IMG_20160723_131221177.jpg

Punk rock never died. It may have stepped out to change it's clothes, maybe grab a cigarette but it's always been there, if you know where to look. I found it last weekend, in two dark rooms in Echo Park, Los Angeles. It was at Dirty Penni Fest, a joint operation between Dirty Laundry TV and Penniback Records. Hosted on the twin stages of The Echo and The Echoplex it was a nine hour display of attitude, dedication, sweat, piss and vinegar.

The whole thing was sensory assault. Dark rooms, bright lights, oppressive sunshine, heat, air conditioning, feedback, screaming... The day was a whirlwind. Between the 18 bands on the bill there wasn't much time to process what you just saw before you were handed even more to take in. As Lovely Bad Things last note dies out, run outside into the oppressive L.A. heat, head upstairs, and catch the last few ringing minutes of French Vanilla. When hunger strikes grab a bite at one of the food trucks parked outside, have a smoke, and maybe meet the members of Death Hymn Number 9.

The crowd swelled as the day went on. It always does, there's a reason the names at the top of the poster are bigger. It was the diehards who spent their whole day in attendance that spoke to the devotion this scene can garner. 

There are people (dentists, accountants, possibly. The proverbial "adults") who might see this as a great monument to nothing — "you can't make a living off of doing this, you know how few bands actually make it, why are you wasting your time?" But the missed point is that it's not about tomorrow, or even twenty minutes from now. Days like this one, hazy with cigarette smoke, unsteady with beer, perspiring, surrounded by friends and the likeminded.... you don't get many of them, so squeeze everything you can out of it. It's not about being young either, there are grown ups in attendance. It's about doing something for yourself, making art or supporting it. There's an underlying desperation to this, like with all good music, that rejects the expectations of the straight laced, the hand offering security. Better to build something yourself. It might be grimy, unsteady, you might be designing it while you build it but at least it's yours, right?

 

Being one reporter I can only cover so much, so this is just a sampling of the buffet that was Dirty Penni Fest.

 

Loko Ono

Eddie Beck kicks his feet up. Photo by Donuts

Eddie Beck kicks his feet up. Photo by Donuts

I came in after the start of Loko Ono's set. The gender bending four piece know how to make a spectacle of themselves. Lead guitarist Vyvyan Ono looks like an Anne Rice character, bassist Eddie Beck is wearing makeup and a crop top over his muscular frame. The whole group is always moving. Drummer Jason Adams even stands up and moves around the kit as he plays. There's a spot of grease on his nose and a large circle around his eye, so he looks a bit like a puppy. They make a racket, and singer/guitarist Kathleen Adams is at the center. She sounds like shrill, like a Powerpuff girl. The four Loko's trade instruments and generally run wild. At various points Beck is resting between the monitors with his feet up (only missing the piece of straw between his teeth), and wrestling with audience members he may or may not know. Adams drops into the audience, lays down and hides her face beneath the stage curtain as she plays guitar. Her brother grins and marches, jerking his limbs like a wind up toy soldier. They can play, they just don't care how well they do it. There are moments but it's mostly about the energy, the exhibition, but it feels manufactured. When she talks to the audience you could say Adams is edgy, but it's a dull edge, and it's dragged out too long. The group might benefit from a "less-is-more" approach; their attempts to be provocative interrupt their own momentum.

 

So Many Wizards

So Many Wizards. Photo by Patricia Covey

So Many Wizards. Photo by Patricia Covey

This melodic four piece were a change of pace from the high energy sneers of those that preceded them. They were calm, light, and breezy. I bet it would be perfect for a drive, one to the beach especially. The guitars are wavy, surf sounding, the songs are well arranged. So Many Wizards actually sing too. They have melodies. They aren't the only band on the bill that does, but the vocals seem as important as the instrumentals, if not more so. It's pop music; dreamy, mid-tempo songwriting. There are faster numbers, but mostly it's music that you could mosey along to. No one player on the stage stands out, but the four of them together make something fun, and catchy especially. I wouldn't be shocked if I found them on the radio one day. It wasn't the greatest live show. There's no spectacle here. They have to be present so they can hit their cues, trigger the guitar pedals at the right moment. The quartet were focused on playing to their peak. They're fun to watch because of how good they sound. Everything is just so. It's almost delicate, push too hard in any direction and the whole thing falls apart. 

