PLAYGROUND BOSTON

If you’ve never been before, definitely make it a point to check out a show at the Beachcomber in Quincy this summer. It’s an interesting little venue – small capacity, low ceilings, tables everywhere, and a stage and dance floor right in the middle to allow for as much mayhem as the South Shore can handle. They also have a great patio out front where you can drink, smoke, and still hear the bands playing inside. It does seem very out of place, however, that they have shot girls traversing the club inside and out, trying to get you to buy overpriced tubes of brightly colored drinks or Jello shots – it strikes me as much more of a “Fahk you, gimme a Bud Light and a shotta Jack” type of place. I will say that the sound has been consistently great every time I’ve been there. Everything’s miked right and sound checks are always done no matter how late it will make the bands start. Someone give that sound guy a raise… or bring him into Boston, I know a lot of clubs that could use someone as good as he is.

Photos by Nicole Tammaro

Anyway, last Friday at the Beachcomber was all about distortion, destruction, debauchery, and drinking. Dead Friends got the night started, dropping some old-school garage-style hardcore. Singer Mark Doherty made his raw, explosive, and pissed-off presence felt on stage as he half-talked, half-screamed his way through their set. The lyrics were a little lacking, but the pure force of will and the energy of the guys on stage more than made up for it – you’re not here for a poetry convention or a songwriting expo. Bassist Greg Moore drove each song with

consistent fast strumming, freeing up guitarist Gene Johnston to rip up sick solos laced with equal parts crunch and flange. Drummer Jose Morales slammed his way through the set as well, beating the hell out of the snare drum and the double-bass pedal like he caught them defiling his sister. I thought the breakdowns were where they really shone as a band – nearly every song featured a break that made you want to throw a fist into the air, an elbow into a ribcage of the guy standing next to you, and a boot to the jugular of whoever happened to be in range. Between the raw drums, driving bassline, crushing guitar riffs, and Doherty’s primal screams, Dead Friends spawned a mob scene of angry, adrenaline-fueled chaos and disorder among their faithful crowd. Dead Friends is playing the Governor Bradford during the in P-Town Music Festival, more on that to come in the next few weeks.

A few beers and a shot or two later, the Beantown Boozehounds stumbled their way to the stage to wreak their own personal brand of alcohol-fueled punk rock havoc. You know exactly what you’re gonna get at a Boozehounds show – frantic and fast-paced music, sing-a-long vocals, and about 99.9% of their songs devoted to (you guessed it) booze in some way, shape, or form. If you’re not having fun during this band’s set, you’re taking life waaaaaay too seriously. I mean, if you’re not into songs about drinking and the interesting aftermaths of an alcohol-soaked night, what the hell are you doing listening to a band called the Beantown Boozehounds?

These guys put on quite a show – they all take turns spewing, stealing, and slamming down beer throughout their set while still managing to somehow stay tight and on-point as a group. All four members of the band take turns singing, each with a unique and complimentary style. They’ll play a song that has drummer Ricky Magic angry and growling throughout the entire verse, then come out with guitarist Josh Gallows’ much cleaner and more traditional-sounding voice pealing through a bridge or a chorus. On other songs they’ll bust out 4-part gang vocals, sounding like a horde of people in a rowdy dive bar screaming along to whatever’s on the jukebox. There’s a lot of growling and yelling, but each growler has a distinct voice that makes for a sweet contrast as the singers go back and forth. Guitarist Chad Beantown spent the entire set running around on stage and through the crowd, all the while slamming down chords to keep the songs alive. Occasionally he’d stop in his tracks and throw down some ripping-fast solos, including some nasty shredding and tapping during the epic ending of “19 Hours of Drinking.” On a few songs (”Old Mr. Boston,” “D.U.I.,” etc.) he’d drop his guitar and pick up a mandolin, and pluck away some pretty intricate riffs that gave their songs a traditional Irish touch.

While the set was largely comprised of originals, the Boozehounds did pepper in a few covers – they have “Goin’ Down the Bar” by the Wretched Ones nailed, and I personally went batshit when they rocked out with Cock Sparrer’s “Runnin’ Riot” (my favorite song of theirs of all time… next to “England Belongs to Me”… and “Because You’re Young”… and “Riot Squad”… OK, well its one of my favorites, at least.) Between these covers and encouraging everyone to sing along to their more popular originals, they were able to whip the crowd into an absolute frenzy. At one point towards the end of the set bassist Rob B. Ridiculous turned to sing into his mic, only to find that the seething mob of drunks in front of him had stolen it and were busy screaming into it. This band-crowd dynamic makes the Boozehounds one of the more fun bands to catch in town – to listen to, to scream along with, or even to chug a few beers with. The Beantown Boozehounds currently only have shows scheduled in Jersey, RI, and Brooklyn over the summer, but you know they’ll be back in town soon – and I’ll be up in front of the stage screaming along with a drink in one hand and a fist in the air.

The Snipes took the stage to close out the night by further riling the crowd to boiling point. Boozehounds guitarist Josh Gallows pulled double duty, staying up on stage to tear it up with this band as well. The Snipes played anthems of anger to a loyal following that seemed to know the words to every song. They had a raucous, head-knocking style, emphasized by singer Mike Feeney’s frequent jumps into the crowd as he belted out each song in his aggressive howling voice. Gallows and fellow guitarist Matt Snow took turns churning out cutting riffs and blazing solos at breakneck speed, while bassist Tim Crowell propelled each song with his forceful bass lines. Pat Brundage practically broke holes in his toms, lending even more rage to The Snipes’ sound (he was sportin’ a fierce mustache too, always a plus). Interspersed among the furious rock songs was the occasional ska tune, with frantic strumming complemented by intricate bass detail. All in all The Snipes put on a high-energy set with a sneering edge that served as a fitting end to a night of beer-soaked punk rock madness. You can catch them back at the Beachcomber this Friday, June 5th, as part of the “BBQ at the Beach.”

Thanks again to Nicole Tammaro for the photos from the night!

Dead Friends
Beantown Boozehounds
The Snipes

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