Bruising At The Show. Limp Wrist at the Cambridge Elks.

Making good headway at last.

Heheh. Head.

This happened the day of after a light rain. Stoked.

This happened the day of after a light rain. Stoked. It’s a rainbow, and my phone camera sucks.

Anyway, this show was one of those that simultaneously overjoyed me and pissed me off. I was overjoyed that Limp Wrist made the drive down to too-liberal-to-punch-a-fascist Massachusetts after 6 years of having not, and even more so that all of my fellow queers were down to dance to ditties raging against the homophobes and passively compliant with social norms. I was pissed that I never see 3/4 of these people at any other show. Do I have to go to a rad-fem fest, queercore show, or otherwise anti-heteronormative event to see these fools get down and get within inches of making love? Fuck, all I ask is that they not be so selective with shows just because they like being drag(insert-monarch) and that may not be everyone’s steaze. Live a little or die.

On to the actual show review, which will be pure fucken poetry: I was more focused on the headliner than anything else (can you blame me?) and could’ve given a damn if I had seen Subclinix or The Combat Zone, who are passable but unremarkable local acts who, while making delectable appetisers, will invariably pale in comparison to the legendary Limp Wrist. However, St. Ripper and Beyond Pink were pretty nice surprises, though the former blew the roof off the place. You know a band’s punk as fuck when 1) the singer is a woman and 2) despite the condition of 1, they still mosh harder than just about everyone else in the pit and 3) they eschew guitars for a keyboard and still sound fucken raw. Damn.

I’m too impatient to continue describing things, so here’s Limp Wrist, hardest of the queerest queers. A band whose songs revolve around the struggle of being a queer, a punk, and most of all a queer punk, will definitely have to bring forth some amount of fury. To any that aren’t into the whole movement (and by Jove, I’m still learning myself) you’d think that Queercore would sound  primarily like the Riot Grrrl Team Dresch or semi-joke bands like Gayrilla Biscuits and Youth Of Togay, and while these groups are fuckin’ rad, it’s certainly not  music that you could mosh to or expect to see live. Limp Wrist are a straight up 80s bulldozer of hardcore bombast that could stand alongside the greats in Negative Approach, Void, and Jerry’s Kids in terms of sheer ferocity and move-these-fucking-walls moments that make the entire building a swarm of arms, legs, sweat, and an underpinning of sexual energy that threatens to become an orgy at the drop of a single person’s trousers/skirt. It’s a rare treat to see a leather daddy in a black jockstrap halfway down his ass be the commander of an army of punx/queers that are about ready to rip a jock’s head off and also make out with the nearest member of the same sex or flick their wrists at a passing naval steamboat.

Yes, I had a blast. “What’s Up With The Kids?”, “Cruising At The Show”, “Fake Fags Fuck Off”, and most importantly, “I Love Hardcore Boys/I Love Boys Hardcore” came out in full force. And so did I, aflame from the closet (sorta). I dearly wish they had busted out “Punk Ass Queers”, “Od’d On Pop”, or “Limp Wrist Vs. Dr. Laura”, but hey, how many times am I gonna see this band before I go down in a puddle of blood when the world ends? Hopefully at least once more.


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