They wrote a song, they played a show

Redd Kross, the original innocents, lit up Lincoln Hall with a career-spanning night

DOWN AT THE ROCK AND ROLL CLUB—Last night at Lincoln Hall in Chicago, Steven McDonald of Redd Kross paused mid-story, vaguely distracted, a rare look of unease on his face. The ebullient, long-haired, high-kicking bass player/singer was a little bummed out. He described how the band had played Saint Paul, Minnesota the night before, and how for them “the torch had been passed” by Paul Stanley of KISS, the only spiritual Paul who really matters to McDonald and his brother, guitarist/singer Jeff McDonald. “But I wish I’d said Saint Paul Stanley,” Steven lamented. “Oh, well.”

It was a joke, and a funny one, but also one of the truest things the band would express: the spirit of St. Paul and KISS presided over the evening, from Steven’s frequent “Are you ready to have a rock and roll party tonight?!?” exhortations to lead guitarist Jason Shaprio’s ace copping of Ace Frehley’s catalogue, from guest drummer Dale Crover’s impeccable mimic of Peter Criss’s cowbell-and-floor-tom rimshots to the breakdowns in “Linda Blair ‘84” echoing KISS’s “Black Diamond,” from the roaring, set-closing stomp through KISS’s “Deuce” to the “hint” dropped by Steven that “Candy Coloured Catastrophe,” from the band’s terrific new album, might just be about Stanley. After one tune, Steven had to right himself a bit, mock-acknowledging on mic that his inner Paul Stanley nearly did him in. Redd Kross love KISS, but they love them from the inside out, as fans, not as smirking ironists, happy to hoot and make fun of them but more than happy to celebrate their over-the-top spectacle (and occasional great tunes) with genuine affection and respect.

During the encore, before the band stomped through a few of their very early classics (“Annette’s Got the Hits,” “Clorox Girls,” “Standing in Front of Poseur”), Steven remarked that he and his brother have been making music together for nearly half a century. And though the band is out supporting their new record—it’s self-titled, but leads with its all-red cover design, after the Beatles’ “White Album”—last night’s show was a career-spanning event. The last time I saw Redd Kross was at the Metro, a few months before the pandemic, a time that now feels like ancient history to me. The new album features baby pictures of the brothers inside—these days they’re looking forward and back. If Steven’s leg kicks were especially high and Jeff’s shy smile especially warm last night, it’s because the brothers have a hell of a lot to celebrate.

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Decked out in corresponding white outfits—Steven and Shapiro’s with orange, Eastern-flavored stitching, Jeff and Crover opting for a paint-splattered look—Redd Kross hit the stage to theme from the Wonder Woman cartoon show, then offered up a sublime blend of what they do best: strutting, Glam-sized riffs, songs spiked with memorable hooks; and melodies that move from stirring to sweet and back again. The McDonald brothers wear their influences loudly on their sleeves, but they’re sturdy songwriters, and the sounds they love are filtered through serious chops and attention paid to craft.

The setlist celebrated the McDonalds as the frequently hilarious showmen they are—Steven the grinning hype-man, kicking, screeching his patented blend of St. Paul and Steven Tyler, his long, whipping hair his other instrument; Jeff the more careful performer, relatively preoccupied, hitting his marks with an actorish flair, singing half of “Annie’s Gone” (from 1990’s Third Eye) with a sparkly scarf over his head. But their consummate songwriting was the main attraction. The swinging opener “Switchblade Sister,” the riff-tastic “Stunt Queen” from the new album, the blissy, knocked-out “Huge Wonder” (from 1993’s Phaseshifter)—these are big, sweeping pop songs that come alive onstage, the band’s professionalism and tightness allowing just enough looseness in the joints that the songs jump; the impression’s of a bright, colorful carousel you’re only to happy to hop on to and to take for the fun ride, hoping it lasts all night.

A few numbers stood out for me. “Stay Away From Downtown” (from 2012’s Researching the Blues) is a top five Redd Kross song for me. The singalong chorus echoes prime-era Cheap Trick in such a spirited way that you forgive the steal for the sheer pop thrill of it all—it’s what an influence is supposed to do, inspire rather than overwhelm. The band’s singing about bad choices in a fucked-up life, temptations and the dangers to which they lure you; back in ‘19, I wrote that the chorus to this song felt like a party invitation as much as a warning, and that’s the beauty of a great Redd Kross song, the beauty of rock and roll—that it can make menace sound so damn appealing, dissipation so alluring. (Of course they wore KISS-styled makeup in the video.)

A rollicking cover of “Pretty Please Me,” originally done as “Pretty Please” by the mid-70s Los Angeles band the Quick, shows how Redd Kross can assimilate another’s tune and make it their own with aplomb and respect, a high-five spirit of camaraderie all around. The tune that followed, the remarkable “I’ll Take Your Word For It” from the new album, was an answer song of sorts, less in its subject than in its spirited sound. That was a great pop song, the band said, and now here’s one we wrote. On the album, Steven sings “I’ll Take Your Word For It” beautifully, catching that difficult place where sorrow and resolve meet; his heart can’t take the hit, he sings, so he’ll busy himself instead with writing a perfect song. Steven half-jokingly introduced the tune as “jangle pop,” and that it is, with its ringing, Byrdsian guitar hook and sunny, four-on-the-floor morale, but that disguises the song’s sad, wounded center, which is bruised but unbowed. Such great stuff.

