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March 09, 2008
Be Your Own Pet, Live @ the Mercury Lounge, New York City 2.20.08
photos by Devon Banks
A week of Neon Lights prep and a subsequent week of deathly illness has pushed a couple live reviews I'd intended on posting into the regrettably tardy column. I'll try to wrap 'em up quick...
I brace myself for cries of "hypocrite!" from the gallery as I write. After seeing how much vitriol came out of the woodwork in response to my slight denigration of teenage enthusiasm previously, I can only assume that those totally subjective third party voices (cough) will have no choice but to take me to task for now expressing my enjoyment of a show where boundless teenage enthusiasm was all there was to recommend. Nashville's Be Your Own Pet are a sloppy punk band that are big on charm and short on tunes. I have no real room in my life for new songs as rudimentary as most of theirs are. But, if you're going to be penning straight up punk songs at this late date, those dumb expressions of pent up adolescent angst better be coming from a genuine place. On that count, BYOP are unimpeachable.
Punk Photo proprietor and Stereogum girl about town Abbey Braden captured some footage of the show and presented it in a much more timely fashion than I. A quick glimpse will give you plenty of insight into the band's "let's drink seven Red Bulls and hop in place" appeal.
Be Your Own Pet - "Bicycle"
That's plenty of fun but on its face, but the set highlight is not even a very memorable song. Yet the energy they bring to it is compelling and authentic. You believe these kids (who probably have diplomas by now, honestly) are in the back of chem lab starting bonfires with bunsens because they can't stand to listen to another word about electrons. You can picture their baby faced drummer laying in to his kit with a vengeance after sulking through a gym class spent in deep left field. You can just see the guitarist and bassist in a rec room somewhere practicing their split leg jump kicks with endearing earnestness. And pint-size hellion Jemina Pearl is a perfect outsider crush object. She has a sneering confidence that comes from knowing that you are just soooo much cooler than the insecure (secretly smitten) dumb shits coughing "freak" into their fists when you pass them in the hall. She rarely stopped flailing wildly with moves that betrayed a little too much reverence for Mademoiselles Harry and O. Effective shoplifting though, as she was pretty impossible to look away from during the entire performance.
The band's one transcendent song to date is their new album Get Awkward's murder ballad "Becky." They flubbed it slightly this evening, with the guitarist oddly complaining afterwards that he was looking at the set list for the band that had opened for them. But slightly marred or not, it still beat its peers due to shifting dynamics that made the fully adrenal explosions hit harder and gave Jemina's hilariously over the top lyrics some room to sink in. The melody is lifted from "Locomotion," but at least its got one. If they're ever to become a compelling recording outfit it will mean more tracks like this. As a touring force they can still get away with only a couple mid-tempo oases in the midst of a balls-out thrash fest for a few more years, I'd guess.
The whole night can really be summed up in a quick, two-picture summary.
Super-kinetic freakout...
...and bored now.
The evening's most memorable moment was beyond its musical scope. During a brief lull, Jemina was handling gentle crowd joshing with faux-pugilistic bravado. At least we thought it was faux. "Does somebody out there want to fight me?" she asked. "I got kicked out of bars in Tennessee for fighting. I'm not joking," she continued. Feeling the warmth of his gin and tonic, some mope behind us took the bait and piped up. She inadvisedly acknowledged his "impress my drinking buddies" gambit. As the lumbering denim-clad goof climbed the stage steps she taunted, "What do you have to say to me?" I don't know how it had played out in his head. Maybe he saw a scenario in which interrupting the set would endear him to audience members and band alike. A best case scenario where his brave dickishness would win himself a new hot-shit punk rock concubine. Where they'd all be drinking Jager shots later, lost in conversation and stunned that the years between them were no obstacle to such a fast friendship. I'm pretty sure that after he leaned in to the mic to voice an oily, "I just love your music baby," he wasn't ready for the audible thwack of Pearl's left hook.
After staggering back, the dazed bear gave us a few tense seconds where we could see him weighing exactly how much shit he might be in if he returned fire. She taunted further, mocking him for trying to steal an age inappropriate smooch. He reached for her waist, I guess settling on some sort of weird "I'll pick the tiny right girl up" King Kong maneuver. To this, her equally tiny bandmates grabbed his dumb ass and tossed him to ground. With flashbulbs popping in his grill and a fuming gaze that seemed to misunderstand his inherent mistake, there was really nothing he could do but admit that there was no way to save face. Like many an older dude with questionably shaped facial hair and an unearned stash of self-confidence, his play for the attentions of a young girl way out of his league had ended in public humiliation.
The moral was so obvious that it might have come from a children's fable. Let the teenage spectacle progress without you friend. Your attempts to insinuate yourself into a starring role will not end well...
More pin-ups:
Posted by Jeff Klingman at March 9, 2008 07:25 PM
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