There are times it feels like Peelander-Z generates enough joy to save the whole goddamn universe.

There’s a connection between three-chord punk rock and four-color comic books that reaches beyond either art form’s two-dimensionality. Both were born of a driven, geeky necessity, and sustained by exaggerated escapism. Faster, louder, bulkier, bustier. Like most everything punk, the connection is best exemplified by the Ramones: They were, all at once, old EC horror creatures, Golden Age super heroes, horny, strung-out underground caricatures and The Archies.
Sure, punk had The Clash and comics grew themselves a Maus and a Sandman, but mostly the point was to wrap yourself in a costume – leather jackets and safety pins or spandex and a cape – and take off from reality. Johnny Rotten might as well have been puttering about on a glider hurling pumpkin bombs. The Dillinger Escape Plan – you ever see them? Tex Avery couldn’t make that shit up. The laws of physics do not apply.
Peelander-Z describes their stuff as “Japanese Action Comic Punk,” and it’s a telling description. The music itself forms about one-fourth of their show; the tunes are straightforward, adrenalized punk (listen at their myspace page) that’s about as subtle and amusing as the giant toy sledgehammer the lead singer slams around. This is big-P small-a performance art, as inclusive and easy to understand as laughter.
Saturday night was the fourth time I’ve seen them and – with slight variation, here and there – each time it has been pretty much the same act. Which is fine by me. Though the surprise of one’s first P-Z concert is something to be treasured, the shtick doesn’t wear thin. It’s nice knowing exactly how one likes one’s steak prepared.
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More photos at my Flickr account.