By Daniel Kohn
By Imade Nibokun
By Arrissia Owen
By Lilledeshan Bose
By Sarah Bennett
By Adam Lovinus
By Jena Ardell
By Nate Jackson
Galaxy Concert Theatre
Thursday, Nov. 8
Denial is spilling a whole drink on yourself, ice cubes and all, and letting it sit there, pooling in your jacket, dribbling across the creases of the executive-black-leather couch upon which you're sitting, and into the lap of the guy sitting next to you simply because you don't want to jump up and deal with it. That is denial, and that is why the suede jacket I wore to the Galaxy Concert Theatre on the night of Nov. 8 now packs an unbelievably funky malodorous wallop.
But more important, did you realize there were executive-leather couches at the Galaxy? I did not, but my friend Scott—whose pants had the unparalleled pleasure of soaking up a bit of my drink—did. You know that area with the bar that you pass on your way from the entrance to the main concert area? If you go into that area, the couches are tucked against the far wall. Go sit on them! They're lovely and smooth and quite forgiving should you need to spill your drink all over them. And maybe you'll be lucky enough to watch two stripper girls fight over a hamburger, which is what Scott and I did on this magical night of a thousand wet laps. We watched strippers fight over hamburgers, and then we talked about how the Galaxy smells ("thick with a musk I haven't smelled since gym class!" Scott declared, before I spilled the drink), and then we watched the Dead Kennedys, who were performing without Jello Biafra but with Brandon Cruz, the now-grown child actor who starred on The Courtship of Eddie's Father.
I haven't seen The Courtship of Eddie's Father, but I have seen the episode of The Weakest Link featuring Cruz, so he's star enough for me. He used to sing in the hardcore band Dr. Know, who apparently were quite awful, though I can't attest firsthand to their suckitude.
Look, I'm not an idiot. I know I'm supposed to be irate and beside myself and apoplectic because the Dead Kennedys were once this Great Political Hardcore Band who stood for All the Right Things and now the three remaining members just care about money, so much so that they're performing with this dipshit child actor and HOW CAN THEY DO THAT OH MY GOD OH THE HUMANITY OH JESUS CHRIST ISN'T IT HORRIBLE CAN YOU BELIEVE IT WHAT A BUNCH OF SELL-OUTS AND WHORES AAARGH . . . but as I write this, I'm home sick, suffocating under a pile of my own phlegm, and I feel like there's a moccasin in my throat, and my eyes are burning, and I just can't seem to care about the integrity of the Dead Kennedys.
A bunch of people paid a bunch of money to hear Dead Kennedys songs, and that's what they got. They got all their faves: "Kill the Poor," "Dog Bite," "Gov't Flu," "Chemical Warfare," "Insight," "Nazi Punks Fuck Off," "California Über Alles," "Too Drunk to Fuck," "Holiday in Cambodia" . . . They didn't even have to suffer through any self-indulgent new material or chatter from the stage!
Of course, there were dissenters: "Who is this guy? What the FUCK?" a drunk guy to my left asked his friend, gesturing toward Cruz. And then later in the bathroom, I overheard someone bitching about having paid 20 bucks to see some other guy singing. But about this, all I have to say is: You actually thought you were paying a measly 20 bucks to see the Dead Kennedys withJello Biafra? How could you think this? Even my grandma knows that Biafra and the remaining members hate each other! And also, don't you think a bigger deal would have been made of the whole thing if the band had truly been reuniting? Hello? Now I'm getting irate! Or maybe that's just the moccasin in my throat talking.