My wife finds it frustrating so few people know of Billy Zoom. After all, the punk legend flirted with her after X’s powerhouse show at the House of Blues and it seemed no one could appreciate her story, which was a top shelf rock ‘n’ roll encounter: Zoom takes a position at the t-shirt stand, and when my wife remarks to him that he looks great, Zoom quips, “You look great, too.” Standing behind her, I quickly offer, “Yeah, and our three kids look great, too.” He rejoins, “I’m just trying to move some merch,” though I sense a certain air of disappointment in his grin. But I hold no ill feelings towards Zoom. Not only do I share his appreciation of my wife’s charms, but I was in awe of his continued genius with a guitar. After more than 20 years, X remains the standard by which other punk bands must be judged.
Dedicated fans know the story: after releasing four discs of genre-defining, twang-tinged punk in the 1980s (now available in expanded and essential Rhino reissues), they made a play for crossover success with the over-produced Ain’t Love Grand in 1983. Zoom then left the fold. The remaining members sputtered on for a time, but never climbed to such giddy creative heights as a unit. But judging by the adrenaline and energy of the first chords of set-opener “Your Phone’s Off The Hook, But You’re Not,” it was evident X had lost nothing of its communication as a band. It was almost too good to be true. The original line-up was in fine form—the coil-tight drumming of D.J. Bonebreak (his graying head all but shaved), Zoom’s killer licks and the off-kilter harmonies of Exene Cervenka and John Doe— and looking and sounding as good as ever. Without pause, the quartet thundered through a host of classics, retaining the sonic howl of “Hungry Wolf,” the giddy kick of “Year One” and the triple-time attack of “I’m Coming Over.”
Aside from some half-hearted moshing during parts of the show, the crowd remained remarkably staid. But onstage there was nothing but power as Doe shed his jacket, revealing a sweat-soaked work shirt, and launched into “Riding With Mary.” Cervenka held her own, performing a loose-limbed rag doll dance that offset her urgent delivery of “We’re Desperate.” As always, X’s punchy interplay was juxtaposed by Zoom’s understated stage persona. Though clad in a leather jacket for the whole show, he never broke a sweat. Grinning with sincere warmth, he nodded at audience members as if welcoming old friends, often striking his trademark pose with legs scissored open. Mind-bending riffs seemed to flow effortlessly, sounding nowhere more remarkable than on the compact, perfect solo of “Once Over Twice.”
After a concise set, the band returned for two separate encores, pulling out such gems as “White Girl” and its pumped-up reading of The Doors’ “Soul Kitchen” (a tip of the hat to its longtime producer Ray Manzarek). While the set focused firmly on the past, it did so with such fervent passion one could not think of the band as a revival act. After such an experience, I share my wife’s bewilderment that more people haven’t experienced one of the greatest bands, punk or otherwise, to ever make a joyful, rockin’ noise. If X comes within a thousand miles of your town on this tour, don’t miss out. And then spread the word. My wife is counting on you.