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Groucho Marx once insisted, “A man’s only as old as the woman he feels.” But maybe that’s only half the battle for an aging punk; the rest is yanking up those skinny leather slacks again, flinging spittle into the front rows again, pummeling three chords against oppression again, and having the conviction of his relevance doing all of the above. Maybe a man’s only as old as his submission. And so Jello Biafra, raging ex-ruler of the Dead Kennedys and now of San Francisco’s the Guantanamo School of Medicine, is still amazing in his vitality; he formed the new outfit in 2008, on the cusp of his 50th birthday, and has since brought the five-piece to the noisiest, most sprawling heights of his exacting career (see: 2009’s The Audacity of Hype). Hats off to Biafra; there is no bedtime for democracy.
Thu., March 25, 7 p.m., 2010