Often confusing people with their lack of little people, The Dwarves, are a classically crude punk rock band. They’ve recently been on the road in support of their new album, The Dwarves Are Born Again, and sleazed into Boston last Sunday night at The Middle East Club.
Local metal-ers, Motherboar opened with lots of dog-growling and knuckle-riffs. The singer earns bonus points for making a beer can microphone. It makes it appear as though he’s boozing the whole time on stage. Rad. I also caught some Brooklyn slob-punks, The Stalkers, who sloshed through a rampant set. During their time a kid claimed half of the floor by crawling around, eating trash and wailing in and out of fetal position.
I’m pretty sure the crowd gave this feral child a 100 ft bubble to assure he wouldn’t grab their ankles.
Ten minutes prior to the Dwarves hitting the stage I chatted with lead singer, Blag. I brought him a magazine with an interview we did a few years back since we’re best friends now. He is a calm, gracious man off stage, just a well-spoken fella who is a pleasure to hang out with. As the lights go down, he grabs his mic and transforms into Blag Dahlia, an abrasive beacon of punk legendry. The band hits the stage tonight as they always do: no dilly-dally, jump into the crowd immediately with the hits. Literally. Blag is consistently throwing his lanky limbs into the sweaty, drunken crowd. No banter between songs, just a subtly boosting, “Yeah, yeah… oh fuck yeah.” The audience is a passionate bunch, hurling themselves into each other and off the stage with kamikaze might. In the blink of an eye, the band has ripped through their tunes for the night and is leaving the stage. No encores, ever. That’s how it’s done with the Dwarves, blaze through the classics at light speed. Punch in, punch out, leave everyone exhausted and happy.
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