"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> U.S. BOMBS
"Garibaldi Guard!"
(-Alive Records)
review by Geordie Pleathur
Remember your hardcore friend, who watched "Suburbia" and "Decline..." over and over, constantly, incessantly, moaning about his step-dad, and society, and how he was worried Skinny Puppy might be selling out? The one who was always first to dive into the mosh-pit, the one who cut himself to impress skate-bettys, always spare changin' for that forty ounce? Then, he met some goth chick, dropped out of the scene, went straight, and where is he now? Selling Real-Estate in Arizona! Then, there's your other old amigo, whose wife's involved in the roller derby...he still dresses like Mike Ness, but since he started succeeding with his tattoo parlor, you got less and less in common, cos he goes to N.A. meetings everyday in his hundred dollar fedora, and congratulates himself constantly about all his material wealth, gloating that he's the only proud, "survivor", who outlived your mutual dead cronies, but now his whole world's seemingly wrapped up in greaser capitalism, and high volume acquisition. He don't like to admit that you're still alive and kickin'...Hurts his self-image...You know he looks down on you. Then, there's the lost love of your life, the one who doesn't care to be your friend anymore, the one who turned you on to so many bands, back when she worked at the hardcore record store. She's a home-owner, now, 'earns more than her husband, she's paying-off her mortgage and college loans. 'Nothing in common, with any of those people you loved so much. 'Still reminisce every time you're drunk, about the good old days, at the punk-house ,with the boot boys, and all the people who died, died. Ever get drunk and dial up one of your former punk friends? Ever feel that icey cold distance? 'Ever noticed how some of the "punkest", who still wear the skinhead gear don't even Facebook you back no more, but they're all "Myspace Friends" with all your ex-girlfriends, AND ALL the preppie, rich squares they supposedly hated so much, twenty years ago? 'Ever get the feelin' you got the shaft, cos you failed to make the transition into middle-class, tattooed, "Adulthood"?!! 'Ever think to yourself these Adult Hoods are just as jive as their parents, in the end? Good little suburbanite consumer zombies, who just sport the leather to be seen at Adult Hood, Hipster Functions? What a heartbreak, huh? You know alot of those people still get together, without you, two or three times a year, and listen to all the music you taught them about, and don't even seem to recall who introduced them all to one another? It's a bitch.
Duane Peters is punk for life. This C.D. totally NAILS what it's like to continue aging, "failing" with dignity, even as you observe all your sentimental favorites TOTALLY sell-out for acceptance by their middle-class families, in-laws, and become fully assimilated, grasping, selfish, status hungry straights. I suppose this music's called "hardcore" because of Duane's status as a hardcore skate-board hero, but really, it's just honest, angry, fast, and trashy, punk rock'n'roll with fantastic lyrics, a true energy, 'it reminds me of the Humpers, the Deadboys, the Clash. Authentic, gutsy, outsider ROCK'N'ROLL. I love this cat for stayin' strong and carryin' the torch for conviction and truth, even if it means being excluded by the greed heads and the social climbers. It's so, so good. "I rang you on the phone and before you hung it up, you told me to get a steady job and quit living like a scum..." It really strikes a chord of vivid truth. I dunno what the answer is...the street life's a brutal life, and history has demonstrated that many of us just aren't clever enough to live by our wits, alone. College debt is hardly an option for most who chose rock'n'roll twenty-five years ago. Plenty of us who never died young, or sold all our beliefs for a juicer, and some old punk vinyl, seldom played, but kept in plastic, and conspicuously displayed, and Lorded over...I guess plenty of us just fell through the cracks. It ain't all glamour. Evictions, break-ups, drug-tests, halfway houses, more rejection, exclusion, punishment. After a couple of decades, you don't feel like Fonzie no more...This records for the REAL misfits and underdogs, hold-outs, and TRUE PUNKs, not the scenester middle-classers who hold court at the yuppie bar, bragging about their property and shitty alternative bands.
I love this brand of punk, played full blast, from the heart. Buy any rock'n'roll that Duane Peters sings for. He's got soul, he's a true believer. As Gen X used to sing, "Do you remember promises, promises? I dooooooooooooo!!!!" Duane's still endeavoring to abide by his. Salude!