Koffin Kats Rock the Asbury Lanes
Koffin Kats & American Speedway
The Asbury Lanes
July 21, 2007
Detroit’s favorite sons, The Koffin Kats, hit the Jersey Shore one more time for a hell of a romp this past Saturday night. The ghoulish trio pounded out nearly every song in their three-record catalog (including one new tune and a cover), and entertained the packed Asbury Lanes for well over an hour.
First out of the gate was American Speedway, a tremendous balls-to-the-wall high-octane rock band hailing from Philadelphia. They play rock hard, fast, and faster, but actually manage to sneak in some catchy hooks amongst the carnage. Their music is as cool and ferocious as Motorhead. Guitars blaze like Electric Frankenstein, but with more attitude. The singer strutted his stuff all night, belting out tunes about hot rods and asphalt while hot chicks writhed as he sang.
When the Kats took stage, the Asbury Lanes lit up–bowlers stopped hitting gutter balls, PBR started tasting good, and ugly girls became really hot. Every time the band comes any where near the Jersey Shore, fans drive for miles to hear them play their psychotic mix of rockabilly and Misfits-style punk. This time, there was a banana in the pit, as well as some of the toughest dudes Central Jersey can breed. Gearheads, crust punks, psychos and Betties, the Koffin Kats can draw just about any fan, and for their time, the band tore the roof down.
This was the Kats finest performance on the East Coast. Rather than turbo charge each song and pound each tune out at break neck speeds, they toned it down a bit, allowing singer Vic Victor to actually use his awesome pipes. Axe slinger Tommy Koffin was at the top of his game, shredding through “Sleep,” “V8 Nightmare,” and a few “Graveyard Trees” without breaking a sweat. Tommy and Vic swapped out instruments on a few numbers, though Vic (sporting some wild facial hair) was at his prime performing insane leaps and stunts off of his upright bass.
After a solid hour and a half of playing, the band walked off stage only to be beckoned back for an encore in typical Jersey style. “Get back on the fucking stage and play an encore,” yelled one gigantic dude. The band obliged, and kicked out a few more jams before leaving a happy albeit spent audience.