With tonight’s reunion show at the merely hours away, I’m getting really excited.
The preview I got when Murder Pinchers ( + K.C. K-Sum) took the stage at during reassured me that K.C. and King Scratchie still have the punk rock/hip-hop/dancehall energy that made them such compelling performers in their heyday.
But even in my excitement, there’s a bit of apprehension. You see, the last time I saw at the Gothic — which was probably 1990 or so — I got punched by a skinhead.
Growing up in the tiny rural community of Berthoud, I wasn’t really aware of the Pinchers at first. I might’ve caught a glimpse of them on KBDI’s Teletunes, but it wasn’t until I went to college in upstate New York that I became a fan. A friend of mine there — a wealthy Texan with a penchant for the Smiths (ironically), Sisters of Mercy and N.W.A. — first turned me on to the band’s classic “Deadly Kung Fu Action” while hosting his show on the college radio station.
Songs like “Where the Hell is Crispin Glover,” “Back in Black” and, of course, “Morrissey Rides a Cockhorse” appealed to my snotty attitude and teenaged sense of humor (and still do). And when I found out Scratchie, K.C., Mark 3KSK, EERok and DDRok were from my home state, my fanhood was confirmed.
As luck would have it, a trip home shortly afterward corresponded with a Warlock Pinchers show at the decrepit, pre-renovation Gothic Theatre. I excitedly trekked down to South Broadway, dragging along a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed high school friend.
When we walked into the unimpressive venue, we were shocked to find a large group of tough-looking kids of about our age. Some had swastika tattoos. Some wore blue baseball caps emblazoned with “Knights of the Ku Klux Klan.” Most had their heads shaved.
“There were always a lot of skinheads at our shows at the Gothic Theatre,” says King Scratchie, a.k.a. Daniel Wanush, today. ” I don’t recall having many skinheads at shows at other locations, so it must have been an Englewood/ southern suburbs thing.”
“We have some songs about the idiocy of racism and skinheads,” adds K.C. K-Sum, a.k.a. Andrew Novick. “They like to go where they’re not wanted, which is most places.”
It should probably be noted that the KKK makes a pretty big distinction between its members — refined and cultured as they are — and the younger, rougher skinheads. For the purposes of this story, however, let’s not split non-existent hairs.
As the band launched into its set — playing all the songs I’d come to hear and creating an atmosphere that was part house party, part circus and part hardcore show — it became clear that the skinheads hadn’t come for the music. Under the direction of a portly, shirtless, grey-haired gentleman with an eagle tattooed across his beer belly, the crew of kids gradually began to take over the bare concrete floor in front of the stage.
Rather than ignore the growing rally, Wanush and Novick started to make fun of it. They pointed at specific skinheads, poked fun and made it very clear that their views were not shared.
“We fucking hate skinheads and the KKK and all others of that ilk,” Wanush says today with characteristic incisiveness.
Nevertheless, the skinheads were there. Maybe it was the old Gothic’s resemblance to a 1930s German beer hall. Maybe it was just suburban boredom. Or maybe it was that band’s hilarious, hateful ode to the mopey Smiths front man, “Morrissey Rides a Cockhorse.”
“There are plenty of people who think that Warlock Pinchers are homophobic because of ‘Morrissey Rides a Cockhorse,'” an older, wiser Wanush admits. “And while I can’t really say that’s an unfair accusation if you take the lyrics literally, I can say with all honesty that the song wasn’t meant to offend homosexuals — just Morrissey fans…We had many gay fans that understood our humorous intentions and many that were close friends of ours.”
Even though Warlock Pinchers made a point of rabble rousing and being generally offensive, Wanush is sincerely apologetic for anything that might have been perceived as intolerant.
“After hearing some people’s misunderstandings about our intentions with that song, we always took great pains to avoid any misunderstandings with subsequent songs,” he says. “We were always anti-bigotry of any sort, so some people got the joke and some didn’t. But like I said, I can accept that some people think of that song as homophobic and I understand their rationale. To them I give a belated apology. Nothing I can say can ever make up for the pain they may have felt.”
“No one, including ourselves, probably got it fully,” adds Novick. “We were each very different and put in our own influences, and what came out was its own monster. A lot of it was based on inside jokes, too, which means we were probably just entertaining ourselves sometimes.”
“But really,” Wanush smirks, “Morrissey DOES ride a cockhorse — not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
The why of the skinheads presence at the Gothic Theatre that night didn’t matter so much when they started to organize. The group began goose-stepping in a circle, subtly pushing intimidated fans further back in the theater.
“I think they came because we were one of the only bands who would openly taunt them,” hypothesizes Wanush. “Also, our fan base were mostly smaller high school kids out for a fun time. They were small and easily intimidated by the larger, older skinheads.”
While Wanush could easily be describing the young me, my aversion to being bullied often overtook my instinct for self-preservation, and I refused to leave the floor. While my smarter friend moved toward the back wall of the Gothic, I stood just on the edge of the circle of neo-Nazis, watching the band and pretending not to notice the simmering hate breathing in my face.
At some point, I lowered my eyes to scan the crowd in front of me. My eyes landed on a pretty, brunette girl, about my age, wearing a Knights of the KKK hat. Our eyes locked for a second, but I looked away, not wanting to engage with someone whose ideology squared up so directly against my own genetics. She continued to march toward me in the circle and, as she was stomping by, landed a forceful, impressive upper cut directly in my abdomen.
I doubled over in pain briefly, then stood back up for a beating. But she was gone. She didn’t stick around to kick my ass. No one else jumped in. She just kept goose-stepping, as if she’d simply paused to extinguish her cigarette or throw away a candy wrapper.
At that moment, I realized that the theater had become a powder keg. That, at any moment, the smart-assed, scrawny guys on stage and the smart-assed, scrawny guys in the audience could be quickly pummeled by smoldering, single-minded skinheads.
I walked as slowly as fear allowed toward the back of the theater, tapped my friend on the shoulder and led him out the doors and onto Broadway. We hopped in his Suzuki Samurai and made the long, quiet drive home to Berthoud.
Wanush remembers at least one show that went very differently.
“At our last show at the Gothic, on Feb. 22, 1992, according to most reports I heard, the skinheads were finally turned on by the crowd, who massed together to chase them out of the Gothic during the opening band’s set,” he recalls proudly. “Our bouncer, Jerko the Clown , claims to have been instrumental in running them out.”
Fortunately, tonight’s show at the beautifully renovated is unlikely to look anything like those old Gothic shows. “Our fans are now older and bigger,” observes Wanush, “and much less likely to take any shit.”
Warlock Pinchers, however, have a plan, just in case any of that old crowd decides to show up.
“If they come,” Wanush says, “we will ridicule them.”
The original line-up of Warlock Pinchers performs tonight and tomorrow night at the , with Dale Crover on drums. Tonight’s show is sold out, but tickets for tomorrow night’s show are still available at , and , where you can also buy “Bomb the Franklin Mint,” the band’s recently released collection of outtakes and rarities from 1987 to 1992.
Eryc Eyl is a veteran music journalist, critic and Colorado native who has been neck-deep in local music for many years. Check out every Tuesday for local music you can HEAR, and the every Friday. Against his mother’s advice, Eryc has also been known to . You can also follow Sorry, Mom.
