Nearly 30 years ago, in the state of Pennsylvania, a troupe of four young upstarts formed a band that was anything but what had been perceived to be the general standard for quality punk rock. With their thick Philadelphian accents, songs about defecating lizards and maintaining a healthy diet, and the general appearance of a collection of angry rednecks that had gotten themselves slightly cleaned up, the quartet added the finishing touch in the form of a fictional backstory for their band, which was called The Dead Milkmen. Nine albums, three decades, many unexpectedly big hits, and several generations’ worth of fans later, the balls-out-fun-and-plenty-of-cleverly-funny-bullshit approach that the Dead Milkmen burst into the Philadelphia punk scene with has carved out a unique but deeply passionate cult following for the four — now with new bassist Dan Stevens, after the passing of Dave “Blood” Schulthise in 2004. On Thursday night, for the first time in nearly 22 years, the Dead Milkmen returned to San Francisco, took over the small SoMA establishment known as Slim’s, and proceeded to let loose with a stunning performance, with a ferocious energy equivalent to a truckload of dynamite erupting off the edge of a canyon wall.
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