History repeats.
The Dead Kennedys were the last band I saw live (and reviewed!) prior to the city (nay, the world) coming to a grinding halt in March 2020 due to the Coronavirus epidemic. As I once again grabbed my tickets from the 9:30 Club’s box office window, I reflected on what has changed, and what hasn’t, in the five years between Dead Kennedys shows. I have slightly less hair on the crown of my head, and more wrinkles lining my face — but, there’s still the same giant orange turd running the White House. So it goes…
Looking around the main room, it struck me that the mean age of the population tonight here on V St NW’s beloved club must be in the mid- to late-50s, though that probably would have trended higher without the obvious outliers: a gaggle or two of teenaged sons and daughters dragged along, I assume reluctantly, to the show.
(Author’s note: I want to give an honorary shout out to opening act Raging Nathans, whose set I unfortunately just missed. I spoke to a couple folks who said the fun banter and energetic delivery of fast punk tunes reminded them of the Vandals — that unsolicited rave review convinced me that it must have been a truly sick performance.)
A few minutes after situating myself towards the front of the sold-out crowd at 9:30 — my feet lost among a sea of well-worn Chuck Taylors and Doc Martens — the second act of the night was ready to roll on April 3. HR, one of DC’s favorite sons and the ex-frontman of hardcore pioneers Bad Brains, ceremonially trod onto the stage with his backing band. After a quick Rastafarian benediction, HR led the brightly-adorned fivesome into a repertoire of droning, semi-ethereal, reggae tunes. Lead guitarist Ezekiel Zagar, seemingly under the spell of a musical holy spirit, amazed the enraptured audience with his clean and technical, though sometimes unpredictable, licks. HR delivered his trademark vocal craft, showing off some of the diversity that defined his earlier career, but mostly staying in a reggae-focused, crooning and staccato-driven lane.
Although HR mostly relied on his solo material, he did include a couple of Bad Brains tunes towards the end of the set. Indeed, I could feel the yellow tape tattoo on my right thigh start to throb in some bizarre HCDC spidey sense as the band announced their closing song of the evening, the reggae anthem “I and I Survive.”
HR is clearly no longer banned in DC.
Stream Dead Kennedys’ setlist from their April 3 show at 9:30 Club on Spotify:
With the opening acts behind us, and a short respite promised, most individuals in the crowd quickly and efficiently executed on lesser biological requirements, such as relieving themselves in the loo, or acquiring their 5th jack n’ coke of the night. Amidst this natural catharsis, I strolled through the Club’s “Hall of Records,” a visual and chronologically evolving library containing records, tapes, and CDs of every act that has headlined the club from May 1980.
But as quickly as the relative calm came, it was shattered as the Dead Kennedys rushed the stage and bombarded us with their sardonic, blitzing, and noisy brand of west coast punk.
As always, the absence of DK’s original vocalist and chief instigator, Jello Biafra, was painfully and glaringly obvious right from the get-go. Indeed, whether or not the current iteration is a cover band is an often heated point of contention amongst the oldest of Dead Kennedys’ fanbase. But just like in March 2020, I was very impressed by current (and now, longest-serving) vocalist Skip Greer, who does an admirable job of keeping the performance entertaining, while encapsulating that Jello-eque immersive and engaging stage presence that was so crucial in helping cement Dead Kennedys’ legacy. Despite his somewhat advanced years, Skip has a seemingly Herculean supply of energy in which to lead the band through a set of iconic punk anthems. And I don’t use “iconic” hyperbolically…from “Police Truck” to “Kill the Poor” and “Moon Over Marin,” Dead Kennedys simply don’t have any filler. Every song they performed was an absolute banger, and instantly recognizable to the trained (if not crust-filled) punk ear in the room.
Throughout the concert, founding member and guitarist East Bay Ray effortlessly dispatched his trademark sound, which consists of a distinctive blend of bendy, ringing notes with open, crunchy chords and an almost blues-like jaunt, all the while keeping up with a blistering 225+ BPM rhythm. This sonic illusion, a conflicting depth and timbre of sounds, ran counter to what most of Ray’s contemporaries were doing in the 80s…and also translates to a real aural treat in a live setting.
Not surprisingly, these malcontents from San Francisco had plenty to say about Trump, making quips about the future “Greenland Packers” and sparing no one in the current administration, from Queen Elonia to RFK and everyone in between. What was surprising were that there were more than a just a few groans and boo’s when they did so — as Skip observed, “what the fuck is this, one of them swing state crowds?!”
A creeping sense of déjà vu began to take hold, as the band violently waded through a bitingly satirical and blaringly loud compilation of songs. Same band, same venue, same overall make-up of the crowd. Same existential dread (if not for other reasons). But there was something else that I couldn’t quite put my finger on….until I sat down at my desk and started putting together the accompanying playlist for this write-up. Last Thursday night’s set was identical, song for song and even in the same chronological order, to their March 2020 show.
One thing that sadly wasn’t the same as that last performance was the absence of long-time DK drummer, DH Peligro, who sadly passed away in 2022. At the end their (pre-encore) set, new touring drummer Steve Wilson gave a heartfelt and personal tribute to DH…right before ripping into a caustic string of rousing songs, “Nazi Punks, Fuck Off” and “California Uber Alles.”
After a series of fake outs, chants of “one more song,” and encores, the night of musical frivolity and calls for non-compliance finally came to an end.
History repeats, but the experience is new, unique. The dangers are different, the calls to action tailored to meet the challenges of today. History repeats, but let’s not have it repeat TOO much….Nazi Punks, Fuck Off.
