Dead Kennedys, Give Me Dystopia or Give Me Death. Synchronicity.
Walking up the hill to the Powerstation last night, I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of the world. My friend and I were breathless about it all. It was going to be great to see a classic Punk band that addressed these issues.
We sensed we were falling off our feet. Lightheaded in the stink. As we walked in sorrow, I felt tears, like tear gas. As I looked to the road, I saw a scene from the Toxic Avenger.
Orange lights and arrows flashing as road works vehicles sauntered by lackadaisically, loaded with toxic resin canisters with the lids off. The red Beware Toxic Fumes stamps on the sides hit me right between the eyes.
We were suffocating. It was penetrating. We couldn’t breathe or block it. We held our breath and moved fast for about 800 meters in fear of hitting the deck. When we stepped inside the venue, I could still smell it, and it was on my clothes.
It took a while to anchor myself, it seemed strange given the title of the event.
I first saw the San Francisco Dead Kennedy’s in 1982 at Mainstreet. They didn’t have flowers in their hair.
Jello Biafra, a crazy Gemini mofo. The gig was natural bad brains Punk chaos. Jello was running around the stage in a boiler suit. Sometimes his private bits and pieces would swing out.
He ran to one side of the stage and dived off. He got beaten up for ten minutes in the crowd before the security yanked him back up. He immediately ran to the other side of the stage and deep dived back in.
Jello parted with the band in 1986 due to traditional issues that can make it hard for bands to stay Jelloed. He went on to collaborate with the great Adrian Borland on The Witch Trails.
Tonight is a different experience. Despite the split, Jello’s contribution is solidly kept.
Ron Skip Greer is a strong frontman. He holds the torch of Biafra, channelling him vocally and physically. He seemed comedic and theatrical.
To tell the truth, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I thought I was watching wild and crazy guy Steve Martin belting out Punk. So, while holding the candle, he still did his thing.
Four songs in he started doing some punky slag rants about, politics, BS AI, and sports. To be expected. Freedom of speech. Un- encroached, as it should be.
The band played the sweet spot. Just over an hour, quality over quantity. A good idea, especially when playing energized music.
East Bay Ray looked incredibly fit and fighting, as if he hadn’t aged. His guitar approach and tone are a cornerstone of the sound. He writes great riffs and keeps it simple with a Marshall.
Prophetically stage named, original bass player Klaus Flouride, was really enjoying himself. He has a signature pushed tone and singular riff approach that blends well with East Bay Ray.
On drums, Steve Wilson held it down with centred energy.
Replacing DH and speaking in his honour, he seemed happy and spiritual. He had a smart style of playing, pushing the beat with a relaxed body approach that will conserve his limbs during long tours.
All the classic songs were there. Numero uno, number one hit Too Drunk To F—k got a great singalong from the crowd. The front rows pogoed and grappled hard.
I remember when the song hit the big time, Ready to Roll couldn’t play it. I wonder why?
California Uber Alles. Profoundly a great song. Wings of the bird.
During set closer Holidays in Cambodia, I saw some young Mohawk’s happily singing all the words. It was a healthy sight. A good start
Though the gig didn’t feel ultra punky, it was historically a holding and passing of the baton in some ways.
Uber Alles.
The encore was Chemical Warfare.
The gig was a gas. Synchronicity.
Now this is done, in the spirit of the Dead Kennedys, maybe I should write a letter to the powers that shouldn’t be.
John Kempt.
Photography Leonie Moreland
Dead Kennedys
Death Chemist
