Giant Robot Store and GR2 News
Is OFF! the gnarliest band in the universe? The members’ chops came out of heavy bands like Black Flag, Circle Jerks, Redd Kross, and Rocket from the Crypt and they are complemented and pushed by each other’s unique badassness. That’s why they can tour with young, up-and-coming, and hungry punks like NASA Space Universe and Cerebral Ballzy without seeming like fossils. Instead, they’re the badass godfathers.
The vocals of Keith Morris are the blueprint for angry, pissed-off hardcore but they come off as brand new with the ripping guitar of Dimitri Coats, percolating bass of Steve McDonald, and massive drums of Mario Rubalcaba. The raging set was drawn pretty evenly from the essential first four EPs, bitchin’ self-titled debut, and the darker-than-crap follow-up. I loved it when Keith chided a girl for trying to take the playlist mid-set without asking by saying, “Don’t be a Republican.” And then followed, “Don’t be a Democrat, either.”
I’ve never been to Coachella but I’ve become a fan because I like the club shows that the bands play in L.A. in-between. A couple of weeks ago I got to see Bryan Ferry at Club NOKIA. That’s a pretty small place to see a rock god play a killer survey of mostly Roxy Music songs with choice solo material. From “Re-Make/Re-Model” and “Ladytron” to “More Than This/Avalon” and “Jealous Guy,” he put on a clinic of how to be cool.
Whoa, the new OFF! album is a beast and Tuesday’s record release in-store at Amoeba Hollywood kicked ass. Not some lukewarm sampler but a full-on, raging 16-song set! Of course for this particular band that adds up to about 30 minutes but damn. Quality minutes of world-class hardcore punk from the originals, measured with Sabbathian darkness and riffs.
Whoa, the new OFF! album is a beast and Tuesday’s record release in-store at Amoeba Hollywood kicked ass. Not some lukewarm sampler but a full-on, raging 16-song set! Of course for this particular band that adds up to about 30 minutes but damn. Quality minutes of world-class hardcore punk from the originals, measured with Sabbathian darkness and riffs.
It was just a couple of weeks ago that I was having lunch with my friend Joe, telling him that I bought a ticket to his band’s upcoming show with the Descendents. He asked if I was bringing my daughter Eloise and I said no way! I’d want to be in front where it’s packed with all these big sweaty gross guys. And then he said something like, “No, I’ll get you onstage where all the families and friends of the bands hang out. Wendy can come, too! I’ll put them on the list.”