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Kevin Fowler
Feature by Tammy Moore
Room 710
RnR Benefit
Red Eyed Fly
Matt Mastrud Art
Rock 101
Chopping Block
Wendy's WWAD
Grub - Guide
Alamo Drafthouse Cinema
Usual Crew
Chump Change
Off the Street


Rubberhed is BIG. And by big, I’m referring to their sound, their stage presence, and the big shit-eating grins on the faces of their loyal fans who came out for a rock ‘n roll treat last Friday night at the Red Eyed Fly. Last but certainly not least is the big, boastful belly belonging to lead singer Mike Boudreaux, who, along with the rest of the Rubberhed crew, seemed to swallow the relatively small stage that night. Sporting a black “Texas Fuckin’ Metal” t-shirt, Boudreaux nearly instigated a riot when he pulled the shirt all the way up and knotted it in front, a style usually worn with daisy dukes, thus exposing his giant belly. Resembling Buddha, and gleefully rubbing himself, the band broke into a searing version of the crowd pleaser “Jackknife”. With lyrics such as “I’m a truck driver—I like to drive a truck—Got an 18-wheeler rig—That never gets stuck”, Jackknife (off their 2001 CD “Yo Soy Guillermo”) is a hilarious white-trash anthem that exemplifies their hard-rockin’ yet wacky style.
Rubberhed can definitely hold their own with the big boys of the alterna-metal scene. Refreshingly, they are extremely talented musicians that don’t take themselves overly seriously—they have a sense of humor and their shows always bust into adrenaline-fueled mayhem. I nearly got dizzy watching the antics of DJ Shaw, who, in contrast to Boudreaux, seems like a miniature pit-bull, snapping rhymes out in a lyrical frenzy. Also delivering excellent performances that evening were Coexist, Twenty for Seven, and Rights Arise.

- Kat Kinslow

Ignorance Park / The Yuppie Pricks
Friday 02.06.04

I ran into Johnny Walker a week or so ago, kicked him in the shins, and asked him what his pussy band was up to these days. I told him he was due a scathing review, that cocky bastard, which of course he encouraged with a shit-eating grin and flared nostrils. So I was off in search of a vilifying review. Unfortunately, it became an extended quest, because the dumbass gave me the wrong date and club…but that’s beside the point.

Granted, I hadn’t seen Ignorance Park play in over three years, but I wasn’t prepared for what transpired, or what didn’t for that matter. Joe Lifto’s friendly banter during their sound check should have been my forewarning. “Hurry up and play, you fucking adult contemporary faggots! This ain’t your parent’s Ignorance Park!”

Indeed. After an eternity of warming up, (Christ, you’d think they were opening for Weezer) I pondered the eternal question, “Why must all good things come to an end?” Why couldn’t Walker just pull out his pubescent pecker, spew water on the crowd, and frantically clap for himself in between songs like old times? What happened to songs you could live your life by, like “FBI in My Toilet?”

Oh well, evidently you can polish a turd. It can become glossy and sweet smelling with the luster of a pop band and glazed like a viscid, week old Krispy Kreme donut. I hate Krispy Kreme donuts. Ignorance Park took the “P” out of “Punk Rock” and shoved it up the ass of “Pop Star Perfection.” Their sound is all grown up, which forces yet another question, “Where are all the good bands dead—in the heart, or in the head?” Well, maybe that statement’s too extreme. In the words of Joe Lifto, “Punk rock isn’t dead, it just smells kinda funny.”

I bitched the Yuppie Pricks, in their matching Ducks Unlimited oxford shirts and khakis, to hurry up and play. I was fading fast after that squeaky clean performance by Ignorance Park a few hours earlier and the fluff bands in between. Please let the Yuppie Prick’s set preserve my faith in unpolished, gluttonous, self-serving punk rock that the evening was lacking.

Those lascivious Pricks not only preserved my faith, they smoked it like Nova Scotia salmon and served it on a silver platter with lox. They put on a drunken donkey show that everyone unashamedly took part in. Their songs were nothing short of 1980s opulence and excess long gone. By the end of the show they had me convinced that you can’t be too skinny or too rich.

Trevor Middleton (lead vocals) was off his fucking ass, insults and liquor spewing from his decadent tongue. I think he mainlined a bottle of scotch during the show. A striptease ensued as he whittled down to nothing but leopard print bikini briefs, boots and that hideous oxford shirt. He trickled bottled water like piss through his skivvies on one drunken “snow bunny”—as the band lovingly called her—who attempted to man-handle his cock during the entire show.

“Put a fork in you, you’re done” were the words Preston Hetherington (bass) threw over Middleton’s naked, fragile limbs like a blanket of love. Deuce Hollingsworth (guitar) seemed quite annoyed by the end of the set as he walked off stage ranting about—well I’m not quite sure what he was ranting about. It probably had something to do with Middleton’s bikini briefs slapping up against his side one too many times. I think I heard the words “Get off of me, you faggot” coming out of his mouth before he walked off stage.

–Marianna M.

Young Heart Attack / Rockland Eagles / Black Earth
Saturday 02.07.04

If I had known there was going to be a fashion show at Red Eyed Fly, I might have dressed a little cooler. Each band seemed to posses their own style, which sometimes can really add to a show’s fun factor. First up, Black Earth—so cool they gotta wear shades. These guys were quite the rock stars with their jumping guitar action and a drummer who twirled his sticks. I think they were posing for the camera half the time. The Rockland Eagles—oooh so sexy with their pleather jump suits and their absolutely fabulous lead singer. He not only dons a beautifully sparkling cowboy hat (maybe he made it in art class), but also a fur coat. Oooh, baby! And when he puts on his black afro wig, whew, then style really oozes from him.

All right, all right. I don’t write a fashion column, and I probably never should. The music matters here. All in all, these bands put on a great show. Before tonight I hadn’t heard any of these bands play live, but they thoroughly impressed me. If you like really loud guitar music, definitely check out Black Earth next time they play. And if fun, entertaining rock music fits your fancy, the Rockland Eagles will serve it to you. Their lead singer Mark Hutchins, full of talent, not only sings and plays guitar, but he also plays the drums. (No, not all at the same time. He’s not a musical magician) Young Heart Attack, also one of my favorites, played the conclusion of the night. Check them out sometime, though not as into their attire as some of the other bands, they definitely rock just as hard.

–Misty Sweet


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