http://www.regressivefilms.com/

I finally got a chance to see this at the Chicago History Museum yesterday. I remember when they premiered it at the Portage and all the goofs from the scene were going. I think I had a horse race to bet that night. But I did make it to the after party at Beat Kitchen where a bunch of reconstituted versions of old bands played. I was struck by several things that night. First, The Mentally Ill were more creepy and menacing at fifty than they could possibly have been at age twenty. Second, Tim Fowler makes a poor stand-in for Chris Bjorklund. And finally, it was sad to see Brooks Smith scold some younger guys who started to do a little slam-dancing while "Strike Under" played. Hey Brooks, can I get you a chair? Better yet, maybe you should be at fucking FitzGerald's with all the decrepit baby boomers. I guess there's a reason you call yourself Señor Citizen.

So anyway, this was a pretty good movie. Joe Losurdo and Chris Tillman did a nice job. I will say that about halfway through it I realized why the best punk bands played twenty minute sets. Too much of that shit can wear you out. I mean, let's face it, it ain't very tuneful.

The saddest thing was that the last twenty minutes or so was just a bunch of goofs talking about how kids today aren't as cool as we were. What bullshit. The thing that's changed is you. You're old guys and you sound like the old men you always hated. "Hey, you kids! Get off my lawn!" These guys spent 90 minutes telling us how punk was an attitude and not a musical style or a formula. But somehow that gets lost when they criticize the "punk rock" of today. Hey, dummies, punk rock in 2011 isn't some kids aping what we did twenty-five years ago. It's more likely to be a guy in his basement cutting up samples. There is what I would call great punk rock out there. If I can find it, I don't know why Vic Bondi and Anthony Illarde can't. Kudos to Steve Smith and the Bjorklund brothers for understanding that and expressing opinions a little more nuanced than most of our contemporaries.

As someone who was there, I enjoyed the movie and I would recommend it to music fans who weren't there and want to get an idea of what the early 80s Chicago scene was like. But ultimately this shit is best locked up in a trunk in a musty old attic. If memories are all I sing, I'd rather drive a truck.

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