 

Jurassic Shark

Video by Patricia Covey

Dan Fowler of Jurassic Shark. Photo By Patricia Covey

Dan Fowler of Jurassic Shark. Photo By Patricia Covey

Think of Daniel Johnston singing over a math rock band with it's legs cut off, you'll have an idea of Jurassic Shark. Intricate, involved guitar lines that wrap around each other, supported by pervasive, punchy bass lines and splashy drums. The melodies aren't flashy, but they're more complex than you might expect when you see these guys take the stage, and Dan Fowler's quavering voice is the perfect vehicle. The Monrovia four-piece lay it down, build it up, then smash it to pieces and revel in what's left. This music has heart. They don't need to go for unusual time signatures or song structures. At one point there's even an audience clap-along. It's pop music, or it would be if they weren't having so much fun playing the hell out of their instruments. Call it post-rock punk, if you're looking for labels. From the start of their set the crowd was a meat grinder, although a friendly one. It was non-stop stage diving, and you could see faces singing along with every word. Jurassic Shark play with attitude. Not a "fuck you" attitude, in fact they were near polite. No, this felt like four people who are most comfortable when they're caught up in a swirl of noise of their own creation. They vary from a light punch to an all out attack. The songs are catchy, the lyrics I could hear were a kind of pedestrian poetry ("Watch what you do, it will catch up with you") but it all mixes into an earnest expression of collective personality. It's busy, and frantic, but also somehow soothing, glassy and calm. I bet they make the kind of records perfect for a bit of introspection, but noisey enough that you don't feel mopey while you do it.

 

Lovely Bad Things

Lauren Curtis of Lovely Bad Things. Photo by Carolyn Mellon

Lauren Curtis of Lovely Bad Things. Photo by Carolyn Mellon

Cameron Ward going wild. Photo By Carolyn Mellon

Cameron Ward going wild. Photo By Carolyn Mellon

Halfway into their first song, Lovely Bad Things have captured me. The five-piece play sugary sweet, head-banging punk music. It's not pop but it is catchy. You can go from slamdancing to just dancing in the space of a single song. Diminutive guitarist/singer Lauren Curtis is a sight to see standing over a roiling mosh pit with a smile on her face. On her right is the metalhead Cousin It, Cameron Ward, also singing and strumming. Half the time his face is hidden behind a long curtain of hair, and by the end of the show it's dripping sweat. The combination of his harsh vocals and her crystal clear voice over three guitars, and a tight rhythm section... how can you not like this band? The few lyrics I could pick out were poetic and emotional. Lines like "Just the way we like it. Wasting time, I don't want to live my life" ring true for a directionless twenty-something. You can see the bottom coming up at you but that doesn't mean you want off the ride just yet. Lovely Bad Things music is that moment when a wall of water reaches it's peak and hangs there, frozen for an instant, before it crashes down and buries you in a roar so intense you forget which way is up. There's no boredom or laziness on their part. The songs are well worn but they still shine like it's the first time they've been played for an audience. LBT want you to come along with them and have fun, for three and a half minutes forget everything else.

 

