I’ve written too many times about my love of the Circle Jerks here that I’m not going to bother posting any links. Just Google “Flaming Pablum” and “Circle Jerks” if you genuinely give a damn.
In any case, I popped into Generation Records, on Sunday, to pick out some presents for my next-door neighbor Bruce’s birthday. You didn’t ask, but in case you’re curious, I settled on copies of what I’d consider must-have vinyl LPs like Diamond Dogs by David Bowie, Fun House by The Stooges, Press The Eject… by Bauhaus, Porcupines by Echo & the Bunnymen and one or two others. While in the process of picking out suitable titles, however, I heard some dopey tourist kid behind me loudly exclaim: “There’s a band called ‘Circle Jerks’?”
A younger, less restrained iteration of myself would invariably have spun around and schooled this slackjawed young’un about his disrespectful cluelessness, but I thought better of it. Upon relaying this anecdote to a friend of mine, she mentioned that maybe this kid would look them up and get inspired to go seek out their music, which is a far more charitable projection than I’d have been able to muster. There may be an explanation for that, however.
Given my bug-eyed fervor for the band during my high school years, I was prone to extolling their merits whenever possible, and frequently evangelized their scrawled moniker in chalk across every available blackboard I’d encounter, not unlike the scenario captured in Shawn Kerri’s iconic flyer art above.
That all said, if you weren’t actively inclined to go seek out the Circle Jerks in those days (i.e. go pick up an album of theirs or go see them live), you probably weren’t in any danger of experiencing their particular brand of high-octane punk rock. There was no internet, no YouTube and no streaming services, and the radio stations bold enough to play their records could easily be counted on a single, mangled hand with too few fingers. As such, my invocations of their greatness were usually met with disinterest, confusion or indifference.
That changed, however, when a television special called “Rock Palace” aired on one of the big three networks during my senior year, featuring a quick live set by the `Jerks. I don’t remember much about the show, other than it was hosted by Dan Ackroyd’s brother Peter. The particular line-up of the band featured the inimitable Chuck Biscuits on drums, and found lead singer Keith Morris dressed like Michael Jackson -- a joke no one seemed to notice or understand, at the time. Grainy footage of the show is out there, should anyone care.
The next day, certain vocal critics of mine at school --- who were regrettably legion -– felt newly galvanized to give me a hard time about my predilections. Still tirelessly avowed to the mainstream MTV/radio-fare of the day, the so-called “popular kids” didn’t warm to the adrenalized spleen of the Circle Jerks the way I did. But while before they didn’t know what to make of it, now they had a tiny window of reference to draw from. I shouldn’t have been surprised. If your idea of adventurous listening began and ended with, I dunno, Night Ranger and Dexy’s Midnight Runners, the Circle Jerks at full throttle probably wouldn’t make much sense to you.
Anyway, possibly as a result of that and other comparable incidents, I’m still frequently all too ready to get pugnacious about my favorite bands. If you couldn’t fathom what made them and their music so special to certain ears and/or sensibilities, then you probably didn’t deserve to fathom it. I realize how stupid, elitist and myopic that sounds, in retrospect, but it's taken me a while to get there.
So, fuckin’ YES, there WAS a band called Circle Jerks, and they were fucking brilliant. Seek them out!
A far superior sampling of the band at the peak of its powers to the ill-fated “Rock Palace” broadcast, here is their live contribution to the crucial Rat Music For Rat People compilation from 1982.
If you don’t like it …. well, you’ll always have Night Ranger.
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