The Gotohells

with Tunnel Rats, The Cretins at The Rat
by Mark Phinney

The word is out and the proof is in the pumpkin pie – The Cretins are here and ready to clue us in on the trials of cheatin’ chicks and cheating on your SATs. The Cretin buzz has been brewing for a while and now they’re on their way to pop-punk knighthood. Murph stands and laments to the mic stand about his everyday tribulations, making every song his best friend with a ripping punk rock sneer and even an occasional grin. These self-proclaimed idiots have slipped some kinda pill into the mouth of the all-ages demographic that has ’em lining up for the mailing list in droves. The three-pronged attack of Murph, my man A.J. on skins, and Chris on bass, hearkens back to early Queers, which is fitting, seeing as Joe is all abuzz about them and that they’ll be side by side on the Joe King collection due this summer. There’s Bryan Adams, and then there’s the Cretins.

Meanwhile, the notorious, always riot-provoking Tunnel Rats graced the stage with their blood, leaving behind the sweet stench of alcohol and a pile of broken mic stands. No Tunnel Rats show is complete without a stiff fine or just somebody walking away pissed. I had just turned the other cheek when the cops showed up. The last I saw of B-Face and Perry was their heads being pushed into the squad car.

The day would not be complete without those NASCAR freaks, The Gotohells, who rock my retarded ass into a wife-beating frenzy. These racing-circuitbreakers prompted me to pour motor oil in my hair by the gallon. They tell it like it is whether you want to hear it or not. All in all, it was a draining afternoon, and I had to spend the rest of that evening bailing the bands out of jail.