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Volume 27, Issue 10, october 14, 2004

Audio-Files

Shake, rattle & roll under a Dead Moon

zach mug
Zach Brooks
Music Columnist

The clamor caused by Little Richard was soon muffled by a thousand white voices, singing in near-perfect harmony. Thus has been the reoccurring saga.

Every time rock and roll menaces its fangs at the mainstream, it is quickly usurped by its imitators. "Hey, hey, we're the Monkees" becomes the battle cry of mediocrity. For every Nirvana, there are a thousand Bushes. For every Green Day, a thousand Good Charlottes. And for every White Stripes ... well, I'll just say that I only need one Jet to want to put a gun to the face of this so-called "rock and roll revival" and pull the fucking trigger.

But, hallelujah! Amidst the sea of 80 dollar shag haircuts and hundred dollar jeans (which, for 20 dollars more, come with their own dirt creases and holes) there lurks The Dirtbombs and Dead Moon (playing the Larimer Lounge, Oct. 18).

Garage rock bands that don't like being called garage rock bands because of the bad taste in our collective mouths. They're just the thing to get the hum of the MTV Video Awards out of your ears, because if this ain't rock and roll, I don't know what is. And just as importantly, they are not enveloped in pretense like some of their, otherwise good, contemporaries. There are no Hives-esque theatrics or speeches formulated straight off the "Kick Out the Jams" record (anyone seen The Mooney Suzuki?).

No, they're too damned old. These guys have been playing this stuff since Jack White was listening from outside the bar (where he must have been taking notes). The Dirtbombs have been rocking Detroit since 1992 and before that, front man Mick Collins was in the band The Gories, who, lo and behold, played stripped-down rock with a couple guitars and a girl drummer.

Not only have the Dirtbombs been rocking twice as long as these kids, but they also rock twice as hard. Two drummers and two bass players make up the most bad-ass rhythm section around. It was explosive at the Bluebird, so it should just about blow your head off at the Larimer Lounge.

That is if your head is still seated on your shoulders after Dead Moon. Bands always talk about playing with their hearts, but most of them are full of shit. They really just want to look cool. Dead Moon does not look cool.

They look like they've lived through 40 years of shows, booze and drugs. Of course, they have. Guitarist Fred Cole has been playing in bands since he was 15 years old (circa 1964!) and he and bassist, wife Toody (no, not fake wife, or fake sister) have been playing together, in various incarnations, since 1979.

They put out their own records as well, proving that the D.I.Y. ethic exists outside of hardcore. They're the kind of band that forces all of us wee children, with our smug rock'n' roll sensibilities and superiority complexes, to look in the mirror and realize that we are really just a bunch of posers. All this without a color scheme.

So take that wad of cash you were planning on spending on the next big thing and go to this show instead. You'll have plenty of money left to spend on liquor.