“The last step is to make the song as annoying as we can,” says Lang. I wouldn’t doubt that his growing up in Akron’s de-evolution ground zero has something to do with that approach. “It’s your typical post-industrial wasteland full of meth and petty crime. Everyone there is a drunk except for Chrissie Hynde, and I heard her vegan restaurant is crappy. Still, I didn’t want to leave, because it was all I knew.”
Over the past couple of years, they’ve careered through gnarly underground shows in warehouse spaces and basements throughout Boston and completed two US tours that have sent Elkind to hospitals for surgery after smashing her knee on floors in Providence and Baltimore. They’ve seen hair set on fire, bottles smashed over heads, and bands with house-arrest bracelets; they’ve even opened for the late G.G. Allin’s still touring Murder Junkies. “I hate everything about them,” says Elkind, “but a show’s a show.”
Still, they swear they’ve been working on their good behavior. Pepper chimes in, “We don’t necessarily dress like punks. So people aren’t expecting us to get shitfaced after a show, which we often actually end up doing. But we don’t wreck the place, and that puts people in good moods.”
A tinny solo bleats from a CCR record spinning in the corner. Bendy blues notes, jaunty ups and downs — it’s the sound of a song treated kindly, with good behavior. I only hope Lang never learns to play along.
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