The Dead Kennedys were always popular in Liverpool. The gig before this one had been at the Royal Court theatre (not as posh as it sounds, by the way: the downstairs was set up as a standing venue, and the building had seen better days). Their first Liverpool appearance was, I think, at Brady’s (the club that took over from Eric’s) in September 1980.
They had a great sound but, as this review shows, they were a bit too earnest for punk rock. Or at least, the British version of it.
Biafra's crusade
DEAD KENNEDYS/PETER AND THE TEST TUBE BABIES/MILLIONS OF DEAD COPS
Melody Maker, November 27, 1982
Warehouse, Liverpool
IT WAS just like old times: wall to wall spikes; the crunch of glasses underfoot; boys in the ladies toilet... But while the audience was fairly homogeneous, the three groups they'd come to see were a marked contrast, in attitude if not in sound.
Two American bands and one British (the nationalities are significant) demonstrate the different directions punk rock can take. The same aggressive impulse can be channelled in several ways, and the two visiting acts choose to employ its potential in pinpointing the things that really need destroying: a very positive and worthy desire, but it doesn't always seem terribly relevant.
Millions Of Dead Cops play very fast and loud and are appreciated for that, though they make the mistake of spending almost as long explaining the songs as playing them. It's questionable how much anyone's listening: earnestness is not in the air tonight.
Millions Of Dead Cops' greatest contribution to the evening in the end is their name, which delights the second group in particular. Peter And The Test Tube Babies, or "Millions Of Dead Test Tube Babies" as they announce themselves hopefully, wisely leave the social conscience to the foreigners.
They're merely anti-social rather than anti-society. They don't aspire to changing the world: they're content with making sure it doesn't change them, and their philosophical heights are summed up in songs like "Banned From The Pub" or "Elvis Is Dead" ("Millions Of Dead Elvises" they contemplate happily).
Their vulgarity and humour brighten the evening considerably. If Millions Of Dead Cops preach, they just abuse their fans. When their appreciation threatens to get out of hand they're told: "Shut up you bastards, we're the stars not you."
When Jello Biafra of the Dead Kennedys insults his audience, though, he does it with what seems like genuine contempt - or, at least, disappointment. He wants more from them than the surging idolatry of the front ranks: a little thought for what he has to say perhaps. He sneers, predictably, at their last Liverpool venue (a theatre), yet that show was in some ways more effective than this. Their return to the clubs, though better suited to the music, does obscure their intent. He doesn't preach as much as the opening act, though he has as much to say - his is a more subtle stagecraft, but subtlety's lost here, and his frustrations become clear through the various stages of the performance.
By the last set of encores - a confused degeneration of greatest (banned) hits, stage invasions, departures, returns, and abuse, that seemed to last as long as the set - he seemed far from happy.
In terms of sound and energy, the performance is nothing but a success, a culmination of an energy level that had been escalating throughout the evening.
The audience are happy enough: they seem to want no more than a celebration of corporate identity (Millions Of Dead Kennedys?). Peter And The Test Tube Babies understand that need, and by ostensibly denying that identity in fact affirm the underlying bond, an identification of the band with the audience. The Dead Kennedys, on the other hand, come expecting to channel that identity to a common purpose.
They come with misjudged expectations of an alien culture, an assumption of shared concerns, and find they're required to be no more than entertainers.
Is it just a culture clash? The evening raises questions, less about politics in the end, than about audience expectations and reactions. There are things that need thinking, about - but stand well back if you want to keep your feet while you’re doing it.
Memorabilia corner
Still got the badge. I don’t wear it though.
I kinda agree with the author about Millions of Dead Cops... they were/are kinda lame. They probably talked so much because that was their strength, not music [which anyone could have played]. They were good at coming up with catchy [though mostly meaningless] phrases that angsty teens ate up.. that's really about it. Dead Kennedys are still one of my favorites, but I don't really consider anything that happened after the 80s DK. Jello's output with The Melvins (Jelvins) was closest thing to true DK material since then [though, I'm not sure the version w/o Jello has even recorded new material... haven't paid attention].
Hi Penny, back at Tower Records in Berkeley circa 78-84, had several brief chats with Jello while receiving Dead Ken's records on consignment, usually once a month or two for about three years. He was always amped. Saw the Dead Kens in San Francisco several times - always a mad mosh pit up front & usually we were there picking people up off the ground so they wouldn't get trampled. I think I actually voted for Jello when he ran for Mayor of San Francisco (@&iT!!). I moved to Dallas and ran into him in 86 at Rock Against Reagan in the parking lot of Reunion Arena where the Republican National Convention was going on. I was surprised he came right up to me and chatted away like we were picking up an old conversation from Tower Berkeley. I think you had a good read on the interplay between band-Jello-audience-venue. It resembles memories of what was going on in my mind when I saw them in S.F. There was this strange disconnect between what he was projecting in song and how he seemed to suffer disappointment in the moments between performances - kind-of like "you guys out there love the party, but you're not believers. So what's this all about if that's how it is?" My Punk-Rock experience was a thing that culminated during the performance of the songs, bled out into some interesting art and fashion, but didn't persuade me toward any kind of action.