Birmingham, England’s G.B.H. are a classic, spikey-hair-and-bondage-pants hardcore punk band from the same leather-covered wave that gave us Discharge and The Exploited. You know, the breed of violent, nihilistic punk rock that infuriates parents, jocks and Jack “Quincy, M.E.” Klugman alike. The kiddos these days seem to have refashioned current punk into something far more timid, glossy and toothless, disconnecting themselves from the musical and philosophical legacy UK ’82 and instead opting for the flaccid politics of Sentences Make Bad Band Names and combing their collective side-bangs. It begs the question, what happens when Crust Punks get old and crusty? Is there an American Association of Retired Punks that will lobby congress to cover stage diving accidents under MediCare? Are aging rednecks going to try to start fights with geriatric punks, throwing hemorrhoid pillows and pointing their canes? We hope so, cuz we sure don’t understand kids these days and that damn racket of theirs.
Mon., July 28, 8 p.m., 2008


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