By Daniel Kohn
By Imade Nibokun
By Arrissia Owen
By Lilledeshan Bose
By Sarah Bennett
By Adam Lovinus
By Jena Ardell
By Nate Jackson
Photo by Jack GouldTHE SWINGIN' UTTERS
Galaxy Concert Theatre, Santa Ana
Friday, Oct. 14
There comes a point when you realize that a) you will never again listen to your own recommendations and nobody else should either, and b) punk fucking sucks.
That point, for me, came within the first five seconds of the Swingin' Utters' set at the Galaxy, when, mere moments after I'd told my girlfriend Cher she didn't need to move off the floor because there wouldn't be a pit, I got a man to the face. Pow! Right in the kisser. Stupid punks.
I'd seen the Utters a few years before, at the Doll Hut when it was Linda's, and the guys were so funny, charming and adorable I actually shelled out my own cash-money for the CD. But nobody moshed at Linda's—if anyone had tried, every joist in the place would have failed—and I didn't remember it being so screamy; I figure I'd just blocked out the actual music because I was too busy eye-fucking the cute bassist, Spike.
I described the show to Cher as Clash meets Pogues meets Dead Milkmen, but if there were melodies or funny lyrics Friday night, I must have been avoiding flying assholes too intently to notice. I did manage to notice singer Johnny Bonnel's slavish imitation of Mike Ness, though. Nobody could have not noticed that.
Why so bitter? That's a question I'm asked quite a bit. But the Utters show, coupled with the bros erupting at the Bloodhound Gang two weeks ago like pus from a pimple, has got me all man- and testosterone-hating like I'm Andrea Dworkin. I love cussing and drinking and fighting (and, sorry, Andrea, porn), but fighting to music isstupid. It's thuggy and fascist and plain old bad citizenship, for zitty boys who don't have girls to have sex with. Gross!
The Utters' final song, their cover of "Eddie's Teddy" from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, off their self-titled 2000 album, almost saved the whole show for me; it's the best Rocky Horror cover I've heard, hilarious and fast. But it, like time, was fleeting; the dissatisfaction over our Friday night, meanwhile, stayed long.