Sloppy Jane

Photo by Carolyn Mellon

Photo by Carolyn Mellon

I've been following Sloppy Jane for a few months. I can't recall where I first heard about them but I know it was because of their live shows — they have a reputation for being unpredictable. I was looking forward to seeing them and I wasn't disappointed. Frontwoman Haley Dahl is a provocateur, she works the crowd . The set started with a showing of an old Teletubbies DVD, the crowd hushed into silence while Dahl held a microphone up to a tiny television speaker. She has an mischievous, evil looking smile, like a small child who knows she's doing what she shouldn't. It's a calculated aesthetic — Sloppy Jane's stage is decorated with giant teddy bears that the band members pretend to nap with before they start playing. You know it's about to begin when Dahl shrugs out of her jacket, kicks off her heavy boots and pants. If you google 'Sloppy Jane' you'll find photos of her performing naked, face and body covered in spit up blue slime, and today is no different. As the music starts ringing out, dark liquid starts surging out of her mouth, covering her chin, arms, legs and body. Wearing only a small top, Spanx and tights she jumps into the audience and sings while hurling herself around the pit. At one point in the show she asks for a shirt to wipe her sticky blue hands on so she can play guitar, and someone actually takes theirs off and throws it to her. Her partner in crime Sarah Catherine Pierce leads half of Loko Ono in a queasy, seasick rhythm that changes from thrash to sickly sweet singalong without warning. Sloppy Jane are performance artists. Seeing them is like getting laid, but you probably don't want to tell your friends about it.

 

walter

Patrick Nolan of walter. Photo by Carolyn Mellon

Patrick Nolan of walter. Photo by Carolyn Mellon

Misha Lindes of walter. Photo by Carolyn Mellon

Misha Lindes of walter. Photo by Carolyn Mellon

walter is irreverent. They're a powerhouse. These three have weight to throw around, and I'm not sure they brought it to bear even once in their performance. From the first note they filled every inch of the room with a sound so heavy it pushes on your eardrums, and makes the floor rattle. After the first few songs they announce, "We're the crowd that likes to be in bed watching Frazier by 11, on our Apple TV." It's tongue-in-cheek. If you're cool with it then you'll be in sync with what they have in store, if not you'll probably be lost. They're big and brassy, and they can play much better than they're offering here. It's not lazy, it's easy — they don't have to try to be this good. Guitarist/singer Patrick Nolan looks like a young Jason Lee (My name is walter) and he shreds. He jokes with the crowd, saying they better love guitar solos. A good portion of the show is sprawling rhythms over which he riffs and drops bombs of squealing noise. The trio explores the depths of simplicity. Take it down real quiet, then crank it to 11 for a few beats before hiding it again. I don't even think they had a set list, and at one point they start improvising before Nolan abruptly shouts, "Enough of this shit!" and ends it. They're easy on stage. The crowd isn't huge but it's clear they're mostly diehards. They end by building a cacophony of sludgy noise that they cut short, exiting the stage before you realize they've stopped. 

 

Mike Watt and the Missingmen

Mike Watt, photo by Carolyn Mellon

Mike Watt, photo by Carolyn Mellon

These guys are professionals, so there's nothing much I can really say. Anyway, Watt is punk royalty, he's been on stage for nearly four decades, but he knows it's about the kids. "You only get 52 saturdays a year, and you chose to spend it at Dirty Penni Fest," he thanks the crowd as the band gets ready. The trio perform with painter Norton Wisdom, who does visual interpretations of the sound as they make it. Watt starts by telling the crowd they'll be performing songs by his old group, Minutemen. I don't think anyone is disappointed. Minutemen are a classic, one of many in the wave of punk to emerge from the early 1980's. Watt's a standout musician, the whole band are, don't let the "punk" label fool you. His hands are always moving all over his bass, busy, bordering on free jazz. The songs are rambunctious, and they go from one to the next without so much as a breath for air. Watt's always been a punk idealist — the word looks like spikey hair and leather jackets, but really it means thinking for yourself. The music reflects that. It's not four chord strumming, the rhythms are complex, the styles vary from jazz tinged to funky to rock. Guitarist Tom Watson is wiry and energetic. At one point he knocks the cab off his amp, leaving Watt and drummer Raul Morales to vamp while he tries to put it back together. The energy they start with carries through to the end of the set, when Watt hoists his bass high in the air and shouts, "Start a band!!"

Painting by Norton Wisdom. Photo by Donuts

Painting by Norton Wisdom. Photo by Donuts

It's not about talent, it's about passion, and he wants you to find yours.

 

Just like that it's over. Out into the now dark streets, glowing from stoplights and window displays. It was a long day, one that needs another just to get your head around, but any day spent in the presence of creativity is a good one. It fuels you up, sends you roaring back to your life with the fire to find the cracks in your routine and exploit them for all they're worth.

 

 

 

Photos By Patricia Covey

Comment