Bad Brains do The Skinny in Maine

The reformed Bad Brains have hit the road?according to bass player Darryl Jenifer the reformation came a few years back and now they're getting ready for the big time again after warming up their pipes in pitstops like Portland. You gotta contemplate the irony of the world's first, best and for all practical purposes only black punk band playing a state that's 96.9 percent white. Yep, Maine's the whitest state and y'gotta wonder when some McVeigh-type is gonna come along and really put us on the map. Any "punk" show in Portland?and there are many of them?is full of assholes, but the Bad Brains are of course legends and have been here twice before so it was a reunion of sorts and the room was swelling with divotheads anxious to flex some punk-rock muscle. I coulda been in a Marine boot camp for all I could tell. As the doorman said before the show: "I'll just be happy if there's no trouble."

We shoulda known that it was too much to ask. I stood in the back, trying to decide whether I was going to see the band above the swelling masses down front on the dance floor, or get my ears blasted out by the sound monitor. Countless Jason figures in backwards baseball caps walked by me copping what passes for the punk rock attitude, at least in Maine. I wouldn't know (I avoid punk rock shows like the plague these days), but the Bad Brains are more than just a punk band?they're a continuum of the evolutionary force of black music itself, like Hendrix, P-Funk, Sly, David S. Ware, James Blood Ulmer etc., etc. It should be mentioned that they're calling themselves "Soul Brains" now?possibly for legal reasons?which proves that they recognize their essential place in this Afro-centric pantheon. As I look at the kids I think to myself how sad it is that in two seconds flat I can pretty much sum up their probable motivation for being here tonight, and conclude they're just making an excuse for their own stupidity. It's nice to see the Bad/Soul Brains get such a nice reception, but it's obvious that most people in this crowd are dead from the neck up.

At midnight, the Brains finally come onstage. This is the original group: Darryl on bass, Dr. Know on guitar, Earl on drums and HR on vocals. HR was in fine form as master of ceremonies, even toting a mini-cam. You woulda thought they could've afforded their own film crew, but these guys are label-less right now so they're on their own. The camera could've been a distraction, but it actually proved a rather enticing accouterment that helped old golden-throat HR whip the crowd into frenzy. They started right in with the old hits: "Sailin' On" was the opener, just like it was on their debut ROIR cassette 20 years ago, and it was apparent that after all this time HR has lost a little of his croaking power, but he proved completely capable of compensating in other ways. Not the least of which was being a rah-rah rasta, preaching the rastafari between numbers, albeit in a mostly tongue-in-cheek manner. As for the other members, it became apparent as the set progressed just how formidable these guys really were. Their musical evolution has taken them through punk, heavy metal and reggae and they proved themselves still capable in all these categories?the punk rock stung, the metal crunched. When they went into the reggae the first time it was bumpy, but as they settled into a groove later in the set people got up and danced and a joyous communal buzz was had.

Only it didn't last long because at one point while HR was jawin' about Jah some knucklehead yelled "Fuck you" which elicited a response from another bullneck in the crowd. I was standing about 10 feet away. The heckler tussled with management for a while, and I don't know what he said to Johnny Lomba, the owner, to avoid the inevitable ejection, but I could tell that it didn't sink in. Here was a slob who was about 20 pounds overweight, with a flaccid Dunlop tire sagging below his belt, wearing a white t-shirt and sporting a truck-driver's mustache. He no doubt wanted a little drama on his big night out. He knew he was gonna be hungover cause he'd been drinking cheap two dollar Pabst on tap all night so he wanted something to tell the boys back on the loading dock the next morning. Sure enough, I heard him saying to his girlfriend, after management had basically done him a favor?"I told them they better let me stay or I'll tell everyone not to come here and demand my money back," etc. Out on the street after the show the conversation was predictable. As I walked home, I caught snatches of dialogue.

"How did you tear your t-shirt?"

"I didn't do nothing, I tell you!"

You can bet this won't happen at the Edith Frost show next month.