It's not often that, on your way into a punk rock show, you have to carefully skirt around the band members, for fear of interrupting their ping-pong match. Or that, while waiting for the bands to finish setting up, you join a roomful of families in a rendition of "Happy Birthday," directed at a beaming girl seated in front of an ice cream sundae. Then again, Comet Ping Pong, the noted upper Northwest pizza parlor/ping pong establishment, isn't your average venue. Recalling both the DIY ethos and multitasking charm of Chicago's storied Fireside Bowl, Comet turns out to be the ideal venue for a band like Mika Miko, who are known as much for their involvement with L.A. all-ages performance space The Smell as their back-to-basics take on three-chord punk rock.
Despite a relative dearth of promotion, plenty of folks showed up to the Thursday night show, and they were quite the enthusiastic bunch. Like us, most of the folks in attendance seemed to enjoy openers the Strange Boys, Rolling Stone's new favorite band. Hailing from Austin, Texas, this four-piece dished out a set's worth of solid garage rock, with underpinnings of rockabilly and a touch of twang. As good as they were, however, it was quite clear, judging by the mood in the room, that the real draw was the headliners.
Though they've dropped most of the gimmicks at this point in their career (most notably using telephone receivers as microphones, though Japanther and others continue to carry that torch), Mika Miko remain an empowering curiosity onto themselves - a mostly girl band in the male-dominated world of hardcore punk. But that's not to say that Mika Miko is just an artsy exercise in feminist ideology. They're practically a force of nature live: a visceral whirlwind of energy, tempered only by a penchant for lighthearted humor (see "Too Cute to Puke" and "Turkey Sandwich"). Recalling the straightforward, blunt force approach of seminal acts like Minor Threat, Black Flag and Bad Brains—influences cited too rarely these days, especially in this town, of all places—the five-piece tore through a loud, sweaty set in Comet's repurposed back room, inciting more than a few folks to dance. It was the sort of show that reminded us of wasted youths filled with shows in crowded living rooms and dank basements.

Thanks to This Week's Advertisers



Damn, I wish I knew about this earlier. Love that old school Cali punk sound.