Hot Snakes
Fri Aug 30
Berbati’s Pan
Hot Snakes are the bloody dagger to the heart of all that is wrong with punk
music today. From the fashion punk to the over-produced, Hot Topic-sponsored
“rebellion,” Hot Snakes have their sights set on destroying the whole fucking
thing and, in the process, taking themselves out in an impressive flaming wreck.
It’s punk for those who have long since hung up the studded belt, or assumed
themselves “too smart” for the once-alive and now stagnant genre.
Musical saviors they are not, however. Instead, Hot Snakes represent the working-class,
beating heart of anger, passion, and hope—a band that performs with such urgency
that their music is as abrasive as it beautiful. They are indeed the best punk
band alive today.
Comprised of a “who’s who” of punk/ post-punk bands, the main pulse behind
Hot Snakes lies within their founder, John Reis (Rocket From the Crypt, Drive
Like Jehu) and his ex-singing partner in Jehu, Rick Froberg. It’s the combination
of Reis’ frenzied, up-stroked guitar hooks and Froberg’s guttural wail that
takes the band away from their post-punk past, and violently shoves it towards
a more garage-rock style. Like a modern day Iggy and the Stooges, complete with
volatile live show, Hot Snakes are hell-bent on the destruction of just about
everything.
To further illustrate their “no compromise” stance, look no further than the
Swami Records logo on the back of their new record. The label, owned and operated
by Reis, is a direct way for the band to take control of their future. Reis
and Froberg’s previous experiences include some of the worst labels in the business—Cargo
and Interscope, respectively—so the only way not to get burned is to put it
out themselves. Or, as Reis puts it, “We’ve been getting ripped off by these
people who have no understanding what the music is about, but at the same time,
they’re more than eager to profit from it.”
Live, there’s never been a shortage of bands who played fast and loud, but
none have done it with the intensity of Hot Snakes. Froberg screams and howls
till his lungs burn, while the rest of the band just tries to keep up with the
frenzied pace and liberal song structure. Suicide Invoice, the band’s new (and
best) album, is compiled with songs of hate and distance. The tongue-in-cheek
“I Hate the Kids,” and the spiteful “By Nancy Boy” set the tone for an album
overloaded with smart-ass backtalk, and what seems like years of pent-up aggression.
As Reis notes, “You don’t need much; you just need some electricity.”