There’s two types of old punk bands still touring these days. There’s the reformed bands that launch reunion tours to combat debt/mid-life crises. Then there are the bands that, through sheer determination or multiple lineup changes, manage to keep ploughing through despite having sunk from relevant to cult status. Killing Joke are one of those Methuselah-style bands, being old enough to have helped inspire three decades of pleather-clad industrial musicians. However, Killing Joke’s style ranges far wider than run-of-the-mill goth synth-pop. They’ve got punk, dub, new wave and metal in their musical veins, much more variety than can be found in their disciples. The lead singer also composes music for orchestras too, randomly. Anyways, a lot of these older bands seem to end up playing at Venue, and Killing Joke did too on December 14th. Being a pretty big fan of their post punk days, I was happy to go and see these famous kinda crazy guys do their thing 30 years on.
Arriving just as Killing Joke took the stage, I made my way through an eclectic mix of punks, goths and regular bar types. As I nestled myself between a nicely dressed lady in her thirties and a dude in a leather trenchcoat with giant silver buckles, the division onstage between the new blood and the old guard was stark. On my left were the core members of the band, singer Jaz Coleman, drummer Paul Ferguson and guitarist Geordie Walker. On my right, 2 cast offs from the late ’90s industrial scene, pink hair and all. Regardless of the partial line up, the band was on top of their game. Coleman stalked the stage like an occultist who once went to Iceland to wait out the Apocalypse as they tore through a set of material from across their unnaturally long life span. They mixed songs from early on like Bloodsport with others from their heavier periods. Throughout the show, the singer peppered comments about the police state and the end of days (thought I was kidding about the occultist part, didn’t you?) between songs of protest and opposition to authority. So I guess it was pretty understandable when the band started to antagonize the bouncers. Several songs in, the guitarist pulls out a cigarette and begins to smoke it, glowering into the darkness at the opposite end of the stage. As they start to play again, people in the crowd start getting tossed out by bouncer for lighting up their own. When the song ends, Walker storms up to the microphone and proceeds to give the bouncers a tongue lashing for a few minutes, to cheers from the crowd. After venting, he walks back to his amp, drinks some water, and with another bizarre decree from his singer, kicks into the next song.
This was one of those shows that restores your faith in those old guys that come back for a second tour of duty, long after their star has been muted. Killing Joke played with confidence, skill and, most importantly, attitude that made you realize that not all middle aged people sell out.
Review by: Andrew Tape | Photos by: Michael Caswell
