Kansas City Blog

The Estranged and the Red Dons hail from Portland: you can hear the angular, efficient influence of the Wipers in both, as well as that peculiar Northwestern cynicism. The Estranged play complex post-punk, with echoes of eighties alt-rock like Joy Division or even the Smiths audible in the shaky vocals, the icy guitars, the spacious production on their album. They play punk music with highly evolved melodies and technical confidence. After a few songs, though, I was bored by the winding instrumental introductions, disappointed that the nonconfrontational noodling didn't demand enough of the audience. I appreciate intelligent punk but doubt my own patience. After three minutes, I get restless.

The Red Dons emerged from the fallout of the Clorox Girls and the Observers, two inspired and unfortunately short-lived punk bands. The Clorox Girls played the Anchor about a year ago, and the Observers played the MoMo gallery two or three years before that. A few MoMo attendees got punched in the crotch, but no matter, many of them risked the groin damage again last night, the Observers were just that good.

The Red Dons pull a few songs from the Observers' catalog, and continue the tradition of perfect anti-hero anthems. Their songs careen between triumph and doubt, between ambitious guitars and dark, pummeling bass riffs, between whooa-oh harmonies and grim spoken prophesies. Live, the dudes go ape, flailing on their instruments and pushing their way through the crowd. When untethered from his guitar, lead singer Doug Burns thrashed audience members by the shoulders. Eye contact goes a long and unnerving way, especially in such close quarters as the Newsroom. It's interactive and appropriately uncomfortable, like Cats.

If at first I sounded at all frustrated, forgive me. I loved last night's show, and I'm grateful to whomever made all necessary phone calls to give the Estranged and Red Dons a place to play. I only wish that the punks would resurrect the lost art of flyering and of incessant promotion, namely because of bands like the Red Dons, whose relative obscurity baffles me. In some alternate universe, the Red Dons play all day every day on top forty radio.

Critic’s Notebook
Personal Bias: I adored the Observers, in an earnest, adolescent way. I sang along to them, loudly and terribly, and still do.

Random Detail: I always hope that Kansas City makes a good impression on touring punk bands so that they might spread the word of our hospitality. I was disappointed, then, that the band ate at Pancho's after the show.

By the Way: I can't help but wonder if peak oil will make touring impossible for everyone but Bruce Springsteen.