Radio 4 Plays the Good Rock; Kat Bjelland Returns with Katastrophy Wife

"Dude, they're all about the good rock," replied the friend, decked out in plastic blue glasses and a worn Adidas t-shirt. I shot Brian a grin, ordered two more Coronas and we navigated a path through the packed crowd. We found a spot near the front, and I started feeling the preshow jitters and a sharp buzz in my head. Seeing Radio 4 perform had been a long time coming, and I couldn't wait to hear what this trio of punk veterans from Long Island had in store.

From the moment guitarist/vocalist Tommy Williams hit his first screeching note I was transported to a better place, a time when things still made sense and all that mattered was the sound of good music, and the glance of a pretty girl. My normal show-stance of passive indifference was too difficult to maintain. By the second song, I lost all control and actually moved my body the best I knew how. That's the thing about Radio 4. They have this unique blend of late 70s and early 80s punk?in the tradition of Elvis Costello, the Clash, early Police?that provokes the coldest of fish onto the dancefloor.

Throughout their power-driven set, the band blazed through countless hits off their Gern Blandsten debut, The New Song and Dance, and threw in a few that were new to me. "We must be sure that we're bored by what you're saying," blared vocalist/bass player Anthony Roman, in the poppy anthem singalong "We Must Be Sure." In the Fugazi-esque "Get Set to Fall Out," Williams led the group through a field of complicated clarity, to be joined by Roman during the chorus for perfectly timed duel vocals. When the set concluded, I pulled myself out of the haze, and looked around the dimly lit room to gauge the crowd's reaction. I noticed this girl in pigtails still dancing to her own beat; then I spotted the two guys from earlier and saw thunderstruck grins on their faces.

d. Stortion

Katastrophy Wife The Free Butt, Brighton (August 31) Once, there was a band called Babes in Toyland from Minneapolis? Hey, you probably know that already, but so much and so little has happened in the last five or six years, I sometimes find myself stating the obvious for reassurance. Now, let me get this straight. Babes in Toyland communicated female anger in exhilarating three- or four-minute bursts through use of singer Kat Bjelland's disconcerting scream and a handful of abrasive, post-Sonic Youth noise-pop songs; 1990's brilliant Spanking Machine might not have been the first album of its kind (Frightwig, Live Skull and Lydia Lunch had occupied similar territory years before), but it's certainly one of the most influential. You can hear traces of Kat's powerful loud/soft, surprisingly melodic, vocal style in both Courtney Love's nascent Hole and Sleater-Kinney. Not to mention Kittie, who are basically the Babes slowed down, dumbed down, given access to their brothers' Korn collections and a brand-new PVC wardrobe. It's a sweaty Thursday evening in Brighton, indistinguishable from any other. Numerous soap-dodging post-riot grrrls slam against each other on the way to the bar. Onstage, a woman in a black babydoll dress is screaming and wailing and raising blue thunder with her battered guitar. No soundcheck, no fancy instruments, no sellout. The songs she wrenches from her psyche are stripped back and jarring in their intensity. Behind her, two boys hammer instruments with all the force at their disposal. Sometimes, as on the epic "Rosacea," the sound verges on gothic. That's gothic with a small "g," not as a lifestyle accessory. Single "Gone Away" is like Hole might have once sounded, if they'd ever had any soul. No one gets too close to the woman. There's something deeply unsettling in the way she leaps up and down and keeps up the surreal assault.

This then is Kat Bjelland's new band, Katastrophy Wife. She is joined in her latest quest for world domination and perhaps a little belated recognition by husband/drummer Glen Mattson and Black Sabbath-influenced bassist Keith St. Louis. She sounds as fine now as she did back then, finer?years of experience always make the blues howl sweeter. Her new album is called Amusia, and I have no idea what that means. I'm glad she's still around.

Everett True