Whoa! WHOA, Greater Boston Area! You have seriously got to stop rocking so much! These shows are piling up faster than I can write about them. Since things are only about to get crazier with a slew of legit legends (Wanda Jackson, Motorhead, Jonathan Richman, The Pogues etc.) about to hit town in the next month, I figured now might be my best chance to tell you about some of the awesome shit that’s already gone down this year. And so, over the course of a few weeks, we will be taking a look back at the first 11 shows I’ve hit in 2011.
Show 6: The Queers @ T.T. the Bear’s Place on January 23
Wouldn’t you know it? It was only about three weeks into the year before one of my teenhood idols came through town. Show #6 was The Queers, who played right down the street at TT’s with The Apers and The Fatal Flaw. The Queers eschewed their pop punk stylings of old, mostly just playing the experimental synth-funk material from their recent albums.
… just kidding.
The Queers will never change. And if they do, they deserve to get their asses kicked. Sure, some of their stuff on recent albums like Munki Brain and last year’s Back to the Basement have showcased Joe Queer’s ever-progressing ability to craft delicate, multi-layered harmonies… but the reason I pay to see The Queers is to watch them jump around and yell about being bored, stupid, horny, heartbroken, high-as-shit or – depending on the song – all of the above.
Just like they did the last time they played TT’s thirteen months ago, The Queers huffed a few dozen of their classic junior high slacker anthems. The packed crowd bounced and bopped along to sophomoric favorites like “Granola Head” and “Ursula Finally Has Tits,” and went ballistic when original singer Wimpy Rutherford joined the group for a binge through some of the earliest, most obnoxious cuts.
The Queers – Granola Head / Can’t Stop Farting / Night Of The Livid Queers / Noodlebrain
I hope I’m not the only one who feels like Greater Boston is lucky to host The Queers so close to their place of origin. One would assume their Portsmouth shows are on another level, but many of the kids and no-longer-kids who grew up on/with them have, like The Friendly Toast, set up shop in Cambridge. They turn out in disheveled droves for every show, and many of those still in New Hampshire make the trip as well. If you’ve drank enough plastic cups full of PBR, you’ve probably heard at least one story from a Chuck-footed Granite Stater about the pop punk scene that some say died with the Elvis Room. To me, it’s a thrill to vicariously relive those days with them whenever the Queers are in