Pegasi 51: integrity at the end of it's era.

    "Your a tall white man with a shit load of swagger." -  Rachel Brooks

     Pegasi 51 are the best British 77 style punk band except for the sex pistols and they just so happen to be from the bible belt (my home town technically). Now irony is a funny thing, she can set the mood or under mine authority and this particular irony is about as ambiguous as Sasha Pain's ass, which is to say it's a good one. They are the Damned as God intended, they are Television with testosterone issues and they have too much fucking integrity, which is to say they are too congruent with a reality that is no longer reality, they are the best at what they do and no one gives a fuck...almost no one.

     Let's go back in time together, it's Halloween last year, I'm wearing pajama pants, it isn't a costume. Drunk college kids are makin' a damn fool of they self while I'm trying too pretend like I'm not happier being fucked up then playing nice with these losers, their is a lot of noise and for some reason I keep forgetting to tip my bartender, then some glimmer of cool comes out of this abyss, on stage is a group men dressed in white shirts, covered in blood, fake blood but it looks like that was a choice. They are maybe the most unpretentious human beings I have ever seen in my life, ether they were born without a ounce of empathy or, more likely, they are used to a world that is never going to meet there standards and somewhere along the way they came too terms with that. They start playing, I'm not ashamed to say I was a little overwhelmed, song after song is a pretty paper flower folded and arranged so as too overwhelm the senses. their lead singer Rusty is too timid at first or at least that's what I thought, I now understand he's conservative with his emotions, he's not going to waste them unless you've got the pallet. It was all going so well till a trio of jocks starts flipping shit at the stage, can't remember what it was, but he was flipping let's say...sunflower seeds with a plastic catapult, somewhere in my head not the words but the emotion of "I can't let these idiots ruin this for me!" pops in my head, so I did what I do in these situations, I took a drag off my cigarette and flipped someone off. Two of the fine young gentleman look at me with there jaws dropped as if they are just about too complete there life long dream of getting some big prison dick, while the third one out of some strange determination to bring harm to a good thing, keeps flipping shit at the stage. The tall white man on the stage, never stops singing as he reaches into his bag and pulls out the bottle of fake blood, I assume they used on there shirts, then signals for the third man to step forward, like a lamb he swaggers to the stage with a Sunday school smile where Rusty's eager hand, slings the red mess all over him.

    The music swirls with space, it's not always aggressive, it's human and alive, confused and selfish. The album Under a Full Moon is a master piece of it's kind, neurotic and as obsessed with documenting all of it's anxiety's as it is with any illusion of release that comes from being rid of them. I haven't seen Pegasi 51 since that night, because I wanna get as close to having there collective baby as nature would allow and they just seem uncomfortable with that, but I will say, that performance stands as one of the few memories of pleasure, that I can remember, in the strange unfortunate thing that is my existence.