we must see it’s polar
opposite, Revolution (or fluidity, or motion). And then ask—can
we call the current state of popular underground music and
its visual identifiers as “movement”? Or is it
more bilge and bacteria grown in that icky pond behind the
apartment complex? I’ll give you a hint—don’t
ask your too tight, ironic Lady’s softball team tee
shirt.
This hardcore scene, preserved as if in amber, is small. The
top head count was forty for the middle bands and 20 for the
headliner. But still 3 of those folks stepped to the stage
almost every song to sing along—grab the mic style—with
the songs that might be modern day mantras.
Decry was in great style this evening. The last time I saw
them the drummer up and left after stating out loud “we
never should have done this.” 3 years later, a new face
behind the kit, and the band was real authentic once again.
Farrell, the bleach-blond singer has the coolest movements.
He kinks his head to the side—listening for the punch-in
point, rolls his eyes up and makes a flitting motion with
his hand, beckoning the guitarist to keep it coming. The he
pops upright and busts into song. The bass player played the
last four songs without an “E” string, fully impressing
me as he transposed the quickly changing notes to his remaining
strings. Decry blazed into the meat of their album “Falling”,
tipping off the set with the more personal, cryptic lyrics
from Farrell’s mind.
The
Wasted Ones were straight up better than Decry. They strided
on as another choir in the congregation for devotees. Humor-filled
and honest about how it all has been, they proclaimed that
they were part of the “Hep- C Generation” and
asked to see a show of hands of who was with ‘em. Before
letting out “We’re on Heroin” they re-titled
it “We Were on Heroin.” Unsurprisingly topical
were the song names that seemed to be cloned back to relevance
like a Jurassic Park sequel. “Let’s Get Rid of
Society”, the tongue-in-cheek “God Bless America”,
“Fuck Authority.” I always thought little George
would make us write some good lyrics. The already written
ones took on a scary prophetic stance too; as if to say “learn
this now, you’re going to need it.”
Both bands shared the same guitarist, another indication of
the small community out of which these bands were born. Both
bands also shared the sound so crucial to hardcore: four fast
clicks of the sticks, bass and git running side by side thru
power chord hurdles. Running two frets down, back up one,
then open chord, repeat, then bridge, then repeat, then dead
stop.Basic and meaningful, all the parts of thrash metal to
be were displayed in less than 2 minutes.
As is with every hardcore punk band I’ve seen in LA,
both Decry and the Wasted Ones checked out with covers. Decry
blew “Sonic Reducer” out and headed straight for
“Jealous Again”. The Wasted Ones finished with
“Gimme Gimme Gimme” and the Angry Samoans gone
Circle Jerks tune” I’ve Got the World Up My Ass”.
As if they were hymnals for a subculture whose identity is
mostly in the gut-feeling and innate security of their music,
these hardcore standards are passed on, live, to those who
already can sing most of the lyrics for each song.
-Kevin Stack |
