Twenty years from now, somebody’s gonna make a film about Redd Kross.
The California band’s accumulated a history straight out of a movie. Guitarist/singer Jeff McDonald and his bassist/singer brother Steve have been playing together since 1978 (when they were 15 and 11, respectively), and their band burst from the first wave of LA punk in 1980 with loud/fast songs that were more fixated on snarky humor (“Notes and Chords Mean Nothing to Me”) and pop-culture references (“Linda Blair”, “Solid Gold”) than punk’s usual barrage of ripsaw anger.
At the close of the 1980’s, when the tide of Grunge was just starting to surge, Redd Kross swam upstream–four dandies in flash ’70’s threads who’d evolved into a compulsively catchy and irresistible power-pop band. The McDonalds were Lennon and McCartney…if John and Paul were goofy US blood-kin raised on a diet of schlock TV, sugar-coated breakfast cereals, and KISS arena-rock riffs.
The early 1990’s looked like they’d be boom times for the band. They put out their best record (the mind-blowingly awesome Phaseshifter) in 1993, collected fans like Kurt Cobain and Sonic Youth’s Thurston Moore (who once called them “one of the most important bands in America”), and saw their influence rub off on other bands (put Stone Temple Pilots‘ “Big Bang Baby” next to any Redd Kross song of the era, and you’ll wonder why the McDonalds didn’t file a plagarism lawsuit, for God’s sake). But for some reason, the brothers and their rotating line-up of co-conspirators never became big stars. The world, it seems, was more interested in flannel-wrapped cathartic wailing than in a rock band that actually laughed at itself (and the world around it) while kicking out the jams.
All of this backstory is apropos of nothing, save the fact that–after a decade-plus off the radar–Redd Kross were in Seattle last Friday night playing a free show at Chop Suey, and that they rocked like holy hell.
Redd Kross work even the tiniest stages like fun-loving cartoon versions of rock stars, armed with a spirit of puckish humor that always let fans in on the joke. Last Friday proved no exception as Steve played bass with hair-flipping grandeur and Jeff strutted around the tiny stage like a Hanna-Barbera version of Mick Jagger. Ably bolstered by drummer Roy McDonald (no relation) and a pretty great fill-in guitarist named Jason (missed his last name, sorry), RK tore through a set that never stopped for a breath.
The band bashed out shoulda-been massive hits like “Annie’s Gone” and “Jimmy’s Fantasy” with sunny Fab Four harmonies and brass-balled guitar crunch potent enough to pop eardrums around the block. The catalyst for their reunion–a great new long-player, Researching the Blues–was represented with three selections, the highlight being a forceful reading of the garage-rocking title track. All through the set Jeff, Steve, and company laughed, had fun, and made damn sure that the audience did the same.
Ironically, I got some great shots of openers Dante vs. Zombies (a really good LA band that sounded like the Brian Jonestown Massacre at a new wave house party), but my camera cried Uncle through much of the headliners’ set. I was tempted to blame Chop Suey’s execrable lighting at first, but Redd Kross rocked so hard, maybe my photographic equipment just couldn’t take it. The packed house that night would surely concur.