The latter is exactly what happened that May or June (I can’t remember exactly; cut me some slack, it was ten goddamn years ago). I was hanging out with a few pals one afternoon when the subject of Green Day came up. At the time, they were touring for Nimrod and would soon be coming to the nearby metropolis of Orlando, FL. Someone blurted out a rumor that our personal favorite New Hampshire bubble gum trash punks the Queers would also be on the bill. Back then, word of mouth carried a little more weight. The Internet was years away from being a reliable source for anything, and the local newspaper carried no auxiliary information regarding the wacky carnival that would be this Green Day concert. Thus, I accepted what my friend spoke as very possible truth, despite the fact I sort of suspected he made the entire thing up to trick me into attending a Green Day concert.
We stood around outside in the parking lot waiting to get in, as most people tend to do before events of this nature. Patrolling the sidewalk in front of the club was the Embassy’s fat, petulant owner. He liked to hang around before concerts, teasing his club’s patrons between bites of a really gross sandwich. This night he seemed more irritated than usual. Darting his eyes around, gesticulating wildly to people – when I asked him who was opening this amazing punk rock show, he curtly replied, “a band.” It was around this time that my party began chatting with a few kids who had driven three hours from Tampa for this auspicious occasion. The rumor going around in that neck of the woods was that Chicago punk legends Screeching Weasel would be the surprise guests for this incredible night of mohawks and moshing. The plot was thickening.
Right before the doors opened, a neon green sign went up near the front of the club that finally revealed what band would be sharing the stage with Green Day on this muggy Florida night. The answer shocked us all: Superdrag. Superdrag, of “Sucked Out” fame, a hit song that came and went in 1996 like a 3 Ninjas sequel. Superdrag, a lightweight pop rock seventies throwback band who, it seemed, would be better suited on a bill with tepid post-grunge swill like Everclear or Bush. A giant WTF? was now looming over the Embassy, laughing a deep, earth-shaking laugh while we humans tried to process this strange, perplexing information. While Green Day wasn’t exactly lighting up my life at the time, I acknowledged they had security clearance for the government building that was punk rock. Superdrag, on the other, wasn’t even allowed on the premises. A small wave of anger washed over me, my friends, and pretty much everyone within a five mile radius.
I’m making Superdrag look a little bit like martyrs here, but the fact is they kind of screwed themselves when they took the stage that night and played “Sucked Out” three songs into their detached, bitter set. Obviously that was the only tune any Green Day fan in attendance gave a shit about, and they gave it away up front. After that, it was just a hail of plastic cups and spit for the wide lapelled retro rockers. Maybe that’s the way they wanted it. Maybe Superdrag just didn’t care and were purposely committing musical suicide. I can’t say for sure, and the world will probably never know. I say this because I attempted to interview the members of Superdrag a few years later specifically about this confusing night for a long-forgotten rock e-zine. They initially agreed to the interview, but once they saw my questions (sample: “What the hell were you thinking playing ‘Sucked Out’ so early in your set?”), they cut off all contact with me. It’s understandable. The memories could be too painful.
As for Green Day, my pretensions melted away the second Tre Cool came dashing out on stage with his arms spread out like airplane, pretending to soar around as Devo’s “Whip It” blasted out over the house system. These guys were fun, and after their boisterous, rollicking set, I never pretended to not like them again.
James’s Crawling Ear will be back next Wednesday; read his last column here.
