Unbeknownst to me the punk community of Phoenix is alive and thriving: there are currently over 7,000 punk bands performing, recording, or breaking up and reforming in the Phoenix metro area. Who knew?
While I may infrequently be in attendance at a Gwar, Polysics, or Subhumans show, I don’t know shit from shit when it comes to the local punk scene here. My bad. Ignorance notwithstanding, I’ve recently discovered a band which cripples the notion that all punk is the same or that “Punk is Dead”.
In a similar vein as Pansy Division, Bad Brains, and This Providence, Phoenix’s own Broloaf seeks to break down boundaries in that age-old punk rock tradition. Drawing inspiration from the machismo “bro culture” from whence its members came, Broloaf’s sound paradoxically meshes traditional punk (think: Sloppy Seconds or The Circle Jerks) with the fashionably trendy, hyper-masculine fraternity lifestyle of the modern bro. In spite of their backwards visors, rowdy behavior, popped collars, large trucks, tribal tats, gelled, spiky bleached tips, etc. these boys have an edge that cuts through the punk scene with the zeal of a horny jock. Not quite parody, not exactly novelty, this nonet is something of an enigma.
Pulling into the parking lot at their most recent show (the venue was Tempe’s Lucky Devil) the boys – yes, all nine of them – arrived in a raised Jeep Wrangler, hooting and hollering. Once inside, they immediately picked me out of the crowd, insisting I take a beer bong with them; I declined. Steroid-heavy vocals, testosterone-driven guitars, ass slapping drums, and the occasional Saved By The Bell skit caused the packed house to go crazy. I found myself going berserk to the crowd favorites “No Snow, No Show” and “MotorCross Dudes,” and in retrospect I wish I had taken a beer bong with them: these dudes are no brobots.
While many mainstream punk bands – heard on the radio or in summer blockbusters – cater to their bro-heavy fan base, Broloaf resists the pop sound while simultaneously asserting themselves pro-bro. Conversely, they are bros who hate bros – as indicated in their song “Bro, Don’t Call Me Bro.” With their sophisticated resistance to the mainstream, and their affinity with a minority class, Broloaf embraces and advances the identity-based subgenre that is or will become “bro punk”.
Catch Broloaf opening for The Freeze, G.G. Elvis, and Nunzilla at Jugheads on October 30th.
