Fredericksburg - After covering part of the punk scene in D.C., there was a flood of accusations claiming I used haughty language and grossly exaggerated imagery and depicted the affair in a poor and salacious manner.  In turn, I’m going to be straight and honest and eschew any poetic license.  We cannot afford to have Magazine33’s server crash again from another flood of angry tweeting or incur the sort of contempt that is reserved for WikiLeaks on the part of people who can’t grasp the importance of transparency.  Also, I can’t be mean anymore because of everyone’s hypersensitivity.  Congratulations!  You are so fortunate that in the 21st century, no one makes shitty music!  We’re a generation of individuals raised so that the fat kid also gets to be on the all-star team even though the only way to get him to first base is to tie a candy bar to a stick, hop on his back, and hold it in front of him so he trots down the line.  This new batch of Richmond punks and I sat around and ate lollipops and chewed on pink bubble gum and played paddy cake, and we were all happy.  I’d be stepping out of my bounds to suggest that the punks looked like gremlin-gargoyles, that people needed showers, and perhaps the demographic could consider parading about with less shards of metal clamped in their faces.  I’ll be very disappointed in people’s intellectual caliber if they actually take offense to these low brow superficial jabs; come now, you’re better than that, and I am not.  We did not do any of the stereotypical things that people who wear a lot of black get accused of doing.  No one ate pages from the Bible - that was a mistake I made long ago one afternoon at beach week when I had a gin bucket for breakfast.  Yes, it was much to the consternation of the religious set in the house, and they did not like my depiction of the resurrection with lit Roman candles in the kitchen.  In light of the controversy surrounding David Wojnarowicz’s “A Fire in My Belly”, and because of my Roman candle crucifixion sparkling all over YouTube, my efforts to successfully anchor an internship at the National Portrait Gallery seem less than plausible.  For Christ’s sake, I’ve even alienated the D.C. punks - God won’t even stand by my side at this point.  This review of a show at Fredericksburg’s Grapevine Cafe, featuring bands from King George, Fredericksburg, and Richmond, will remain objective.  The performing bands included Counterlution, Enemy Exorcism, Point Blank, Comfort, Proof By Assertion, and Drawn a Blank.  I will not wander into pretentious language or forced descriptives, because journalism has never been outlandish, especially music journalism.  Writers of the aural delights are never hacks.  Us music writers are as straight and narrow and clinical as the family doctor fiddling with your prostate.  Yeah, it’s all a lie.  I’m incorrigible, and there’s no such thing as bad publicity.  But in my defense, considering recent aspects of my behavior, Captain Barsanti has diagnosed me with a mild form of Asperger’s, thus placing my actions out of my control without the Cognitive Behavioral Therapy I cannot afford without health insurance.  Therefore, talk to your Congressman about their voting record on health reform and their honest opinions on psychiatry if you’re tired of my agitations.  Let’s do this...

Probably much to the chagrin of the group for making such a comparison, Drawn a Blank’s sound is mainstream pop punk reminiscent of the likes of older Blink-182 and Yellowcard.  We’ll allow this to slide, because I didn’t pick up any hints of a Dashboard Confessional influence, and we know how much contempt I have for that band.  Further, Drawn a Blank executes this sound quite well.  They remain playful and optimistic, and the chord progressions hint at an emotionality that is not overwrought with sentimentality.  Ultimately, Drawn a Blank has a boutique sound for a certain style of punk.

Both Drawn a Blank and Proof By Assertion lacked the self-indulgent seriousness of a lot of annoying punk bands, and this made for fun sets enjoyed by the crowd.  Proof By Assertion especially drew out energy as an enthusiastic fan crowdsurfed his way to the middle of the floor and took a swing at the ceiling fan, sending it whirling on its axis.  The set was full of energy with ska flavor, and the band, being the only band from Fredericksburg, sarcastically thanked the “high and mighty” Richmond scene for stopping in.  The antagonism was playful with no malicious intent, but nonetheless hinted at a sense of territorial pride that will be addressed as I discuss Comfort’s performance later in this piece.  I noticed a strong communal vibe during Proof By Assertion’s set.  Participants in the pit quickly picked each other up after a leveling, and even as a member of the crowd was thrown into the face of the singer/guitarist, effectively knocking his glasses and mic stand to the side, he duly noted the rowdiness and welcomed even more of it.  Of course, this was violent behavior - but it was participatory and the behavior was manifested within certain parameters, so it never went too far.  The highlight of the set was a loud and bouncing trombone solo played with such conviction the timbre sounded overdriven and distorted.  Proof By Assertion does a service for Fredericksburg. 

