Juno, Severna Park, and Raft of Dead Monkeys Live at the Breakroom, Seattle, August 25, 1999

Review by Reef Valmont

Another night at The Breakroom, another record-setting volume level, another six days of washing the smoke out of your clothes, and another bunch of 'What's The Deal, Reef?' NW rock questions.

Raft Of Dead Monkeys, serious art statement deconstructing rock's deconstruction or an in-joke for about six people secretly giggling into the backs of their hands? Whatever the answer, it evaded me and either shot at a million miles an hour across the top of my head or slithered and slimed around my boots making sick slurping sounds. I have zero desire to see RODM again and try to figure it out, which is not a good sign and probably answers my own questions in it's own misinterpretive way. For about eight seconds they almost pulled me in. Eight seconds. Almost.

Severna Park, lost in the T-hole or burning sticky new paths through the Sugar Valley of pop 'ardcore? I've loved The Park since the first second I heard them bang out a powerchord, and I've been very vocal about it trying to spread the good word unto the masses and sing their blue silver as high as I can. Recently they've been embracing their self-induced live trend of the last 12 months or more and concentrating on playing almost exclusively all-ages shows, something that was bound to happen from the start when the kids went crazy monkey-shit crazy over Fred, Jack, Adam and Bo. Through this deep-sea teenage diving spree The Park have been holding stagebound court with all manner of Hardcore-You-Know-The-Score and Punky-Punk young bands, and their mid-Atlantic pop sound has mutated as a result into a louder, more aggressive, more murky mix of thumping drums and scuzzy guitars. I watched their set with furrowed brow, listening intently to try and pick out the wonderful melodies and sneaky vocal switches that made me love them back in the day, and it seems like the clever-classic hooks-and-sinkers that set the band apart from the pack of '97 are being sacrificed for More 'Tude, More Blast and More Bang. 'Circuit Breaker' sounded just as fucking swishy as ever, but most of the tunes I grew to love seem to be biting me rather than kissing me like they used too. With Severna Park, I want detail and intricacy, just because they do it so fucking well.

Juno, God's own backing band or fallen angels seeking penance through tortuous release? I swear, I never see crowds as rapt with attention than as I do at Juno shows. How can you look away from this band? You know that Arlie is going to smack himself in the face right before launching into a screaming volley of evil hate couplets, you know that Travis is going to go spastic with his bass and do his Ian Curtis/St Vitus dance, you know that Gabe is always on the verge of spontaneous human combustion. You know that even the slowest, quietest, most scenic songs are going to whirlwind into a razorblade storm before their termination. Again, just like the last time, 'Leave A Clean Camp And A Dead Fire' was the greatest, most intense moment in musical history thus far. I'm not even going to try and describe it this time, just know that the crowd of disciples knew it should be giving blood to Juno and applause was redundant at the end of the night. I left with the shakes. Juno is a religious experience for the musical atheist, and if you still haven't seen them, may you burn for etenity in a Hell of your own bad judgement and laziness. Fucking tornado-rock for the self-chosen.

Email Reef Valmont

Juno Photos (19-22 are from the show reviewed above): 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22

Severna Park Photos (All 7 are from the show reviewed above) - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Click here for a review of the Juno disc, This is the Way it Goes and Goes.

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