The Vile Cherubs, Pt. II

This photo—by @ebenburr I believe—is one of my favorites. He took it at the Vile Cherubs’ first performance, New Year’s Eve 1986, a deranged house party somewhere on Capitol Hill. It’s the first time I looked the way I wanted the world to see me.

Like any music-obsessed kid, I spent hours parsing the liner notes on LP jackets, looking for a way out. Everything seemed like it'd already happened—the explosions of ’66 and ’77—or was too far away: London, New York, LA. It felt like the world had simply passed me by.

That’s why that first Vile Cherubs show felt like such a big deal.

It wasn’t, really: A bunch of drunken teens crammed into a house someone or other was “watching.” But it was the first hint I’d stumbled onto something. When I saw this photo, a couple of weeks later, it felt like proof: I existed.

It’s a good thing there’s the photo to remember the night by. I’d forgotten this, but at one point Jesse sang with a roll of paper towels in his hand to fend off the wave of beer sloshing towards us. And Tim—painfully quiet and shy—was seriously altered, refusing to stop playing until someone unplugged his amp.

Live long enough and you get a podcast made about you, right? A few weeks ago, I shared a snippet about @endonendpod and their recent Vile Cherubs episode. I didn’t know that hosts Brian and Jeff had spent 1 hour and 50 minutes dissecting an album no one in the band really cares about. It’s a bit hilarious, and awkward, when Brian introduces us—@louderstudios and @acmeverb—and the first thing Tim says is: “Throw the record out and get the demos!” Brian lets out a deflated: “Oh.”

Still, I'm grateful, and it warmed my heart to take part. Tim Green and Jesse Quitslund are two of my favorite people, and comparing notes was a blast. If you're interested in the D.C. punk scene and what it felt like to fall into it as a young person, maybe start the pod at the 1 minute 51 minute mark.