La Plebe brings on the horns 'n' vomit

Bodies slam and dance near the stage of the Blank Club in San Jose, their fist-pumping epileptic fits induced by the frenetic racket of bilingual punk rock band La Plebe.

The five-piece San Francisco-based crew's galloping drums, wailing horns and fast-talking Spanish/English vocals pummel through the dark watering hole's packed, black-clad crowd, rousing some into the pit and others into maniacal head-bobbing fits while others just stand in awe.

"I think we all just like the energy that punk music allows us to give to the crowd," says guitarist and singer Adam "Pags" Paganini, 23. "Playing aggressive stuff is very emotional at times. It's a good release, and it lets you speak through your music instead of going to see a shrink."

With four records, two EPs and 30 songs in their oeuvre, La Plebe's riotous energy has earned the eight-year-old collective a loyal following of Spanish and non-Spanish speaking revelers alike. They've toured Bulgaria, Russia, Romania, the Balkans, Mexico, Seattle and Nevada four times, and this year they're planning a trip to the eastern Balkans, northern Italy, Germany, France and Belgium.

Gyrating center stage, trumpet player Alberto Cuellar, 32, goes into skull-jerking seizures beside his brother, trombonist Antonio Cuellar, 34. At their flanks, bassist and singer Lupe Bravo, 30, and Pags shout, yell, growl and rasp into their mics. Behind them, Mark T. Harris, 32, rifles through his drum set, producing skank-worthy pounds.

"We try to put out as much good energy as we get from the crowd, and I think it's a good reciprocation," Bravo says.

While their audiences often aren't heavily comprised of Spanish speakers, it doesn't seem to matter. The band's dance-inducing live shows transcend language by uniting strangers under a chaotic umbrella of noise.

"We break boundaries in a sense. We make our music open to anybody who's willing to listen to it," Antonio says. "Even if they don't like the style of music that you play, they can appreciate it."

Twenty-one-year-old Alicia Brown traveled from Fairfield to San Jose to catch the show. "The first time I heard punk I was like, 'That's me,'" she says. Ska-punk in particular is upbeat and makes her want to dance, and La Plebe does both at their live shows. Plus, "They're hella friendly," she says.

Influenced by ska and a roster of punk avatars from the Misfits to the Ramones, the Doc Marten-sporting members of La Plebe also gravitate to more mellow beats, from German femme fatale Nico to indie band Modest Mouse to classical Cuban composer Arturo Saldivar.

Issues addressed in their arsenal of collectively written power anthems include poverty, immigration, racism, late-night drinking and everyday living. The band name means the common people, Bravo says, to encompass everybody.

Their working-class ethos hooked Hayward resident Everardo Cruz, 26, who says he's seen La Plebe perform more than 200 times.

"They're one of the bands I never get tired of listening to. They play about the real world, about economics, how it's hard in other countries to get a job." The song "Mi Tierra," on their current album Hasta La Muerte! on the Red Scare label, questions the existence of borders when everyone is the same, Cruz says.

La Plebe cites "Mi Tierra," their longest ground-shaking juggernaut at 3:43, as their favorite for its slow horn intro and heavy lyrics.

"The song basically is about an immigrant who was unable to return to his home country to visit his sick mother because he doesn't have the papers to return," Antonio says. To cope with his predicament, or not, he turns to drugs and alcohol.

The lyrics were inspired by a friend's real-life moral dilemma: keep everything he worked for in the U.S., or risk it by visiting a loved one in his home country.

"We all hold that pretty close to us," Pags says.