"This one is called 'Sacrament of the Unholy Communion"
-opening act, Ball Gag

Boston thrash metal gurus AC have long teased and taunted fans with their relentless pursuit of all things offensive, both audibly and lyrically. Frontman Seth Putnam has spearheaded the band's rise to infamy since 1988, pushing the limits of feasible tongue-in-cheek aversions to political correctness to the outer limits despite death threats, drug-induced comas and censorship woes (well, and a libel controversy thanks to a song titled "Connor Clapton Committed Suicide Because His Dad Sucks").

"I'm not even gonna hit you in the balls, man. You don't deserve it."
-random attendee

The question seems to be whether or not Putnam and Co. are the Lenny Bruce of grindcore or some of the worst people on the planet. While most of us can enjoy (or at least see the humor in) songs like "Windchimes Are Gay" and "You Go to Art School," as well as numerous songs devoted to calling out other bands (Dishwalla, 311, Artimus Pyle and Kenny G have all received verbal thrashings from AC), most find some of the misogyny and racism present in the band's typically humorous song titles one toke over the line.

"I don't want any more ball hitting, you guys. For real, we should really stick together."
-random attendee's friend

The socio-political issues surrounding what is without a doubt one of the most influential noise bands of all time didn't stop the fans from oozing into Emo's last night for an (long, despite the fact that most songs are under a minute long) evening of t-shirts with band names on them, mosh pits and seemingly stunted maturity. Oh don't worry, we're including ourselves in this sweeping generalization. After all, we giggled helplessly as Putnam announced, "This one is called 'Recycling is Gay'".

"I'm just sayin', if I break this hand, I have to beat off this hand style (gesturing) for at least a month."
-a third, unidentified attendee

The crowd was what we'd expect from an indoor Emo's show featuring the finest San Marcos has to offer in double-bass pedal powered hardcore and AC, but we couldn't help but feel a bit out of step (in a time-warp sense as well as a culture-shock sort of way) watching the patrons file in and out of the mosh pit for water and high-fives. In one sense, the nostalgic return to our own teenage hardcore years was refreshing, but in another way, it was confusing and bewildering to see high school kids properly X'd for entry strutting around in "Vote for Hitler" t-shirts. We'd like to say that these are examples of listeners missing the joke, but Putnam and his gang are pretty straight-faced about their jokes, if they are jokes. Leaning against the bar at a safe distance from the thrashing, we noticed one baby-faced gent offering the band a Heil Hitler hand gesture. Another fan leaned against the stage in between songs and professed a different kind of devotion, intimating that he would be alright with Putnam making love to his mother.

"No man, it's not just a gay thing. It can be a heterosexual thing, too."

Musically, the show was disappointing. Jokes (or not jokes) aside, we were there because in the early days, AC records were good examples of the genre. Sure, Putnam was in a coma, and was supposed to be a vegetable, but listening to brutal blast-metal tunes being performed from a bar stool was beyond surreal. Putnam wheezed around the stage to and from his water cup like Ozzy Osbourne after a long Xanax-induced nap, and though his vocals were fairly comparable to pre-coma recordings, the energy one might expect from such an act was noticeably lacking. The highlight of the evening was the collection of fans assembled for the event: a mid-forties dad impostor leaning against the back wall in jean shorts and sunglasses, a trio of petite young hardcore girls in well-doctored band tees, a crew-cut sporting guy in a red polo shirt sipping a Corona, dozens of boys in black t-shirts and, well, us.

"My balls hit my brain just then."
-unidentified attendee

There was definitely a time when hardcore music united a scene in some way, and the hair-pulling, windmilling mosh pit was a bizarre sort of love-fest for outcasts. The show we attended last night might have been such a thing for a few in attendance, but for us it was a sort of confusing experiment in tolerance and hilarity. In between overheard discussions about a group of friends' issue with uncalled-for ball punching episodes and slightly disturbing reactions to the band's trademark offensiveness, we found ourselves longing for (wait for it) Beauty Bar on Saturday night, where the most offensive situation involves inappropriate innuendos to that pole in the middle of the dance floor and clothes that have been intentionally purchased two sizes too small, even when its not flattering.

We're all for hardcore shows in Austin, we're all for physically aggressive acts of love on the dance floor in the true spirit of hardcore punk rock, and we're definitely all for loud, abrasive music when it's good, but we'll reserve our cheers for some other, perhaps imaginary show.

Anal Cunt MySpace
Seth Putnam Official
Ball Gag MySpace

Photo from the band's MySpace