By Daniel Kohn
By Imade Nibokun
By Arrissia Owen
By Lilledeshan Bose
By Sarah Bennett
By Adam Lovinus
By Jena Ardell
By Nate Jackson
"The older I get," Fryer growls, steam spewing from his ears, "no matter what costume they're wearing-Republican or Democrat-politicians just turn out to be the same. The people I voted for this year-Boxer and Davis-were on TV giving their congratulation speeches and doing this dance, and all I could think of was 'God, I hate white people!'"
Then there's "Art Is a Punch in the Face," with its so-true-it-hurts line, "The hits of today/Are the ads of tomorrow." This gets Fryer really wound up. "Like that 'I Believe I Can Fly' song. It was just a hit! And now it's selling long-distance! And that Verve song is selling shoes! Already!"
A few nights later at Hogue Barmichael's, Peace Corp. are playing a midnight set. Fryer is in a porkpie hat, shades and an obnoxious plaid coat that's so ugly it makes us pissed. Live, they pump-even their pumped CD doesn't do them justice. When they get to "Mosh Pit," the unthinkable happens: two guys try to get something going, jokingly, but still-forgive them, Lord; they know not the meaning of irony. There aren't even enough people in the place to mosh; most of the crowd cut out after the Delphines left.
Buncha friggin' losers.
So we hang out and watch Fryer and Peace Corp. scream their tonsils out, jump around like rock stars, sweat like fat Elvis, and work out their rage at, oh, everything. When the set ends, Fryer is smiling, and so are we. For the first time, he doesn't seem pissed.
Peace Corp. play at DP's Night Club (formerly the Tiki Bar), 1700 Placentia Ave., Costa Mesa, (949) 548-3533. Thurs., Nov. 12, 9 p.m. $3. 21+.