Swingin' Utters, Youth Brigade & Pistol Grip

Shut up and think for a minute. The show at The Brick Works last Tuesday had students grousing, “Whose bright idea was it to have two of the biggest names in punk play smack dab in the middle of finals week?” Whatever the case may be, right now it’s close to midnight, and I’m sitting in the Chico computer lab with my ears still ringing. For all the diligent scholars who have deluded themselves into thinking they did the right thing by missing this momentous event, all I can say is that you’re playing yourself. I can sleep in later than usual tomorrow (noon, for the record), since finals don’t start as god-awful early as most classes. Even the guy who’s too cool to put gel in his mohawk was there.
The show got underway pretty late, even according to Brick Works Standard Time. It was an hour past the projected time before Pistol Grip took the stage.
Hailing from Southern California, Pistol Grip kicked off the night with a fitting level of energy and vitriol. Their muscular hardcore bridged the gap between Fear and the UK Subs, with a singer whose knuckleheaded intensity brought to mind Lee Ving (and that’s a compliment). Their anthemic choruses and two guitarists (one of whom looked suspiciously like Heroin Bob from SLC Punk) gave the audience an intense reminder that the best was yet to come.
Next was the venerable Youth Brigade, who, along with Bad Religion, basically wrote the blueprint for melodic hardcore, and have choruses tighter than Dubya’s ass (young punks should take note of my use of topical and subversive humor). Their renditions of “Violence” and “I Hate My Life” were spot-on, even if the bulk of their set was relatively newer material. But they didn’t spend all their time spewing venom; the masters of melody took some time to dole out gentle Smoking Popes-style crooners that struck a sentimental chord with the audience.
My indignation in seeing young Bay Area upstarts the Swingin’ Utters headlining over the seasoned vets in Youth Brigade was on par with when the Dickies opened up for the Offspring, but it was quelled once the Utters took the stage.
The Swingin’ Utters were unrelenting, whipping the audience into a lather with their rough-hewn pub-flavored punk. Touring in support of Dead Flowers, Bottles, Bluegrass, and Bones, these guys have mastered the art of making punk rock that draws inspiration from its British heyday, a la Stiff Little Fingers. With more hooks than a fisherman’s tacklebox, the Utters ripped through a set that included “Teenage Genocide,” “Watching the Wayfarers,” and a slow, down-tempo roots rocker that segued into their finale, the killer “Catastrophe.”
Oh, and you know that gruff, workingman’s stance they assume? Most of those guys in the band have full-time jobs. What’s your excuse?

– Ryan Prado
– Photo by Alyssa Starkey

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