Concert review: Circle Jerks at The Orange Peel
The hardcore punk sound that emerged in the U.S. during the early ‘80s was a raw, aggressive one that acted as a tension release for the festering angst of the era’s youth. At the forefront of the West Coast scene, along with acts like Germs, Dead Kennedys, and Fear, was Circle Jerks, fronted by founding Black Flag vocalist Keith Morris.
Immortalized in the 1981 Penelope Spheeris documentary The Decline of Western Civilization, the young band’s rapid-paced songs were impassioned outbursts aimed at authority figures. They combined the speed of The Ramones and the antagonistic rage of the Sex Pistols with the anti-authoritarianism of Crass. Along with peers in the aforementioned bands, plus Minor Threat and Bad Brains, Circle Jerks produced a sound and movement that countered the coke-fueled excesses of the late ‘70s — raw, explosive anthems for the disaffected youth of the Reagan Era.
Over four decades since its formation, a reunited version of Circle Jerks — featuring Morris, Greg founding guitarist Hetson, longtime bassist Zander Schloss, and Joey Castillo (Wasted Youth; Queens of the Stone Age) on drums — made its first ever appearance in Asheville at The Orange Peel on July 20, drawing punks both young and old to pack the downtown venue.
The band arrived on stage to the easy listening pop jazz of Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass, leading Morris to a brief story about Circle Jerks’ search for a record label in its early years — Alpert was on A&M, which apparently considered putting out a Circle Jerks record at one point. Continuing further, Morris brought up how the tour was originally supposed to coincide with the 40th Anniversary of the band’s iconic 1980 debut, Group Sex, before being derailed by the COVID-19 pandemic. Instead, it aligns with the 40th Anniversary of 1982 follow up, Wild in the Streets.
Following the opening banter, the band launched into “Deny Everything,” the 30-second opening track from its debut, before relentlessly continuing on through several more of its classics without pause. Although the stage wasn’t quite the chaotic frenzy caught on tape in The Decline of Western Civilization, there was no question that these artists could still play with the intense urgency of their youth. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, considering that all four members have maintained consistent and impressive music careers since the ‘80s.
Forging ahead through a lengthy 32-song set in explosive segments, Circle Jerks performed the majority of Group Sex and Wild in the Streets while still managing to fit in a decent number of cuts from the rest of its albums. Morris & Co. didn’t move around the stage quite like their younger selves but it didn’t impede the energetic crowd from going wild in the circle pit during favorites such as “World Up My Ass,” “Wasted,” and “Live Fast Die Young.” As the state of the country remains just as unsettling, the angsty anthems maintain their vitality.
Rounding out the bill was Negative Approach and 7 Seconds, a pair of pioneering hardcore punk acts who also originally formed over four decades ago.
Detroit-based Negative Approach, whose initial run as a band only lasted from 1981-84, got the night started playing the kind of loud and fast hardcore that brought to mind dozens of acts from my youth who had undoubtedly been influenced by these very musicians. An imposing figure, vocalist John Brannon’s forceful shouting provided a menacing quality in combination with the noisy mix of guitar, bass, and drums.
Unlike Negative Approach, Reno-based hardcore pioneers 7 Seconds have managed to survive since 1980, although they briefly broke up in 2018. As enduring mainstays in the scene, they’ve built a devoted following over the years, which was evident as fans shouted along to their spirited anthems. No sing-a-long was more enrapturing than when the group ended its set with a blistering cover of Nena’s “99 Red Balloons.” Emphatically singing every word, the crowd overpowered vocalist Kevin Seconds, who eventually turned the mic towards the pit and let the fans do the work.
Standing amongst the colorful collection of sweaty punks sporting spiky mohawks and jean jacket vests overloaded with patches of bands from another era, I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic for the punk and hardcore shows of my youth, bringing back memories of sticky, beer-soaked floors, rowdy skinhead assholes, and the stench of stale cigarette smoke — and puke. As bad as that sounds, it’s still a pretty great feeling.
(Photos by Jonny Leather)
