Sunday, January 20, 2008

SLAMMys Week 2: Punk at Burts Tiki Lounge

[Local Music] It's easy to feel envious of journalistic counterparts who are schmoozing their way into banging, Sundance parties this time of year. Sometimes, I pretend that it don' faze me, like "what do I care if I'm not rubbing up against one or more Olsen twins at the bar... that's uh... gross." But still, the hysteria of the festival is contagious like crabs, and you can't help but get sucked into it (the hysteria, not the crabs).

But last night at Burt's, all I could think of was "those poor saps in Park City." They missed out.

I've long lamented the decline of local punk in the last 8 or so years (not quality, just quantity), so I was looking forward to the night. I showed up fashionably late and unfashionably inebriated (it is punk rock... and Burt's isn't always the easiest place to get a drink), which meant I missed out on Andale!, one of the SLAMMy bands I was looking forward to seeing the most. Perhaps Jenny, Bill or Dominique can fill in that blank...

Monorchist (singer Kourtney Farnsworth above) brought the rawk. Besides getting some fists pumping in the crowd, Farnsworth swaggered on the stage like she owned the place--I was simultaneously terrified and turned-on, which pretty much sums up my whole middle-school experience.

Maybe that's why those kids love the punk rock.

City Weekly-censor-nightmare, Fuck the Informer went on around midnight. Right away, the singer/guitarist divulged the pleasures of smoking in The Truth-sponsored event. The band made their way through a messy set of punk that sounded downright angelic on drunk ears.

As their set wore on, it became visibly apparent that the band was not happy with the thinning/apathetic crowd--even with the formation of a three-person mosh pit (probably the only size that Burt's could accommodate).

After apologizing to the audience (for what, I don't know), the band went on to trash their instruments. In the process, the singer sustained a head wound that resulted in blood dripping down his face--which was totally punk rock. It was also pretty punk when he poured beer on some guy who was spitting at him.

Later, SL Weekly marketing intern Faith Purnell had to pack up the SLAMMys banner hung behind where the bands played and there was blood on it. Punk. Fucking. Rock.

Side note: People--stay for the show! It seems that bands playing the midnight slot get screwed out of an audience. No one wants to play to an empty room. (Ryan Bradford)

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