If the immediate appeal of punk rock is that anyone can make it, then maybe Philadelphia’s Dead Milkmen are punk rock epitomized: a gaggle of now-graying goofs with just enough musical ability to sell blink-and-miss-’em songs so juvenile they could have been conceived for a series of especially daft Second City skits. “Bitchin’ Camaro” and “You’ll Dance to Anything” are the “hits” everybody remembers, but the vaults are deep, and this particular gravy train is still on the tracks. Someday, the Dead Milkmen will receive their due as second-wave punk court jesters – probably sometime after they’ve called it quits, for good.
Sat., June 14, 7 p.m., 2014
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