Buzzcocks, The Stereotypes, a.m Vibe
4th & B - Downtown San Diego
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By Kevin McGoldrick,
SDAM Staff Writer
©Copyright 2003 SDAM.com/Kevin McGoldrick
Photos Courtesy of Paul Parks
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Tonight after numerous attempts to see the Buzzcocks in just about every city you have heard of (Amarillo to NYC, Glasgow to Copenhagen) I sh*t you not, my moment has arrived. This hard touring relic of years past and their working class saunter are experiencing a resurgence of sorts. As the 70's and the Sex Pistols make their predictable pop culture reawakening, so to their compatriots in the punk movement.
This is my first time at the 4th & B as a recently displaced stray music kitty. The seats in the back are my home and the show's success or lack of it, will be my ability to stave off the drool pool. The large floor still lacks a large crowd or much of a crowd at all as local band a.m. Vibe takes the stage. a.m. Vibe stepped up to the mic undaunted, and followed with a delicious set, certainly reveling in the moment of opening up for one of rock 'n roll's mainstays. They were quickly followed by local indie stalwarts, The Stereotypes, who produced a set catchy enough for any industry bigwig to love and cause any radio DJ to salivate. A hodge podge of San Diego rock veterans these guys are good, very good (or is it well).
So verdict? While I wish I could be more decisive on this one, as I usually am, I'd have to say yes and no. Yes I did fall asleep and the drool pool was in full effect but no it wasn't as bad as it sounds, I think its just me, I'm just not that big a fan of the middle aged white man.
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Now, while I am aware that the Buzzcocks have always been more connected to
"Last Call" than "London Calling" I still find it rather amusing that
people are paying a rather excessive $19.50 to see a punk band. What
is so freaking punk about that? When nostalgia is this expensive, why
wouldn't you just stay at home with the wife and kids, look through
the old vinyl and sip on your Guinness. But instead you make your way
past the white picket fence, into your white picket car and on your
way to 19 dollar 50 cent nostalgia and $5 beers. And you are filled
to the brim with aging testosterone arriving in the hope that an infusion
of "punk rock" will spice up their sex life and reawaken the little
spermies long dormant. Shirts that haven't fit for years, tight against
beer bellies, such a pregnancy for the middle aged lonely man. The shirts
read, "I don't care what you f*cking think!" and you're no longer willing
to admit you can be soft. Tonight, this is what I'm up against.
But, tonight the show is about the Buzzcocks, a band formed in the seminal punk rock moment of 76 Manchester. Vietnam was still
fresh in its wounds; Digital was not yet in the vocabulary; Atari was the coolest thing ever, and many of us indie-gen's didn't
yet have knowledge of what placental love was, our existence still highly in doubt. So did this ancient form of entertainment
called the Buzzcocks still have what it takes to rock a crowd of the pre-embryonic. Their set began with a blitz of songs by the
masters of the short ditty. It was sexed out, drugged up, fucking in the bathroom, the 5-minute quickie, but as with sex, you
still need the 15-minute interlude to recover. They never gave it to us and they quickly lost our attention. The Cocks did have
their moments though as with their new song "Jerk" which is some of the best material from them in years. Beautiful intonations,
vocals wrapped in the Middle East. But then there were the moments where it was punk rock gooey. Like diving into a plasma pool
filled with creepy babies pooing (I know I've lost my mind).