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Rubberhed
2/4/04
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
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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.
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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
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