Concert Review: No Values Festival
I start this review with a confession: I had never been to a music festival. I was never cool enough for Lollapalooza and Lilith Fair had a totally bogus restraining order out against me, so I never got to indulge in the joys of sunburn, $12 waters, and rubbing shoulders with tens of thousands of drunk people. Honestly, the idea of attending a rock festival seemed like a nightmarish hellscape which I was happy to avoid.
So how did I end up at the punk rock No Values Festival at the Pomona Fairgrounds? A couple things. First, I’m in a post-COVID ‘say yes to everything’ phase. More importantly, my longtime pal Vinny Shit on the Face, his headbanging 13-year old son, and his ever-a-good-sport wife Kristen were heading to the fest and invited me to tag along! So what if I pretty actively hate punk rock? It was time for twelve straight hours of it! Gabba gabba we accept you, we accept you, one of us!
My history with punk rock music has primarily consisted of loudly telling anyone who will listen how terrible I think it is. (I was a joy, wasn’t I?) Luckily, I have mellowed quite a bit in my greyer years and no longer find any satisfaction in yucking others’ yums. So it was time to open my mind and get outside my comfort zone. We entered the fairground pretty early for a full day of loud guitars and complete lack of vocal melodies.
A music festival veteran, Vinny likes to employ the buffet strategy: hop from stage to stage and get a few songs from each band to maximize the breadth of exposure to bands. As we sampled the mid-afternoon shouty stylings of The Adicts, TSOL, The Vandals, and The Garden, it became clear to me: these bands were unknowingly engaged in a ‘Brendan’s Least Favorite Band’ contest. It was tough to judge. Just when I thought I couldn’t hate anything more than Ceremony, here comes Black Flag! But then uh oh - here comes Fear! And when you were done hating punk? Here’s the Hepcats to remind you how much you hate ska! It was tough to decide. You know how they say Donald Trump would just believe whatever the last thing he was told? That’s how I felt about which band I hated the most.
Don’t get me wrong - I was having a blast! It would have been a serious dick move for me to accept an invite to a festival and then be miserable about the music I knew full well would be played. For me, there is a strange (probably Boston-centric) joy in watching a show I can’t stand. Plus, it was really fun being amongst the punk rock community, particularly the middle-aged punk rock couples for whom love of this music was clearly a building block in their love. I found punk rock couples adorable!
The afternoon turned to evening and Suicidal Tendencies gave four separate between-song sermons about how we shouldn’t listen to them because “they’re all fucking with you!” As I scarfed down churros and tried to figure out who “they” were, Vinny learned via the internet device in his hand that although we were safely inside the festival, it was a drizzling shitshow outside. Apparently, it was taking upwards of four hours for people to get into the parking lot. Online, people were piiiiiissed about it. #punkrockfyrefest was starting to trend. Our plucky team of adventurers were starting to feel the tension. Were we about to be unwilling participants in a Netflix documentary about the latest big music festival disaster? Was I going to be locked in a port-a-potty and set on fire? Again? I was starting to get a little nervous.
Luckily, all the anxiety in my body left thanks to the arrival of one man: Iggy Pop.
When Iggy first hit the stage, I admittedly had some mixed feelings. Initially, there was a bit of shock factor. The Iggy Pop in my head was a lean, sinewy wire of electricity. It was a stark contrast to the saggy-skinned fall risk that limped on stage. My judgment wasn’t fair, of course. Compared to almost any other 78-year old, Iggy is in phenomenal shape. Still, aging Iggy brought about some discomfort in me about the passage of time and its reminders not so much of mortality, but decay. Dying is fine. But Iggy Pop not being able to shake his ass anymore? That’s a drag.
By the end of the first song, that ambivalence was replaced by pure, unfiltered joy. What a performance. First off, Iggy’s backing band was fucking great. He played a mix of Stooges songs with the poppier solo stuff. And while Iggy’s voice and body have obviously seen better days, his undeniable charisma and “it” factor haven’t dimmed an iota. As he went from “The Passenger” right into “Lust For Life,” my cynicism was completely exorcized from my psyche. I was under Iggy’s spell and I was loving it.
I could have gone home happy after that set, but No Values wasn’t finished with pleasant surprises. After sitting through a thrashy set from Power Trip (who were musically indistinguishable to me from Dethklok from the show Metalocalypse), it was time for the favorite band of Vinny’s teenage son: Viagra Boys.
How does one describe Viagra Boys? Musically, I wouldn’t call it “punk” per se. Perhaps that’s because I constitutionally can’t like something I consider “punk”... and I really liked the Viagra Boys. Euro dancy beats combined with synthy melodies, 80s saxophone, and the most hilariously charismatic frontman I’ve seen in a long time - it was pure joy and creativity. There was a song called “Sports” where he just names different sports. If that sounds a pretty one-dimensional song, it fairly quickly devolves into something else entirely. I won’t ruin it for you, but yeah - check out Viagra Boys, especially if you can see them live. I don’t know if they play in the US much, but - I don’t know… fly to Sweden? You’re rich, right?
As the night rolled toward its end, we were faced with a conundrum: do we watch the original lineup of the Misfits headline or do we git while the gitting was good? With the blessing of our teenage companion, we decided to vamoose. By skipping the Misfits, we breezed out of the parking lot in five glorious minutes. It was positively orgasmic. As I mentioned in my review of The Darkness, there is no greater middle aged win than getting out of a concert early. We were even more redeemed when we learned that it took upward of four hours for people to get out of the parking lot after the show. It was a perfect ending to a great day. I just goes to show - you don’t have to enjoy the music to have a great day at a music festival. You just have to leave as soon as you possibly can! (And hanging with awesome people doesn’t hurt).
As a side note, I got to have one of the greatest moments of my life during the car ride. In recounting a story from our misspent youth, Vinny shared an anecdote in which a cop punched him in the taint. His son asked “What’s a taint?” And people… I got to explain to a 13-year old what the taint was. I’m not a parent, so I don’t get these opportunities very often. Let’s just say - I reveled in it. “Well, son… it taint the balls, and it taint the ass…” What a glorious gift from the gods. Childhood is magical, isn’t it?
Oh, and speaking of rock and roll: my film TALLYWACKER is screening on Thu June 27 at 9:30pm at the TCL Chinese Theater in Hollywood as part of the amazing Dances With Films festival. LA folks - get your tickets in advance! Don’t get shut out!
Boogie Writes is a completely independent endeavor by one hard-working funnyman trying to make his way in the world today (which takes everything you’ve got.) If you like what you read, please subscribe, support, and tell a friend! Also - do you need advice? Of course you do! Send your queries to brendan@brendanboogie.com with “Dear Boogie” in the subject and get some solid or at least passable advice!