In a world where things just don't seem to jive in the realm of music with FM-induced crap that sounds like Cookie Monster beating a dead horse into the ground with a metal wanna-be rap outfit, there's shows of salvation like this one out at the Galaxy. With the exception of security "keeping aisles open" for the ladies bussing booze back and forth to folks that happened to be seated, The Galaxy is a halfway decent place to see a show. Yes, Virginia, there's actual seats and booths placed on the outer lying area here, kinda like The Hollywood Bowl. There's also a lack of area in front of the stage for the audience folk to cut loose and whip it up.
To a pretty full house, The Dickies popped onstage and pummeled through a set of about 98% old school classics, including over half of their debut LP with jams like "Waterslide" and "Curb Job," complete with singer Leonard Graves Phillips sporting a snorkel and large-chested inflatable lovedoll, no less. During "Poodle Party," ol' Len introduced his furry canine hand puppet to a security guard in the barricade who seemed to be taking his job a bit too seriously and rubbed it briskly in his face. Haw! How's that puppet taste, bitch? Let the kids have some fucking fun! Leonard was even gracious enough to share his robot joke with the audience, who got the schtick only after he reiterated the punch line a second time. Yes, Leonard - only in Orange County. Stan Lee, the only other original Dickie in tow, was keeping the guitar antics at max power, fingers flying around the neck of that famous yellow Gibson SG encrusted with Spiderman. It's a damn good sight to see The Dickies keeping the torch brightly burning onstage after all these years, especially now with their backing by Fat Wreck Chords. What more of an excuse do you have not to go check these buzzing busy bees out?
Fear piled on next, and from the last time I saw Lee Ving and Co. take the stage, it seems that the rest of his band keeps getting younger and younger (Derf, where are you, mister?). But that's not to say that the band didn't pull their weight, especially their drummer, who obviously wasn't there to pull his pud. I'm surprised his arms didn't fall off after the set - quite the basher - good man. Lee Ving pulled no punches with the audience, giving his 100% backing of the situation in Iraq with his fuck-all attitude as an intro to almost every song. Towards the end of their set, Fear busted loose with "Let's Start a War," with crazed fans rushing the stage every so often, flailing like desperate fishes out of water, spring-boarding into the swarming whirlwind of people in front of the stage (even as small as the space permitted). Security was ignored until they started grabbing those who wanted to get airborne a second or third time, and then the set was over.
What a fitting way to start my weekend, especially for Katie Hornberger, wife of Razorcaker columnist Gary, who turned thirty-one that night. Happy 31st, Katie!
