Editor’s note: Thirteen months into The Black Cloud blog we have our first contributor, Max, doing a review of The Meatmen at Bernies last month. Max procrastinated and had some photo failure, which makes him a great fit here.
Lately I’ve been around a lot of people arguing over what punk means. Fuck all of that bullshit. I think punk has to do with the T-shirt you wear more than anything else. There could never be a term that is more contradictory and vapid. If getting blackout drunk on shitty booze and listening to Void is what you’re into, that is pretty punk. If you listen to Integrity and drink Mountain Dew, that is supposed to be punk, too. Are punk bands supposed to offend you? Yes. Are they supposed to have ethics? It certainly isn’t as fun. One thing I hope we can all agree on is that punk music should be a sonic barrage on your senses that makes your parents afraid you are gay when you start listening to it.
I was a metal head growing up, and punk just seemed like some pussy shit they played on alternative radio. People actually listened to NOFX? That shit still blows my mind. I know I must have listened to “And Justice For All…” a thousand times during the year I turned 15. Then one day there was this heshed-out new kid at my school. Upon meeting him he instantly nicknamed me Rex, offered to let me shoot some of his morphine and swan dived off a picnic table into concrete knocking himself out cold. Obviously we hit it off and were great friends from that day forward. It was this guy who introduced me to two forms of music that top my play list to this day; scum punk and black metal. It was he who introduced me to The Meatmen, and they were the band that made me like punk rock.
On that note, recently I went to see them play at Bernie’s Distillery. My friend Tapeworm Joe managed to get the show moved from Alrosa Villa to the most authentic scum punk bar in the city. Most of the town was gone for a hardcore fest in Athens that weekend, so I was skeptical that he would make the outrageous $1000 guarantee. The show started off with The F.G.D.’s. They always impress me by how effortlessly wasted they breeze through their set. True scummy Columbus street punks. They are the most defining Bernie’s band in my eyes. My favorite song of theirs is “I’m a Blob” which talks about being too hungover to do anything but watch daytime TV and wait until night time to leave your house. Throw in a Merle Haggard cover and there couldn’t have been a better start to the night.
Next up was Motovirus. The drummer Kevin wanted me to mention them as “the oldest living punk band in the world.” The band has former members of The Jeffs and many more bands that used to ride dinosaurs uphill both ways in the snow to buy Flipper records. This show featured a lineup change that benefited them a lot in my eyes. They play an interesting style of drunk punk that is really driving and soaking with solos and fills. They sound classic and nailed the set.
After their set I was shotgunning beers in an alley where all the underage girls hang out to drink (some of you may know this mystery location as The Bat Cave, a spot of mythological grandeur). Clearly that is always the place to be during any half-assed decent show at this bar. Apparently I was not the only one having too good of a time because the next local band, Sick Thrills, was too bombed to get through their set. I walked back to the entrance of the bar in time to see the singer of the band run out on the show to speed away in his car blackout wasted. Obviously a highlight of the night, but I didn’t get to see any of their set. I’ve heard good and bad things about them since.
Up next was some band called American Speedway. Worst band of the night. It doesn’t get more generic. Almost on some Social Distortion-type garbage. Back to the Bat Cave, which was shockingly empty at this point, me and my friend Nicolai drank beers in the dark for a while. It sounded like The Meatmen were starting to get going, so I head back in. By now the bar was packed. It was shocking to see so many people come out for this band. I didn’t think anybody gave a shit about them. Regardless, the thirty-and-up crowd seems like a loyal following.
Tesco Vee comes out to front a band of twenty somethings that looks like they should be on a featured Myspace profile. For some reason he is wearing a full matador costume. The first thing he says is “I have no idea what matador costumes have to do with punk rock, but fuck it.” That’s pretty punk in my opinion. Right away they start ripping. Actually surprised at how good they sound because its almost impossible to pull off good sound at a shithole like Bernie’s. After a few jams Tesco rants on about how much he loves watching Dog The Bounty Hunter. Next he says his fans never bought enough records so he had to get a job. This dude is sixty and thinks his 80’s scum punk band is going to pay the bills? Fuck that. You should have burned out early. Scum bands are always destined for a slow demise. I don’t get it. There was no way he was going to ruin those songs for me though. Listen to “Meatmen Stomp” and “Tooling for Anus” and tell me it doesn’t make you want to shotgun Blatz and punch old people. What a great band.
Let us recap. Being punk rock is about scaring old people. Sometimes the people who invented doing that get old. Then they start cover bands of themselves and ask for too much money. Sometimes the integrity of their music allows a fan like me to look past the bullshit and have a good time anyway. Apologies to Tapeworm who let me in for free for writing this; none of my photos came out whatsoever. If anybody out there wants to get shitty with me and prank phone call Tesco Vee just drop me a line. I’ve got his number if you’ve got the booze.
MaxCaldwell500@gmail.com
