After watching Seattle's alleged "kings of the all-ages scene" rock their way into the premier drunks' venue (the Crocodile), I realized that rarely have I seen so little delivered with so much bombast and fanfare. If my ears had filters that only let music with content through I wouldn't have been hearing anything at all, only watching a bunch of naked guys in front of an audience sure that the emperors were rocking out in exquisite royal finery. I don't know what part of the Lords of the New Church these guys didn't get, but they must not have gotten any of it to use such mediocrity as a blueprint for their "electrifying" stage antics.

If this had been the RKCNDY show of the night before, I could have written off the crowd's enthusiastic response to these half-assed histrionics as the poor taste of youth. But tonight I was at a drunks' show, so I could only shake my head. Musical starvation is the only explanation for such a big, excited audience at such a soulless (if energetic) performance. After listening to song after song of '70s arena rock gone wrong, I eventually became impressed with how many ways this band can write the same song over and over and over again. As the guitars went "rinka-rinka" in unison and the swell of bad keyboard fills wafted through the air, only one thing kept me going: the thought that it would soon be over. It was almost more than I could take to think that I had paid eight bucks just to watch a bad punk rock wet dream being played out by overly mugging wannabes.

My only solace was the drunk I had already tied on (unlike Everett "straight-edge" True, I believe that alcohol and rock music go together beer in hand), and the fact that the cash I had spent to get in could not be translated into an even worse hangover the next day. And that wasn't much solace at all.