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New Bomb Turks

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In their year-end roundups scores of music writers are obsessing on 1994 as the year punk really broke, citing Green Day and Offspring's wild popularity, to say nothing of lesser successes like Bad Religion and the laughable Rancid. But Green Day are just amped-up popsters with bad English accents, and Offspring are a frat band with dreadlocks. Columbus's New Bomb Turks are the real deal. Their recently released second album, the scorching Information Highway Revisited (Crypt), sums up four years of furious activity in which they've released music on no less than ten different labels. The punk rock in their music transcends the latest fashion; it's an inclusive brew that recognizes the raw essence of rock 'n' roll's four-decade history--from the craziness of Charlie Feathers, Eddie Cochran, and Gene Vincent to the raunch of the Sonics, the Stooges, and the Troggs to the guts of the Dead Boys, DMZ, and the Saints (the first "official" wave of punk). Building on the flailing drums of Bill Randt, the hold-down-the-fort bass of Matt Reber, and the buzz-saw guitar crank of Jim Weber, snot-nosed vocalist Eric Davidson spits out songs short on PC gibberish. He delivers more of the same old discontent, but it's a discontent that still seems relevant: "I'm sick of family, I'm sick of friends / I'm sick of women, I'm sick of men / I'm sick of myself but no more than you / I think they used to call this the blues" (from the typically blunt "Bullish on Bullshit"). It's a high-impact, low-intellect adrenaline rush. Punk as fuck. Friday, 10 PM, Empty Bottle, 1035 N. Western; 276-3600.

Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photo/Steve Apicella-Hitchcock.

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