Review & Photography by Nathan Vestal for MPM
There’s something gloriously unhinged about a Saturday night at Liar’s Club, but this night had a different pulse. The second night of Skatenigs’ “Stupid People Shouldn’t Breed” tour wasn’t just another stop on a nostalgia circuit—it was a riot, a ritual, and a thunderous reminder that this band still knows how to tear the roof off a room.
The line outside the bar felt electric before doors even opened. Inside, it was shoulder-to-shoulder with black-clad lifers, misfits, and fresh converts. This wasn’t a passive crowd. This was family. And when Skatenigs hit the stage, we didn’t just lose our minds—we gave them away willingly.
Bellhead
I’ve seen Bellhead a few times over the years, but this set hit differently. Maybe it was the tightly packed room, maybe the sharpened confidence in their stage presence—but more likely, it was the momentum they’re riding thanks to their new single, “Threats”. Live, the track is an absolute monster. From the opening bassline, it snarled with menace. Karen’s vocals danced that fine line between ethereal and ice-cold, while Ivan’s snarling delivery made the tension snap. The song pulsed with anxiety and swagger in equal measure, and the crowd felt it—we were in it, shoulder to shoulder, moving with every drop.
What Bellhead does so well is command space without needing flash. Two basses, backing tracks, and vocals. That’s it. And yet, they fill the room completely. Tracks like “Unicorn Bones” and “Nothing as It Seems” hit hard, but it was “Threats” that made the night feel current, vital. It’s always exciting to watch a band test new material live, but this didn’t feel like a test—it felt like a statement. They know they’ve got something.
The chemistry between Karen and Ivan is part of the magic—playful banter, side glances, perfect timing, and a tightly wound tension that gives their sound its bite. There’s a push-and-pull between them that feels theatrical, dangerous, and completely locked in.
By the time they wrapped their set, the crowd was more than warmed up—we were converted. Again. Bellhead didn’t just open for Skatenigs—they reminded everyone that Chicago’s dark undercurrent is alive, well, and getting louder.
If “Threats” is a sign of what’s coming next, you’d be wise to keep your eyes on them. This band isn’t just playing shows—they’re building something.
Skatenigs
From the first blaring feedback of “Chemical Imbalance,” it was clear this wasn’t going to be a phone-it-in reunion. The Skatenigs played like a band on fire, like the setlist was written in gasoline. Phildo Owen stalked the stage like a caged animal—wide-eyed, grinning, and completely in control of the chaos. There’s a reason he’s become a cult frontman: the man doesn’t perform at the audience, he performs with us—sometimes literally on us.
Guitarist Chris Ahrens was a sonic bulldozer, slinging razor-wire riffs with punk economy and metal weight. His guitar tone was thick, crunchy, and mean, cutting through the tightly packed room like a buzzsaw. The band’s rhythm section—tight as hell—kept the set locked in with a mechanical grind that still had swing, like Ministry after a case of Lone Star and a fistfight.
The full run-through of their 1992 album Stupid People Shouldn’t Breed wasn’t just a gimmick—it felt like a mission. “Poundsauce” landed with a sinister stomp, its industrial undercurrent pulsating through the floor. “Horny 4 Evil” turned the room into a sex-death circus, part satire, part sincere, and all adrenaline.
But it was “Fight Da Suckas” that stood out. The song, both sleazy and anthemic, brought the entire room into unison—sweaty bodies bouncing and shouting back every lyric. At that moment, the walls might as well have been melting.
In between songs, Owen fired off jokes like a politically incorrect preacher. They were not here to reminisce; they were here to reignite, and damn if that didn’t feel true. His voice—equal parts growl, bark, and twisted sneer—has aged like whiskey in a dumpster: rough, potent, and still dangerous.
One thing that sets the Skatenigs apart live is their ability to turn chaos into theater. There’s a sense of spectacle to what they do—but it never feels scripted. They even let the audience join in by playing drums on the floor along with the band.
Despite the grimy, confrontational aesthetic, there’s a level of craftsmanship to what the Skatenigs do that doesn’t get talked about enough. The set was paced like a good punk record—no filler, no downtime. They took us from aggressive industrial stompers to groove-laced breakdowns without a single moment dragging.
And they still sound huge. Each sample and backing track was tight, locked into the live performance seamlessly. Everything felt authentic and genuine, not just nostalgic. It was real. It was loud. It was alive.
It’s easy to treat bands like the Skatenigs as relics of a dirtier, more dangerous time in underground music. But after this show, that narrative feels insulting. They’re not just survivors. They’re still thriving in their element—angrier, funnier, tighter, and more relevant than ever. This wasn’t a reunion. This was a resurgence. It wasn’t a show. It was a f***ing incident.
