Bad Religion is to punk as pimples are to teenagers.

The aging, greying punkers, great-uncles of SoCal punk, took to the stage the Verdun ~~ auditorium, last week in Montreal, promoting their tenth album, The New America, released in May.

Creatures of habit, Bad Religion, lead by lyricist and evo- lutionary biologist, Greg Graffin, included several classics and

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crowd pleasers from previous albums Generator, Against the Grain, and Suffer (some of which were recorded before most audi- ence members were a twinkle in their parents eyes).

Either faced with a memory loss due to their respectable age, or the monotony of twenty year’s worth of touring, the band offered a mediocre performance for a group which usually awes their audience with _ pro- voking lyrics and catchy riffs and har- monies. The set was flawed by the technical difficulties

with sound (especially Bobby Schayer’s drums), and lack of enthusiasm and dedication their material deserves. 18 songs were squeezed into an hour and a half set

which did not compare to the quin- tet’s excellent performance, open- ing for Blink 182, at Toronto’s Molson Amphitheatre in June. Graffin, a cynical man, was particularly biting and arrogant to an audience who _ certainly deserved more respect for keeping Bad Religion on the road for two decades. Graffin took a moment to

poke fun at national “icon” Celine Dion, and the Quebec Sovereignist movement, a disappointing move from an intellectual praised for his novel ideas in social reform and evolution of the human and animal world.

Despite their talents as musicians (and their wicked har- monies), other band members were eclipsed by the lead man’s tower- ing presence of stage.

Gob, a bland second help- ing of brat punk’s Blink 182, and The Promised Ring, a Wheezer meets Thrush Hermit quartet, opened the show. The former were, to put it gently, awful, but the latter offered a surprising and interesting performance — despite the fact that they were booed off the stage by an insolent teenaged audience.

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A Murder of Crows is a suspense/mystery that has Cuba Gooding Jr. as a lawyer who writes a book. Despite the name there were no Counting, Black, or Russell Crowes injured in the making of the movie.

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