According to calendars and my own need for a second source of credibility, it’s that time of year: pumpkins and punk kids sit on stoops, staring, intimidating children, lighting up the night with candles and cigs respectively.
Tuesday provided an excuse to de-stoop and head over to Great Scott for a night of high-volume punk, for ‘tis the season to do that too. Long story short: Meatbodies, spring-boarding off of their Oct. 14 self-titled debut album release, did more than “wow me” (as if my refrigerator-sized backpack made me some sort of licensed judge of garage tunes). They converted me back into an appreciator of hard modern rock, which, given my soft-bodied taste, was impressive and downright spooky.
Opening groups Krill and Purling Hiss certainly assisted in the transformative process, bass progression and what have you. Beloved Krill kicked of the night with a homecoming set of well-executed proportions with the show marking the end of a month-long tour. The local trio was surprisingly greeted with a smaller proportion of fan boys to arm-crossed beer sippers who looked like they needed naps. I’ll digress though. I’ll digress right…about…now.
Fortunately, quality trumps quantity in both sound and its loyal followers. Krill’s set, though short, was packed with new material to which each bobbing head seemed to approve. In my most eloquent terms: it was good stuff. Additionally a small band of teenaged ruffians let out their “whoops” for tracks like bass-powered “Never a Joke” and melodically dynamic “Steve Hears Pile in Malden and Bursts into Tears.”
However, nobody welcomed home the trio better than who I referred to as “Headmaster Office Job”: small cubicle, small button-up shirt, giant head and giant appreciation for downbeats. Head bang after head bang testing the man’s top button security led me to repeatedly ask: “How are his neck muscles even doing that?” Looking back, I guess the only answer was in Krill’s quality sound.
Purling Hiss continued the trend of fresh tracks with a set full of material off their new LP Weirdon, which is about as guitar-centric as it is Stooges-reminiscent. Tasteful melodies and dissonant chords were built one-by-one over long songs that allowed front man Mike Polizze’s voice to float above the main attraction. Music-wise, some proper adjectives would have to be “compelling” and “rich.”
Upon taking in Purling Hiss’ full performance, other positive descriptors came to mind. It was almost like I had adopted some sort of 40-year-old-baseball-dad mentality because I couldn’t stop thinking of Polizze and his band as wholesome. Every after-track “thank you” was pretty genuine for how hearty the group’s sound was (Disregard the fact that the use of “hearty” sounds more appropriate for describing my wife’s chili than a punk trio’s set).
Lastly, Meatbodies took the stage with the kind of confidence that deserves smirks, not sneers. Chad Ubovich, Californian garage punk, stoop kid and front man extraordinaire, greeted the audience with a foreshadow-y prompt: “Promise to have fun guys?” From there, the four-piece jumped into a hard-hitting set that was both dynamic and escapist. The crowd followed right behind with its increase in collective movement. Me? I bopped right along falling into the age-old philosophy: “I think, therefore I am…punk.”
A solid mixture of tracks off Meatbodies’ debut album and Stooges covers made it hard to determine a crowd favorite. Head-banging aficionados seemed most amused by tracks that could have easily backed-up cinematic getaway scenes such as “Destroy” and “Wahoo” while a few modestly tatted-up moms squealed most over a cover of The Stooges’ “Search and Destroy” (not to be confused with Thirty Seconds to Mars’ “Search and Destroy” which is about as necessary as this parenthetical tangent).
I personally enjoyed every track to the point of giddiness. Some people have schoolgirl crushes for that sort of thing, but I guess I prefer making do with dimly lit rooms and whiny guitar licks. I considerably “lost it” during “Mountain,” my favorite track off the crew’s full-length. The anticipation derived from steady bass coupled with dissonant, Beach-Boy-ish vocal harmonies made for a heavy yet fun listen that even got a few spritely folks prancing around doing what good ol’ grammy would call “the pony.” The song, along with several others, provided a modern punk sound with vibes worthy of classic rock nostalgia.
So when Ubovich held up his beer to the crowd promising to buy a round for the fifteen remaining audience members, there was no resisting the one-sided toast. With the longest hair of them all, the veteran performer and newbie front man clearly came off as “Father Meatbody,” smiling, proud of his musical spawn. Despite Ubovich’s realization that buying everyone drinks would cost money (because, well…capitalism), the night ended on a celebratory note.
“My neck’s gonna be sore in the morning,” I thought. “And I’ll appreciate it most when I get to tell my grandchildren about that one time rock roamed the Earth.”
