Minus the flat screen TVs, LiveNation branding, and no smoking signs, it felt like 1981 at Boston’s Paradise Rock Club. Before starting a mostly East Coast tour, Mission of Burma held court for two nights at this hometown venue. Opening for them on Saturday night was Bunnies, a cerebral noise band from Northampton, MA. Packing a serious college-town vibe, the trio of Jack Science (bass), Matt Newman (drums), and Jeremy Dubbs (guitar) opened with a set that pushed backward to the Mesozoic era because “the future is now.” This ironic conceit is the foundation for Bunnies’ latest offering, Music for Dinosaurs by Dinosaurs. Even with minimal communication on stage, their tight musicianship allowed for spontaneous psychedelic rock that builds and crashes. The Bunnies connection to Mission of Burma runs deep (MoB guitarist Roger Miller worked in studio for the album), and their sonically challenging set provided a thorough octic warm-up for the headliners.
Thirty years have passed their founding, yet this weekend MoB were strong as ever. My connection with the band came second hand, indebted to covers done by REM and Moby. Yet, for most in the crowd, undoubtedly many former denizens of The Rat, this was not some nostalgic reunion, some half-assed recreation of former glory. Even as MoB have now produced more music after their 1983 break-up, what is amazing is how fresh their entire oeuvre sounds. Match the blistering “This Is Not a Photograph” with “1, 2, 3, Partyy!” and the result is a show that captured the past and current deconstruction of punk music. It’s not quite danceable, not quite thrashable, but with just enough wit and charm to make you smile even while shouting and punching your fist.
Clint Conley fronted most of the singing with Miller off to the side with his amp facing the crowd. This precaution for the band’s hearing made for a surprisingly quiet place near the stage while larger overhead speakers amplified for the rest of the audience. Behind drums, Peter Prescott offered percussive and comic timing. His dry introductions to songs, “and this one goes like this,” played the straight-man for Conley’s constant eye pops and smirks. Even Miller, whose Hot–Tuna coifed hair might suggest otherwise, bounced through the songs with effervescent joy. Loop master Bob Weston added his own mirth, echoing a hello after some loud audience requests, and hopping on stage to “sing” a 1, 2, 3 countdown.
Pre-show, the murmurs were all about hearing “Academy” as it was missing from the previous night’s set list. We were not let down. The potency of the song: it is a thing of wonder to have those with X-ed hands and those with graying hair all joining in song. Other places offered moments of calm, such as the instrumental “All World Cowboy Romance,” and here MoB’s immense creativity was showcased. This is music that sparked today’s post-rock meanderings, the hopes of Green Day deconstructions, and Sonic Youth.
When the lights came up, a strange thing happened. Those under thirty dutifully headed for the doors, happy and sated by the show. However, those old enough to have listened to MoB on ‘BCN, or seen them live, hung around. Greetings rung out like at a small town bar around Thanksgiving, and stories of the past decades were recounted as people lingered and saw who had been standing around them for the past two hours. On the dividing line between both groups, I simply was glad to share in the legacy, and enjoy the moment.
