Nothing is more frustrating than falling in love with a band only to discover that you'll almost certainly never get to experience its music live and in person. For years now, that's been the niggling blemish on my relationship with the Dead Milkmen, Philadelphia's sardonic cowpunk satirists.
By the time I was introduced to their sometimes shocking, frequently hilarious tunes in the mid-'90s, the group was already breaking up. Even after they reformed in 2008, the Milkmen seemed determined to avoid Houston, and five years into their reformation, I'd all but given up on taking in their jangling, spastic songs straight from the electrified source.
After witnessing their first H-Town show in more than 20 years last night, it feels good to have patience reaffirmed as a virtue. Plenty of classic, reassembled punk bands have come through the downtown venue in the last couple of years; to be kind, some have held up noticeably better than others. It's a pleasure to report, then, that the Dead Milkmen are alive, energized and still sharp as a tack.