Let us now praise the greatest harmonica solo in the history of hardcore punk. Naturally, that’s the mouth harp that comes out of nowhere in the back half of Gorilla Biscuits’ “Start Today,” leaving the audience looking like Alec Guiness after a long day on the River Kwai. This harmonica sneak attack is featured in the 1989 anti-procrastination anthem that’s the title track of the second and final album from the Biscuits, whose current reunion tour stops at Eastside Bowl on Saturday. The solo is the only moment in the band’s brief, nearly perfect catalog that has an obvious connection to any bit of rock ’n’ roll before or since. It is an anomaly, an anachronism and a perfect example of why these New York punks matter nearly 40 years after their inception.
Gorilla Biscuits separated themselves from other punk bands of the late 1980s — an era rife with both arch conformity and off-the-chain creativity — with their sense of adventure regarding emotional tone and musical dynamics. High-speed bursts give way to deep breaths and dramatic pauses, sometimes in the same bar. This roller coaster of rhythm and form captures not just the sound and fury of youth but also the sheer disorientation of trying to figure out who you are and what you stand for. “Cats and Dogs” starts out as a pretty typical teenage diatribe about the ethics of eating meat, and it comes rocketing out of the gate so fast it’s barely intelligible. At the breakdown, about two-thirds of the way through the 95-second song, the tempo slows like a ship coming out of warp speed on Star Trek, the lyrics become more dialectic than didactic, and the argument becomes cogent.
Keep peeling these songs apart and you’ll find a group of kids who at first come across like knuckleheads, but were ahead of the curve socially as well as musically. Throwing around the R-word on “Finish What You Started” is regrettable if era-appropriate, but that flash of cringe highlights how on-point the rest of their work is. At a time when mainstream consumer culture presented a hard pack of Marlboros and a handle of vodka as the picture of self-care, these dudes were talking about setting boundaries, demanding accountability and questioning violence and destruction in their community. While Gorilla Biscuits’ lens was focused pretty tightly on the scene around them, our world would be a lot better if more communities applied the ideas they were spin-kicking around the pit. It sucks that the anti-white-supremacist message of “Degradation” is more relevant than ever in 2025. But it’s impressive and heartening to consider that young men coming of age in the Reagan/Bush years could and did rebut that bullshit philosophy with such brutal intensity.
The GB catalog clocks in at a whopping 45 minutes, including nearly a dozen tracks of bonus material unreleased during their initial run. Somehow they managed to dodge the incredibly poor production choices that plagued most of their peers, too. Effects are sparing and thoughtful, which seems miraculous considering the rampant abuse of digital reverb that was common then. Meanwhile, the drums feel like they are on top of your chest, the bass rumbles through your guts, and the guitars rip through the speaker like a stage diver escaping security.
Which brings us back to that harmonica solo, the most ’80s decision in the entire discography. It’s their Huey Lewis moment, and it still sends chills up the spine — even if that spine is a helluva lot more sore and creaky than it used to be. All that to say: Make sure you warm up before you get in the pit on Saturday, and get in a good stretch when the five-band bill (that mercifully starts at 6 p.m.) is over. These songs may be timeless, but you ain’t getting any younger, pal.
