Fleshies, P.A.W.N.S. & Gruk

I stood outside Riff Raff, faithfully puffing on a cigarette and speaking to a friend and former co-worker as the aggressive sounds of local co-ed hardcore punk outfit Gruk (who are slated to release a new album) raged on inside. The band’s barbed sound roused an attentive crowd, who were not only brave enough to venture to a punk show on a Tuesday night, but resilient enough to drown the lingering effects of the previous evening’s St. Patrick’s Day revelry in even more alcohol. Gruk played hardcore like it was meant to be — hard, fast, loud and abrasive — much to the appreciation of those who had gathered and succeeded in providing the perfect spark for the evening’s festivities.
After an extended pause, P.A.W.N.S. took the stage and smashed the lull in the action with their brand of politically driven punk. I have seen this band perform on a few occasions, and each time I’ve been impressed by their technical prowess and passionate delivery — this night was no exception. Though I thought their sound wasn’t as crisp this time around, P.A.W.N.S’ post-Patty’s Day performance seemed appropriately pointed, carefully organized and delivered with the amount of conviction I’ve come to expect from the band. P.A.W.N.S. proved that message-heavy songs don’t have to be boring as rollicking rhythms jostled the crowd, who moshed about with pint glasses in hand, and snaky guitar lines sweetened the sting of the band’s acidic lyrics, sharpened by keen social commentary and satirical wit.
As P.A.W.N.S.’ set drew to a close, guitarist Ray DeHated warned the crowd to be ready for the show’s third and final band, Fleshies — a warning that shouldn’t have been taken lightly. Though Gruk and P.A.W.N.S. both turned in fiery and commendable performances, they did little to prepare the audience for the caustic sonic assault that was to come.
Making the trip up from Oakland, CA, Fleshies stood ready shortly after P.A.W.N.S. left the stage. Fleshies’ frontman Johnny Anglo Tango, sporting a cast on his right wrist, prefaced the band’s set by announcing that, despite the outbreak of war in Iraq, there would be no apocalypse, and that he was on so many pain killers, he couldn’t feel anything from the neck down. From there, the band launched into their opening song, which rocked Riff Raff like a well placed explosion of art-punk noise, and Fleshies’ intensity (and decibel level) remained dangerously high throughout their performance. The shit was loud. Even with a pair of earplugs screwed securely into place, Fleshies — especially guitarist Mattowar, whose rig boasted two beefy cabinets — produced the most jarring level of noise I’ve ever experienced. Anglo Tango, who appeared to be screaming silently into his mic, was easily drowned out by the music, though he didn’t seem to mind, remarking that being loud was more important than their lyrics. In lieu of being heard, the significantly medicated frontman spent much of his time throwing himself from the tiny stage and bartop into the crowd, who had been whipped into wild-eyed frenzy. For those who could withstand the brutal aural onslaught, Fleshies’ set was truly something to behold and well worth the permanent hearing damage.

– James Barone

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