Orlando legends from Nutrajet and the Hate Bombs conjure the almighty Stooges at Will's Pub

THIS LITTLE UNDERGROUND
Penetration: A Salute to the Stooges, Will’s Pub, Nov. 9

I am not above a good tribute show. The fruit may hang low but it can be undeniably sweet. However, attempting to take on the holier-than-fuck Iggy Pop? Well, that’s one tall-ass order.

But there are few vessels of voice and presence around these parts that are as equipped to dare as Central Florida’s Greg Reinel, former frontman of the great Nutrajet (still miss you, Jeff Wood) and one of the most devout archetypes of the classic punk ideal that Orlando has ever produced.

Enlist legends the Hate Bombs to back him up with a Jim Ivy cameo and you’ve got a living hall of fame of the Orlando underground assembled, locked and loaded for the endeavor of conjuring the immortal Stooges. I’ll take those odds.

Reinel’s no stranger to cover songs. Nutrajet used to rock some great ones, my favorite being the MC 5’s “High School.” But I’ve never seen him try to actually transform into someone else. Though this wasn’t one of those cheesy impersonation band deals, he really put in the homework to channel the spirit and moves of Iggy with some astonishing fidelity.

Before the first song was done, Reinel was already writhing half-naked. From there on, he was all sinew, snarl and incarnation. And the band behind him were strapping and accurate. It was a Stooges tribute done with as much fun as with old-school care and craft.

Opening was that very band, the Tremolords. In case you don’t know by now, that’s the name Orlando garage-rock gods the Hate Bombs are now going by. The word “hate” has some too-real baggage these days. Besides, the new moniker suits them more anyway, no longer suggesting a hardcore band of possibly questionable politics, which is honestly what I wondered when I first heard of them way back in the day.

The name may have changed but the band, the jams and the seemingly eternal vim remain essentially and gloriously the same. Guitarist Dave Ewing still throws sparks and high-kicks like a Rockette on stage. And when drummer Ken Chiodini sings, he’s still owner of the best “WAAAHHH!” around.

More than just a great show, this night was an Orlando fountain of youth. I don’t know how everyone was feeling the morning after, but all these original gangsters were ripping and raging like the past couple decades plus never happened.

When Jim Faherty goes up on stage and personally delivers a round of drinks to the band while they’re swinging mid-song, you know you’re in a direct portal back to some Orlando glory days. Yeah, it was a party.

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