Concert Review: D.I., Agent Orange, and Fear at Respectable Street, August 8

Agent Orange

The Review:

My Saturday certainly got itself started with a whole fucking bunch of Parrot Bay on Friday night and a large amount of party favors that help a young man go bump in the night. This was followed by the highly clichéd and in reality highly enjoyable pretty princess party for a friend's kid, where the Corona did flow. Then it was time for a quick screening of a Doug Stanhope DVD that put the mood where the mood should be.

Enter Saturday night, with the boring Miami to West Palm drive to the always awesome Respectable Street for a classic Southern California punk trifecta: Agent Orange, D.I. and Fear! Younger punk acts Bloodhook and Total Chaos also played -- Bloodhook good, Total Chaos not so much.

D.I. took the stage early, tearing up their set with some real gusto. It pretty much proved, much to the horror of plenty of the younger types there, that it wasn't Pennywise who invented that SoCal sound. The set would have been more perfect, though, if erstwhile legendary members Rikk or Alfie Agnew were still in the band. Oh well.

Next up, Bloodhook, also from Southern California, took to

Respectable's patio and did a decent job of their own set. It was punk

rock with few frills, but their sound was straight-up honest and a

little weird, with some psychedelia thrown in.

Then came Agent Orange,

a swell bunch of dudes. Their set was a great balance of hardcore and surf punk, and the evening's live version of "Bloodstains" was hell of a lot more pleasant this time than in past sets I've witnessed. Bassist Perry Giordano is perhaps one of the nicest people I have met in a really long time, while the band's founding father Mike Palm looks completely unaffected by age.

And of course what the Stanhope DVD on Friday night really got me prepped for was motherfucking Fear. Forget the kitsch of the band's 1981 Saturday Night

Live appearance, which featured John Belushi slam-dancing with the

likes of Ian MacKaye and John Joseph. Forget the tongue-in-cheek, or

rather, punk-rock-cheeky attitude that frontman Lee Ving has often

spewed while espousing extreme politics and a torrid love for Budweiser

and Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Forget all that, because Fear rocked the fuck

out of that West Palm stage. Even though Ving looks every bit his 60

years of age, his swagger and braggadoccio lit up a set list filled

with pretty much all the hits from the band's 1982's groundbreaking

album, The Record, and its 1985 follow-up, More Beer. Great show, and I'm still pissing my liver and bleeding my nose out.

Critic's Notebook

Personal Bias: I think Respectable Street proprietor Rodney "Rodders" Mayo did not, in fact, need a haircut.

Random Detail: The triumphant return of sexy punk rock bitches was evident and in full effect.

By the Way: I'm glad I took the night off from work.

-- Abel Folgar