December 13th, 2024 – The Jesus Lizard hit Union Transfer like a drunken freight train and for two hours, Philadelphia was thrust back into the grimy, gloriously unhinged 90s alternative scene. The crowd—a mix of graying scenesters, tattooed Gen X lifers, and younger punks hungry for authenticity—buzzed with anticipation, their energy pulsating like the heartbeat of a city that never forgot its underground roots.
Photos by Keith Baker ( @avgjoe_photo ) + Article by @a.j.kinney
From the moment the band launched into the guttural opening riff of “Puss,” it was clear this wasn’t going to be a nostalgia act gently nodding to their glory days. No, The Jesus Lizard played like a caged animal finally let loose, with David Yow prowling the stage, microphone cord coiled like a predator ready to strike. His growls and howls felt primal, as though the years had only sharpened his ability to channel chaos into art.
The feral intensity of “Mouth Breather” had the crowd in a frenzy, bodies slamming together in a mosh pit that felt both cathartic and reckless. It was like stepping into a time machine that dropped you into the sticky floors of a dive bar in ’93, where sweat and beer mixed into a cocktail of rebellion.
Guitarist Duane Denison wielded his instrument like a weapon, his jagged, almost surgical riffs slicing through the air during “Monkey Trick.” The rhythm section of bassist David Wm. Sims and drummer Mac McNeilly was a battering ram, unrelenting in its assault. The ferocity of “Seasick” seemed to pull the entire room into its maelstrom, a churning wave of sound that threatened to drown you, only for the band to reel you back in with their uncanny precision.
But it wasn’t all aggression. There was humor, too, in Yow’s sardonic banter with the crowd, a reminder that the band’s appeal has always been as much about their personality as their pummeling sound. Before launching into “Boilermaker,” Yow quipped about the absurdity of being middle-aged and still screaming his lungs out for a room full of strangers—a sentiment that elicited cheers of solidarity.
The two part encore was a knockout punch, with the band unleashing “Thumper” and “Fly On The Wall” to cap off a night that felt both unrelentingly modern and timelessly raw. As the final notes echoed through the venue, it hit me: The Jesus Lizard hadn’t just played a set; they had resurrected a spirit.
Walking out into the frigid city night, the adrenaline still pumping, I was transported back to the 90s—those gritty, glorious days when music felt dangerous and alive. This show was a reminder of the fire that still burns in all of us who lived through that bygone era of alternative music. And judging by the younger faces in the crowd, that fire is far from extinguished.
