You would think after getting their asses kicked every day in high school for being weirdo nerds, by the time they all hit 50, Descendents would’ve found a place to fit in. But nah. Even amongst their fellow luminaries of ’80s punk and hardcore, Descendents are freaks.
None of the members of Descendents are dead. They’ve never sued each other for unpaid royalties. For the better part of 30 years — due to their individual careers in biochemistry and other bands, respectively — Descendents haven’t been active in a full-blown recording/touring capacity for any single period of time long enough to wear out their audience’s attention spans, as evinced by the near-instant depletion of available tickets for Thursday’s Boston gig at Royale.
Presently on a North American trek supporting their requisite once-a-decade long-player Hypercaffium Spazzinate (yeah, I know, I wish they had titled it something else, too), the essential Californian quartet blazed through not quite 35 numbers at the Theatre District venue, deftly blending tried-and-true crowd pleasers (“Everything Sucks,” “Myage,” “Suburban Home,” ect.) with Spazzinate standouts (“Feel This,” “Spineless and Scarlet Red,” “Smile”).
Conservatively attired in a short-sleeved work shirt, khakis, and trademark bifocals, superficially, Milo Aukerman echoed the science teacher archetype his younger listeners probably rebel against on a daily basis. Likewise, guitarist Stephen Egerton looks like Mr. Svenning from Mallrats. They don’t scan as weird uncles or “cool dads” so much as regular dads — which is another reason why it’s difficult to envision them hanging out with Keith Morris (even though drummer and founding member Bill Stevenson totally does that).
Nobody wants to hear an overly polished Descendents set, so the slight but detectable stage rust was mostly easy to ignore. “Clean Sheets” sounded kinda shaky, I thought, but after about the first 40 minutes, I could no longer discern how well how well the band was playing. Did we really insist on that second encore? Or did Descendents play one just ‘cos they figured we would? Beats me.
When a mysterious humming noise bled into the mix, I assumed the sound engineer had dropped a ball or two. But then the nagging drone continued between songs, and I wondered if an equipment malfunction of some sort was to blame. When I could still hear it halfway down Commonwealth Avenue on my walk home, I understood the truth. Descendents — the loudest band ever — had fucked my ears to death.
A listener with no context might wonder why Beach Slang — a machine soaked in oil after at least a year of constant touring — opened for Descendents, and not the other way around. The curmudgeonly-minded among us can write the buzzy Philly outfit off as a replacement for the Replacements or a placeholder for Japandroids, if they wish. As for my own cynicism, James Alex exploded it when he wailed “This guitar wants to die” whilst convulsing as if he meant that and such a thing were possible. Dude’s got charisma up the wazoo, and doesn’t know the meaning of the word “irony.” If Beach Slang looked up “irony” in the dictionary, they’d get bummed out, and then they’d have to go write a song about how irony harms teenage dreams and joy.
Having authored Mutiny at Muscle Beach — one of 2015’s most criminally overlooked records, and a worthy bearer of the ‘80s hardcore torch — Night Birds played like a band accustomed to rooms significantly more familiar with Night Birds’ music, and happily, performed as if their usual circumstances hadn’t changed.
Follow Barry Thompson on Twitter @barelytomson.