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Redd Kross has been ending their sets with a trio of tunes that altogether sums up their appeal. “Peach Kelli Pop” from 1987’s Neurotica and “Born Innocent” from the new record led raucously into “Linda Blair,” from their 1982 debut (in its “‘84” arrangement). Adolescent excitement, titillation, and thrills bind the three songs, an ironic-yet-earnest through line that Redd Kross has virtually trademarked. Had I been born and raised in southern Califronia, I’d get Redd Kross’ regional references with the split-second recognition that natives do, yet as a born-and-bred East Coast guy, I feel as if I’m only slightly behind; such is the strength of the McDonald brothers’ songwriting, that hitting the Troubadour pretending I’m seeing stars, cruising Hollywood and “laughing at all the assholes at the Rainbow / Flying so high on coke” become a kind of perverse universal, the joyful recklessness of snickering, wide-eyed teenagers translatable in any city in any era.

“Born Innocent,” written decades later, adopts a different vibe, more wistful than jeering. We’re looking back now with a grown-up’s amazement at his own teenage nerve and cockiness: joining the school band at age ten so he could begin “a relentless campaign / for a bass,” knowing that his parents will give in; at age fifteen, he knew exactly what he wanted to do:

Bought a fake Stratocaster just 40 bucks used
I wrote a song
Played a show
Quit the only job that I’d ever know
I rejected their old fashioned blues and the dues

The Hollywood of coke and glam? “That land looked like a void today.” The autobiographical “Born Innocent,” could only have been written by the McDonalds now, looking back at the long, long road, realizing that “Hollywood is not the place for a child,” unless they’re rocking and mocking in a punk band. The song’s a celebratory anthem, with just a dash of bittersweetness—the fist-pumping chorus rocked the joint last night, Jeff’s eyes shutting and opening against the bliss as he sang—and what it celebrates is what the passing of years can gift us. If we were aware as teenagers that our drive and spirit are virtues that are fated to drift away into the murk of adulthood, would we have hung it up early? Or would we have hit the streets even harder, middle fingers raised? Hollywood gave us Linda Blair, and The Exorcist and Born Innocent, the pop culture stew of which essentially gave us Redd Kross, too. In the clamor of a great rock and roll song, you can just make out the words: You’re born innocent, girl.

Before ending the night with their strut through “Deuce”—Steven: “the very first band I saw live, at age seven!”—Redd Kross offered another cover. “This next song is why you’re here tonight,” Jeff remarked, an eyebrow raised at the crowd. “If you don’t understand, ask the person next to you.” The Osmonds’ “Crazy Horses,” an improbable single from 1972, is a stomping, quasi-psychedleic jam as far from what the general public thought the Mormon brothers sounded like as possible—that is, it’s an infamous, pop culture curio that slots nicely in the McDonald’s wheelhouse. (There must be something in the air: fellow junk-culture connoisseur the Dictators recently covered it, too.)

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I promised myself that I’d resist remarking somewhere here that Redd Kross “should’ve been big,” as that complaint is tired, naive, and frankly disrespectful to hard-working, long-lasting bands who operate on their own terms—and yet when I hear something like the majesty of “Stay Away from Downtown” or “I’ll Take Your Word For It,” I have to wonder, again, on the make of this fickle universe of ours. I was a bit startled that the show wasn’t sold out, though those who were there dug every note. (In the event, I gladly caught up with many of my city friends whom I don’t see enough. Cheers. Alas, I missed a few, also.)

Steven was asked the year before the pandemic hit why he figures his band didn’t break big, like Nirvana and other of their contemporaries. “Timing is one,” he replied. “But I don’t have the algorithm. But then maybe it’s still lurking. The world has changed.”

I don’t want to sound like a deluded fool and I certainly know I’m not going to be sold to masses of teenagers at this point, but these days there’s not really an elite that control the gateway to the masses. I think we can genuinely do things on our own terms now. Which is super cool to me. I never really wanted to be a rockstar. I just wanted the ability to keep doing it.

He laughed, and added, “I don’t know. I just heard something on a podcast about trying not to be so bitter recently, so I’m trying it out.”

There wasn’t a trace of bitterness in the performance last night; Redd Kross gave it their all, and their grins, chops, and joie de vivre carried the night. A long-awaited documentary about the band directed by Andrew Reich, the aptly-titled Born Innocent: The Redd Kross Story, is coming later this year, as is Now You’re One of Us: The Incredible Story of Redd Kross, written by Jeff and Steven with longtime music writer Dan Epstein. I’m amped for both, as is everyone with whom I hung last night. We’re all happy to raise a toast and help celebrate this great American rock and roll band, while looking eagerly, with the McDonald brothers themselves, at what’s coming.

All photos ©Joe Bonomo