Arrogant Pricks

“The government can piss off!”

That’s how the band started each show. Then they ripped into a raucous cover of “Search and Destroy” by The Stooges. That set the tone, pace, and energy for the next hour. Raw, in-your-face, screw it all musical destruction.

The more shows they played, the better they got. Trading off each other’s energy, Harry, George, Arthur, and Benny brought the crowd to the edge of a cliff every night. They were loud, fast, counter-culture punks. And they were good at it. Their popularity soared.

That’s when the agents started showing up. The entourage. The promoters. None of it good, most of it annoying, and definitely not punk ethos, if that was a thing.

They were fast becoming everything they raged against. But money has a way of making you more of what you are. And these guys were Arrogant Pricks.

So they did what any great punk band would do: they refused to play large venues. They embarked on what they called their “Bars and Basements” tour. They skipped playing their best songs at random shows. They started late, or early, or on time. They stopped playing when they got bored, not tired. Sometimes it was a 1/2 hour, sometimes two hours. Just walked off the stage, onto the bus, driving to the next show. Except when they dropped their instruments and stage-dived into the crowd.

Chaos. That was the plan, if one could call it that. But “Basements and Bars” ended. Bored after the tour, they wanted more. More life, more loud, more punk, more danger. That meant going where they weren’t wanted at all. The band was going to try to penetrate the Iron Curtain. The Berlin Wall. “You know they have spies everywhere and hate punks,” said Benny. “Snitches get snitches, mate!” laughed Harry.

So the Arrogant Pricks, in a stellar display of that arrogance, decided to sneak across the border and play as many gigs as possible wherever they (illegally) could. Stasi be damned, they were going to put on some shows!

The drummer knew someone from another band who knew some people who could get them into the country. For a price, but virtually guaranteed. The boys flew to West Germany and met their new ‘tour guide.’ The work that needed to be done was brutal. Changing their hairstyles and having to use crappy borrowed gear (also for a price). Dressing like college students. Bleah f-ing bleah. Capitalist pigs ruled here too.

The boys piled into a too-small mustard-colored Opel, driven by their ‘tour guide’, Manfred (Just call me the “Man”!). The border crossing was smooth enough, and they were in! Just some UK college kids on holiday. Fair enough.

Man dropped them off outside a youth hostel and quickly left. With nothing but what they were wearing and a small backpack, they were a bit more scared than they’d like to admit. They entered the hostel and found out that Man hadn’t booked them any room in advance, and there was no way the state-run Jugendtourist agency was going to let them stay. Back out on the streets, they decided to find their gig contact. No name, just an address. There was a small bookstore next to the hostel that sold street maps. George bought one, and they found out the location was about a mile away. Off they went.

Upon arriving at their destination, they realized what was going on. Had they been punked? It wasn’t even a house. It was an old garage. They knocked on the service door. Someone opened it after the fourth knock and said, “Well look what the streets delivered to us today! I’m Jory, and you look like a bunch of arrogant pricks.” He laughed and invited them inside. After a quick meal, Jory drove them to where they were going to play.

For their first gig, they ended up in the basement of an old church. Hell’s Hall had seen better days, but it was one of the few venues where a band could play for at least an hour before having to bail. At least according to Jory.

The boys set up their gear, wondering if anyone would show up. Wondering if the Stasi would hear about the gig and drop them all in prison. Or worse. Totally punk! Nerves were up, and adrenaline was building. The buzz they craved.

About an hour before ‘go time’ they were hanging out in what was essentially a storage closet just to the side of the makeshift stage. A low murmur was echoing in the room as people filed in. The place was getting full, holding about 100 people if everyone crowded together right up against the walls and stage. Jory popped in and said, “Gonna be epic, better be ready!”

Right at 10 p.m. they took the stage.

“The government can piss off!” And right into their trademark Stooges song. The place was going crazy, people slamming into each other, the walls, and sometimes the band. They didn’t stop, song after song, for more than 40 minutes.

Then the power went out.

The small basement area was pitch dark. Bic lighters illuminated the place for a few minutes. Then they heard shouting outside. Stasi!