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Perhaps Metallica were onto something when they sang one of the stupidest lyrics ever, "My lifestyle determines my death-style." We can discern much about Tijuana Sweetheart's seven-year rampage of curb-stompin' rock-and-roll hooliganism from their next-to-last show Friday night at O'Brien's, where anyone who didn't buy their tickets in advance was totally screwed. Presumably, a similar scenario unfolded at their last show, the following day, also at the Allston punk dive.

"We are old and tired," e-mailed drummer LoWreck as explanation for the Sweetheart's departure. The venerable all-female quartet's grand exit commenced with a bittersweet round of shots and ended with a few carousers appreciatively spitting beer at geetarist/vocalist the Hellion. LoWrecks's ideas of "old" and "tired," it appears, differ quite a bit from the conventional definitions.

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Before smashing the anti-jock-bar rallying cry "Fuck the Kells" out of the proverbial ballpark, the Hellion reflected upon penning that tune (her first ever) specifically so she could play it on O'Brien's urine-and-vomit-stained stage (O'Brien's has since re-modeled. Now, the stage is more-or-less free of bodily fluids). The Hellion's victory over the Kells has proven ultimate in every possible way. Not only did her band outlive the regrettable abscess on Brighton Avenue, but people will actually miss Tijuana Sweetheart (born way back when as Vagiant). Not even the now-aging yah-bros who drank at the Kells give a fuck that it's gone.

As for the other bands, in reverse chronological order: Cocked n' Loaded unloaded a towering display of '70s, arena-minded sleaze. I expected Cult 45 to play psychobilly, because I had them confused with Pulp 45. Instead, they executed some next-level rock-and-roll delectableness. Giant Target played a song called "Every Father is a Motherfucker" that reminded me of Jethro Tull, and the Furiousity demonstrated how to teeter on pop-punkdom while tearing through a healthy quantity of guitar solos.

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