Agent Orange: Live at Club Red

Hardcore punks Agent Orange venture to the valley of the sun to play their own lauded brand of surf-punk.

Flowing from my earbuds their music took on a menacing tone, one that’s shaken me for the past few years, but also one that in no way compares to the electrifying experience it is to hear these songs roar from atop the stage.

Club Red’s “No Moshing” signs seemed to peel away as the security let up on the crowd, only intervening occasionally to boot some poor drunken soul. The singer leveled with the huddled masses in front of him, noting their self-control: “Thank you guys for not slamming during that one! That must’ve been hard.” And then they tore into another fan favorite.

As I looked around me, watching the sweating bodies with eyes all affixed on the stage, I noted the variety of fans, whether it was the old man with the prosthetic leg, bracing himself against the flow of the crowd but all the while singing along, or the traveled fan in mechanic’s drag next to me, his head bobbing with the rhythm and lips mouthing the lyrics from beneath his gnarled beard. The kids kept the pit in motion, as a few indie fans watched from the corners. All these people had come out that night to see and experience one thing, and that was Agent Orange.

As we sat amid the smoky airs of Club Red’s outer lounge, Juicehead played on to an already-ravaged audience inside. Sadly, by this point so many people had been punked-out (my party included) that they sat out the Misfits Records-signed band, instead taking the opportunity to sober up for the main attraction. The crowd inside was sparse when we managed to catch Juicehead’s last song, and I felt as if their place in the lineup had been poorly planned.

But to be fair, for those of us who had caught the first band, our ears had already been confronted by over six hours of punk. Sadly, my friend and I arrived late and missed both Braincage (who had possibly the best t-shirt I have ever seen – literally a man with his brain surrounded by a cage), and another local band, Look Out Look (although I did managed to snag a copy of their demo, which definitely sounds promising).

Our first listen was to the blaring Reason Unknown and Raina-Fire, and although they both performed admirably (including the latter’s well-received cover of ‘Jolene’), our interest centering on Raina-Fire came mostly from the fact that the somewhat strong and fit frontman had the back of his arm adorned with a ‘Zelda’ tattoo. Once again, most of our memories from the early evening had been blasted out by the end, whether by noise or by one particularly large Op. Ivy fan with a penchant for slamming.

But one band I do remember well was Phoenix’s own A.S.D. (Automatic Self Destruct, for those unfamiliar with their work). Playing loud and playing fast, but with enough diversity in sound to stray from the over-repetitive ruts that so many hardcore bands find themselves in, A.S.D. was welcomed warmly by the crowd (so much so that even I took home an army-green, three-lettered shirt), and absolutely everyone in attendance was pleasantly riled-up when their bassist, sporting red Dickies and a Joe Arpaio-as-a-Nazi shirt (see: Phoenix politics), asked that the fans ‘go crazy’ as soon as they recognized the song in question, and ten seconds in many were already shouting in approval of the Adolescents’ ‘Kids of the Black Hole’. The song was certainly a trip, but in a way, so was the entire concert. The best-received and overall most entertaining acts were those of nostalgia: A.S.D.’s ‘Arizona Über Alles’ (once again featuring our very own sheriff, Joe Arpaio), the entire Ravone’s set-list (a fast-and-fun Ramones cover band), and, of course, Agent Orange.

In fact, I absolutely loved the Ravones, and easily (and when I say easily, I mean EASILY) embarrassed myself by knowing and singing the words to every single song (except their closer, a well-performed ‘Today Your Love, Tomorrow the World’). Covering the Ramones’ more conventional hits (one fan was understandably disappointed by the absence of ‘Sha-La-La, which would have been perhaps too incredible live), the forty-plus punks had donned complete Ramones attire for the outing, even bringing along a quaint flag with ‘Hey Ho, Let’s Go!’ emblazoned upon it. The entire thing was a blatant novelty act, and I, along with a large following in the crowd, enjoyed every second of it. (Other songs included Ramones’ classics like ‘Rockaway Beach’, ‘The KKK Took My Baby Away’, and of course, ‘California Sun’ with the word ‘Arizona’ supplanted for the state in question).

After a quick repose in the smoker’s lounge (all apologies to Juicehead), we ventured inside. With Agent Orange’s merch table already in full swing, I felt a slight sting of apprehension. Although I had the luck of having seen three of the ‘old’ hardcore bands play amazing shows some thirty years after the fact (by the way, the Germs are still awesome live no matter what you may say of Shane Cross), I still worried that this could be the show to break that small but perfect track record. Would the powerful energy of older shows be brought to newer fans, as was the case with G.B.H.? Or would the frontman show his gray as he paced (and not ran) across the stage, as proved true with Bad Brains?

But all of my fears and doubts in hardcore and the bands of old were smashed beneath the screeching weight of singer Mike Palm’s voice. Here was a band that could open with ‘Pipeline’, an instrumental, and still rouse the crowd to their feet in a fit of brotherly violence, warm fists in the air and heads banging all the while.

Any punk would’ve been pleased with this set, whether it was the majority of their own ‘Living in Darkness’ LP, or a speed-driven ‘Secret Agent Man’. Hands down, I must have witnessed the most violent reaction to Johnny Rivers yet to be seen (excluding the last time the surf-punk trio performed the song), and indeed, Agent Orange’s rendition of the hippy-anthem ‘Somebody to Love’ rattled me to my core in such a way that I may never again listen to the studio version, in fear that this although hazy memory of midnight-violence and raw power may vanish.

But to hear ‘El Dorado’ live is something truly amazing. With huddled masses undulating under the weight of these legendary songs, I found myself entranced by the beauty of punk. Staring at the stage, my body caught in the flow of the crowd, I shouted, and I yelled, and along with everyone else I banged my fist in the air. To hear a track like ‘No Such Thing’, with such a nihilistic and bleak outlook on life being shouted at you from atop a stage, effectively declaring love nonexistent and dead, and to shout back these lyrics with nothing but the utmost joy and fervor is an experience in of itself.

Being the good entertainers they are, the band ended with the aptly titled and aptly performed ‘Last Goodbye’, but of course, after having heard demands of ‘cheap thrills!’ for the past two hours, the band first committed their signature song to sound, giving fans the best possible definition of ‘cheap thrills’ they could have asked for, as ‘Bloodstains’ played on.

Check out the full set of [textlink link="http://www.mishmashmagazine.com/pix/concert-photos/agent-orange-4.2.10/"]Agent Orange concert photos[/textlink]!