Point Blank was the last band to perform.  Captain Barsanti, after getting laid out in the pit, thought he'd take retreat but instead slipped on the beer soaked floor and wobbled like a wax worm on its back.  We thought our work was mostly done, and Captain Barsanti started to pack up the camera until Point Blank's guitarist thought it'd be best to stand on fixtures, tangle himself up in the hanging ceiling lights, and abuse the guitar.  Point Blank's composition style exhibits mathematical complexity in the riffing and blinding speed in the soloing.  The playing style flirted with virtuosity and could have been labeled so, if it weren't for the fact that performance became distressed as the musicians played faster and faster.  It would not have been improbable for the performance to disintegrate into noise as the music approached impossibility as a result of complexity.  A human brain isn't able to process information that fast, let alone express it through dexterity.  This only speaks to the quality of Point Blank's skill for defying human limits.  The band didn't just play their instruments with testosterone, they behaved the part of Bay Area thrashers.  Point Blank explained when a song was about punching a frat star in the face.  They would tell the crowd to dogpile the largest guy in the pit who just could not be taken off his feet.  This was that playful and satirical approach to violence that I apparently misinterpreted in the D.C. scene.  However, Point Blank's gestures nonetheless remain ironic, because their machismo (if only as part of the performance) is the same sort of machismo expressed by frat boys on the right mix of bourbon and narcotics.  

I do not have any worthwhile observations, analysis, or criticism of Enemy Exorcism or Counterlution at this time.  To rant about them without any deep thought would be a disservice to the bands and filler for the publication, so I’ll keep them in mind and cover them at a later date.  Perhaps the highlight of the whole evening came from one of the earlier bands, which reminded me of Pantera’s Far Beyond Driven doom groove metal days.  Comfort’s lead singer, who’s physical presence might be more intimidating than three Phil Anselmo’s, quipped much to the amusement of the crowd, “We’re St. Diablo, from Fredericksburg.”  This could be interpreted as smarmy or snarky or somewhere in the middle, you decide.  Though Comfort is clearly not hipster, maybe the comment is another example of that central Virginia irony so masterfully executed by the Richmond hipster set.  Regardless, D.C. and Richmond respectively have a lot of heavy and aggressive music coming forth.  I just don’t understand why a punk/hardcore showcase in Fredericksburg features significantly less Fredericksburg bands.  Is this town really a wasteland like David Lynch’s Twin Peaks?  Where are the hard hitters from Fred?  Oh, right, after Dillinger Escape Plan’s brilliant, artistic, and cinematic trashing of KC’s, the only options left for us are line dancing at the Moose Lodge or fist pumping to Gaga.  As these punk showcases continue to be held at Grapevine Cafe, maybe that place will become a home for the scene.  After receiving invitation, I have no choice but to meet with Imperial China to discuss this mess over bourbon and disco.  Maybe we can place what’s happening (or not happening) on the 95 corridor in a better context.

By Correspondent: Mike Blackmore

Mike Blackmore, a Fredericksburg native and D.C. dadaist, is a graduate of the University of Virginia and is cultivating a career based upon Audio Culture.  He is specifically focusing on arts administration, writing, DJing, production, and photography.  When Mike Blackmore is not globe trotting or offending church elders, he is working on his campaigns for 2012 that are a tandem gonzo blitz for both House of Representatives Elect for District 1 and Miss Virginia (a very pretty girl from UVA ran for Miss Virginia and it made Mike jealous).  Mike Blackmore is allergic to church, children and commitment, but likes strong coffee and vodka.

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