Circle Jerks proves punk is alive in San Luis Obispo
Ayla Boose is a content writer and disc jockey for KCPR. The opinions expressed in this article do not necessarily reflect those of Mustang Media Group.
The lobby was loud. As I walked into the Fremont Theatre on Sept. 14, it seemed like I was walking into a club meeting accompanied by liberty spikes and combat boots. While not everyone knew the person to their side, the crowd was familiar with each other on a musical level. United by sound, fashion or ideology, the true thread that night was Los Angeles hardcore punk band Circle Jerks.
As I made my way to the stage, all I could notice was the overpowering feeling of excitement — but there was something more. Some members of the crowd chatted at the barricade while others stood alone, gazing at the purple and yellow lights that flooded the stage. Everyone seemed thrilled, yet at ease.
Heavy vests with pins and patches framed by tattered fabric canvassed the sea of attendees as they made their way to the floor.
Like a live wire, the crowd began to cheer and yell as the first opening act, Negative Approach, took the stage. Frontman John Brannon began bellowing into the microphone, screaming with so much force that he appeared to be bashing the mic against his front teeth. Sweaty and seething audience members stomped around like a demented carousel.
Ceremony swaggered onto the stage, each member arming themselves with their instruments. Vocalist Ross Farrar grabbed the cord of the microphone and wrapped it around his neck, a captive of his own vocal throttle. Yelling over the hauntingly vampiric riff from guitarist Anthony Alzaldo, Ceremony urged the crowd closer to the stage.
The band’s most recent release is a series of metallic synth remixes of their 2019 album In the Spirit World Now. However, tonight they reunited with the punk roots of their early music.
Ceremony filled the theatre with melodic distortion underlayed with a percussive angst, playing tracks like “Sick” and “Bricks.” Alzado stole the show with his strums and attire, sporting a sheer cheetah-print body suit with tall black pumps and the added touch of a very visible black thong.
Passive conversation amongst the crowd quieted the chaotic pit, if only just for a moment. This intermission violently ended as Circle Jerks took the stage, riling the crowd into a frenzy once more. After a few opening songs, including “In Your Eyes,” vocalist Keith Morris addressed the crowd to jab at San Luis Obispo staple Woodstock’s Pizza, with the singer commenting on his newfound distaste for the popular company.
“I have a big fucking wad of cheesy gooey pizza trapped in my throat,” he snarkily added.
Shortly after the laughs and shouts in agreement from the crowd, the band played “Stars and Stripes.”
People jumped on top of one another, high off the voltage radiating from Greg Hetson’s cherry red Gibson. Many crowd surfed to the stage, diving straight back into the abyss of warm bodies. As a staple punk band, Morris used his platform to criticize the American government, condemning its failure to recognize the inherent threats made to those being supported by social security payments.
“This next song we wrote 800 years ago, and it applies now even more than it did back then,” Morris said as “Shit Hits the Fan” began to blare through the speakers.
Bodies flailed around me as people, young and old, banged heads violently towards the sound. This was more than a concert, but also a gathering point for music to be digested and applied to daily life.
I noticed every word being sung back to the band, a nice rarity compared to the increase of popularity in soundbite-based music listening. You could tell everyone there had been listening to one — if not all of these bands — for a long time. Social media has changed how we listen to music, something reflected in concerts of bigger artists. More people, fewer connections.
As an avid concertgoer, I’ve noticed that sometimes, larger concerts bring less attentiveness. As long as the crowd can catch a snippet of the most view-worthy song, some people leave early or just go back into the abyss of their phones for the rest of the show.
This was not what I saw at the Fremont that night. The electric performance from the quad brought life to the night. Driven by passion and distortion, Circle Jerks performed upwards of 20 songs, including “Back Against the Wall” and “Behind the Door.” People were there for the music, sure, but they were there for the community more.
After a disillusioned perception of what I thought I saw the live music scene turning into, this show reminded me that people still care. I kept looking around that night, and all I saw were people enjoying an experience, immersing themselves in what they were hearing and the people they got to share it with. It felt safe to dive into a feeling of total freedom, a release of whatever troubles were lingering in the back of my mind.
I was reminded of the first house shows I’d ever been to: swarms of people moved by sound, ready to receive the chance to elbow someone in the mosh pit. That show turned the Fremont into a vessel for the anguish of our current atmosphere and the passion to express such through sonic soundwaves. It was an energy you just have to experience for yourself. So go see Circle Jerks, it might just change your life.
