Review: Murder Junkies at Big V’s

The Murder Junkies drummer took the stage and immediately stripped, revealing a chubby, completely hairless body. With his bright red beard and neon green hair, he looked like a giant baby that had just slid out of the cooch of Candyland’s sleaziest stripper.

This flyer is way too conservative for a Murder Junkies/Faggot show.

Some girl yelled, “That’s the smallest penis I’ve ever seen!”

I don’t think he heard the comment. He grabbed the microphone and mumbled bizarre introductions for his fellow band members as they took their places on stage. “On our contract, we sign on the line as ‘The Best.’ We’re going to prove it to you.”

Before he moved to the drumset, he had one last thing to say: “We love you GG! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

The drummer isn’t the only member of the Murder Junkies who looks like a demented gutter dwelling Saturday morning cartoon character. Merle Allin, bass player and GG’s brother, is the epitome, with his couple of random dreds reaching down to his shins, his pale face, his cowboy hat and his bushy Hitler mustache. They would definitely be the villains in the cartoons… and they would probably win.

Before the band started, someone standing behind me said, “This is going to go bad.” She was  wrong. This was no GG Allin nostalgia show. The singer didn’t try to mimic GG. He had his own distinct style. As he let loose his broken glass growl, he punched himself in the skull a few times during the first song. That was as violent as it got. Instead of eating piles of shit, he danced around the stage, doing a demented jig as the band tore through their music.

They proved themselves to be their own distinct entity, related to, but separate from GG Allin. Yeah, they played a few GG songs, “Rowdy Beer Drinkin’ Night” being a highlight, but they generally steered clear of what I would consider classic GG. No “Gimme Some Head.” No “Bite It.” No “I Wanna Fuck Myself.” Instead, they played originals, including a tune called “48 Days” that sounded damn near like the perfect sleaze punk song.

They closed out their quick set with a run through “I Kill Everything I Fuck,” with the crowd singing along, before everyone left the stage… everyone except the drummer. He didn’t want to go. He kicked out a ten minute solo before lubing up his drumsticks, jamming them both up his ass at the same time and finishing with a couple psychotic screams into the microphone.

Faggot followed the Murder Junkies. I was pleased to see a handful of GG Allin fans flee in terror as Faggot’s dancers started spazzing out on the dance floor. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I heard one say.

Faggot are a boiling cauldron of glitter and penises. Back when TV used to be cool, you’d be able to turn it on at four in the morning and there was a decent chance that you would stumble onto some B-movie filled with skin and blood and multi-colored fluids. The combination of the weirdness on the screen and the sleep in your brain would somehow damage you. That’s Faggot.

Also, here’s an important fact: Don’t go to Faggot shows to see vagina. I’ve been to a lot of Faggot shows, and last night was the first time I saw vagina at one. You’ll see penises all over the place, covered in glitter, flying through the air, but vagina’s are less likely. The ratio is something like 666 glitter-soaked penis sightings to every one v. So don’t go see Faggot for vaginas. Go because they rock or because you like penises and glitter.

Last night’s set was short and to the point: Big boobed lady doing the splits. A song about fucking a retard at the Triple Rock. Dry humping. Actual pussy eating. A new song that deteriorated into a wall of noise that lasted another fifteen minutes beyond the end of their set. I got glitter on me. Fucking glitter.

The Murder Junkies played Big V’s in St. Paul, MN, on 05/24/09.