The following is a guest post from author Barb Holliday. We’re lazy, and, due to limitations on our magical powers, can only be in 14 places at once (we’re working on it.) So, if you want to write for us, send a note our way. As long as it’s music related (or you can fake it til you make it), we’ll toss it up on the blog for the whole wide Internets to see.
There’s something about college towns. Well, I guess you wouldn’t really call Fort Worth a college town, but if you head down W. Berry Street on any weekend you’ll see the streets lined with bar hopping kids from TCU.
When I hear that a good band is playing on Berry, I always make the trip from Dallas to Fort Worth. It’s about 35 miles each way and the roads are lousy with cops so I have to be on my A-game, but it only took a few good shows to keep me coming back.
My first memorable 817 show wasn’t on Berry, but at a little known place referred to as The Alamo. This is a punk joint that is BYOB and known only by word of mouth. It’s the kind of place people my age gathered at back when we were in High School. We’d sneak out or lie about sleepovers so that we could see bands like Hagfish or The Reverend Horton Heat. But, I digress.
My next great 817 show happened at a bar called The Aardvark on West Berry. I saw The Famine play to a full house. It was this show that forced me to second guess my preconceived notion about college bars. Over the years, I’ve become jaded about college venues, preferring the darker or dingier places. I’m too old and married to feel the excitement of going out to a bar and too young to appreciate the adrenaline and charm of youth. Most days, I’d prefer beer at home with friends to a night out anywhere.
But, I ventured out west to see how the other half lives and I’m glad I did. I found an unambiguous little strip of bars that routinely book good bands with cheap covers and cheap drinks. The Aardvark was the first, but my most recent experience was this past Saturday at The Moon, a few doors down.
A bill that included, Stoogeaphilia, Elvis Took Acid and China Kills Girls caught my attention. This threesome of punk rocking bands made for a perfect show and even though I’d just come back in town and was exhausted from the trip, I couldn’t miss it.
China Kills Girls took the stage first around 10 PM. I’d never seen the band before but when I arrived they were on stage. The first thing I noticed was their lead singer, Johnny Wenger. Johnny is a stalky guy with a tattooed neck and bald head, somewhat threatening. He was grunting on stage in his bare feet wearing a TXPUNK.NET t-shirt. He sounded like ground beef. The band was raw and thick. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see the entire group, but noticed the guitar player in a Rangers jersey (obviously celebrating their recent advancement- I don’t watch baseball) and their female bassist, Angela Westendorf. Angela was a point of interest because of the nature of the music.
One song was basically a recitation of the word, masturbation. Johnny engaged and drew-in the crowd. If you weren’t interested in the sound, you were scared into paying attention for fear of seeing him after the set and having disappointed him. China Kills Girls is a punk band in the authentic sense. Using one of Johnny’s onstage faux pas, they stuck it to us like Tommy Lee to Pamela Anderson-Lee… (Spader?) and the crowd at The Moon took it all in.
Elvis Took Acid, a four piece rock/punk band took the stage next. The Moon did everyone a solid booking this band. They hit the show running with the screaming rage of lead singer, Dik. One of the first songs had the words clit, tits and blood intermingled into a rampage of guitar and drums. Johnny
Trashpockets, their dread-locked guitarist, beat the shit out of his guitar on more than tune and fully tatted bassist, Viktor effortlessly kept the rhythm for what seemed like an hour as the band played until about midnight. Elvis Took Acid finished their set with a cover of Johnny Cash’s Folsom Prison Blues that was less of a sing along and more of an anthem. It’s not easy to pull off covers but this one was reimagined in just the right way.
Saving the best for last, Stoogeaphilia finished out the show with a series of classics tuned into their own version of delicious punken-ness. “Stooge” (as they are lovingly referred to) are a repertory band covering songs by The Stooges, The Damned, MC5 and others. The crowd swarmed around them when they took the stage. If you are looking for classic musicianship, energy and talent… see this band live. These are guys who’ve been around the block a few times and lived to tell about it. They played the songs that you know (or maybe don’t depending on your age- ‘Bipolar Express’, ‘I want to be your dog’) with such passion and umpf that we were transcended away from all the pop-punk bullshit out there today. Shirtless bassist, Matthew Hembree stole the show while vocalist, Raymond was a convincing and commanding front man. Ken Shimamoto, the guitarist didn’t stand still. He obviously enjoyed every moment of the set while the music seemed effortless for him.
Bar hoppers and committed fans alike were sweaty with delight at the close of this long evening. In the end, three hours weren’t enough for a show like this. Each band could have played independently and kept our attention the entire evening. Live shows can often be reminders of what was or glimpses of what is to come. Last Saturday at The Moon, we came full circle.
