Coolangatta Hotel
Saturday October 4, 2014 :
I headed up the freeway to Coolangatta flush with a sense of nostalgia. Growing up in Western Sydney there were only a few people at my school who listened to the Dead Kennedys and if you didn’t listen to them chances are you had no idea they existed. Don’t get me wrong. I loved the Oils, Angels, Chisels, etc, yet I was heavily attracted to English subculture from early highschool.
Having listened to plenty of Ska and the new wave stuff like The Cure, Siouxsie and Depeche Mode in and around the more staple Aussie rock and mainstream stateside offerings from Springsteen to The B52s and beyond. I soon found myself gifted with an original pressing of Never Mind The Bollocks by the neighbourhood ‘older cool dude’ and never looked back. The next few years had me blowing my pocket money on vinyl from Hard Ons and Mass Appeal to Suicidal Tendencies before being introduced to early Ice T, but thats another story..
As I rocked up the Cooly steps, the first thing I noticed was that for once I was younger than the average punter. First surprise of the evening. Next surprise was the incredibly infectious fusion of crossover influences that are The Bennies, almost impossible to define I feel their self description is however close to the mark – “Psychedelic Reggae Ska Doom Metal Punk Rock From Hell”. Yeah that will do, the old school crowd loved them. I would now definitely go out of my way to catch their live show. I suspect a few of the younger heads were there for them almost as much as DKs.
Enter punk royalty The Dead Kennedy’s, boasting essentially the same instrumental line up since 1981 and before, with relative newcomer Ron Greer up front doing the vocal honours well beyond expectations. The crowd was already dripping sweat and rowdy as all get out when a comparatively fresh East Bay Ray, Klaus Flouride and D H Peligro hit the stage with their beaming frontman.
As I started snapping away with a new lens. I realised that the first song seemed about 40 seconds long, my next thought was ‘oh yeah punk songs, best get clicking’. All too soon a bonus fourth song was done and we shooters were getting marched, it was then that I could chill and enjoy the show.
Different genres definitely have their quirks but what is it about real punks that produces that authentic ‘fuck everything’ mentality and accompanying snear? I dont go to many punk shows these days, frankly it ain’t what it used to be. This one however was dripping in old school cache, no one was ‘trying’ to be punk.
As the bottles flew around the room along with ‘crowdslammers’ and their loose footwear, the band became progressively sweatier, Mr Greer was soon down to a Tshirt and admitting that 20 shows into the tour he was feeling the pinch and realising he “might be too old for punk rock shows“, at which point he pauses for a few seconds, mock stumbles gripping the mic stand in that typically punk fashion and adds “looking around the room so are most of you!”
Some laugh, most yell insults and obscenities in which the band delight and launch into their next blistering track. It was mostly a greatest hits show, I couldn’t fault the musicianship. Sounded as tight as old school punk ever did or should.
The faithful crowd went nuts when ‘Too Drunk To Fuck’ and ‘Uber Alles’ were played and of course ‘Holiday in Cambodia’ was the climax of the night and the crowd were treated to one of the evenings several ‘up close and personal’ moments with Ron who descended the stage and mixed up with the sardines braving the front row crush in a ‘slam pit’ as crazy as any I have seen at the Cooly.
Ever the agitators (a notable absence in many of today’s aspirants), it was great to see the crowd responding to Ron’s suggestions that the music industry was a soulless entity guilty of breeding the homogenised spawn that is Miley Cyrus and her ilk, Bieber came in for a serve too if I recall. Also addressed was ‘Team Australias’ willingness to be a ‘me too’ participant in Americas “with us or against us” perpetual war resource grab around the globe.
Despite the infamous diminished braincells and love of a good fluoride over the northern border, the crowd responded favourably if at all.. a refreshing change from the all too familiar SHUT UP AND SING! (its one or the other right?)
Everyone had had a ripping night by the time the band were romping through the encore and looking for the most part at least as dishevelled as many of the fans. The evergreen Mr Peligro perhaps an exception seemingly fresher than his counterparts, quite a feat for the generous drummer whom along with the rest of the band then take time to engage the crowd personally with hand shakes, kisses, hugs and plenty of smiles.
Lastly the effusive Mr Greer takes pleasure in delivering unto the throng (by various methods of scrunching, paper planes and accompanying physical buffoonery) the evenings set lists. I pinch one off a monitor for a reason yet to be revealed. I observed the revelry of the clearly delighted crowd some of whom probably haven’t been to a show this year and soaked up the vibe, I said hi to a few familiar faces and drifted downstairs and through the front bar.
As I rounded the corner near my car I saw a young guy who I was pretty sure I had seen manhandled and unceremoniously punted from the show about half a dozen songs in. He looked more like a hippy than a punk and I asked him if he was the dude that had been ejected(?)
He regretfully nodded and murmurred in the affirmative as he glanced up from the pavement. At this point I gestured the contents of my left hand, (a certain set list) to the youngster whose eyes lit up as he sprang to his feet to give me a hug as he thanked me profusely. I told him it was quite alright and hoped it somehow made up some way for his shitty exclusion. He assured me that was definitely the case and I climbed into my car soaked in smiles and a renewed appreciation for the Dead Kennedys.
Reviewer and Photographer: Quenched
[nggallery id = 351]