New York, NY - Roseland Ballroom
March 3, 1995

With their speedy, noisy guitars and songs about modern strife and young anger, the Offspring show how punk they are. But polished vocals and catchy melodies emphasize the band's pop sense, something that hasn't escaped some three million record buyers. That kind of success says the Offspring's message speaks to the masses, which punk never could do--in fact, never wanted to do.

Call it pop-punk, call it punk lite, but the Offspring's appeal is due in part to image. The guys look nice, not scary: vocalist Dexter Holland wore a two-piece suit onstage, the band members all seemed friendly enough, and nobody had a spiky haircut.

Opening with "Bad Habit," a first-person look at freeway drive-bys, the band followed with a smooth, tight show, leaving just a little time for between-song banter. Guitarist Noodles intercepted a condom thrown onstage, saying "Thanks for having faith in me." Later, Holland offered the audience a choice: "Free Bird" or "Self-Esteem," holding out when the assembled hollered for the inevitable. "We wanna see some lighters first," he teased, poking fun at a classic arena-show stunt. When only a few flames were held aloft, Holland gave in with an "Oh, fuck it. Let's play 'Self-Esteem.' " Instantly, the mosh pit doubled.

Throughout the hour-long show, Holland's good-natured demeanor and bouncy delivery made the Offspring's tales of racism, random violence, alienation and a generally dim worldview seem strangely upbeat. "Genocide" had 3,000-plus fans gleefully singing, moshing and crowdsurfing to its fast two-beat drum rhythms and thrash-metal guitar riffs. Even the chorus of "Bad Habit ("You stupid goodam dumbshits motherfucker!"--the evening's most popular T-shirt slogan) sounded innocuous, designed to shock, but not really that shocking. And when Holland sang "Nitro," a fatalist song about living like there's no tomorrow, and "Not the One," another fatalist song--this one about the young generation's inheriting the troubles of the world--the Offspring made nihilism seem fun. The light-hearted vibe was a far cry from the tenor of the early '80s Southern California punk scene that spawned the band.

But then, this clever balancing act is precisely how the Offsping--and Green Day, for that matter--have achieved multi-platinum status, while Rancid (Offspring's way-punker Epitaph labelmates) and punk survivors Bad Religion are still underground. The Offspring know what punk is, but they don't live it. That shows in their music, and it makes it safe for kids--even for the considerable number of 8- to 12-year-olds whose parents were standing nearby (but not too nearby) at the show.

For the hit that brought the Offspring to national attention, "Come Out and Play" ("Gotta keep 'em separated"), the band added Rancid's guitarist Lars Frederiksen, in town after a powerful classic-punk show at Limelight two nights earlier. Frederiksen, with his spiked bleached hair and metal-studded leather, played buzzy rhythm guitar, took a solo, then dove over the moat-like crowdsurfing barrier and into the arms of the crowd. His punk antics lent some credibility to the band and seemed to fire them up a bit.

The Offspring were at their hardest and most impressive playing the more obscure songs from "SMASH"--the thrashy "So Alone," with its Black Sabbath- inspired guitar keenings and singalong chorus ("Kill!" "Fuck off!" "Die!"); the just-say-no-themed ska of "What Happened to You?"; the buzz-saw drive of "It'll Be a Long Time"; and the spirited snide -core of "Killboy Powerhead," a verbally abstract punk anthem by the recently disbanded Didjits.

More than a decade after bands like the Germs, the Dead Kennedys and Black Flag broke new musical ground, the Offspring's repackaged version of angst-ridden speed rock is populist and popular, not underground. Their optimistic musical blast and philosophical stance are part of the reason--their lyrics speak of society's ills, but the band is never the protagonist. Those guitars may be loud, but the melodies beg for audience participation. And when that results in 3,000-plus fans singing "I'm not a trendy asshole," it rides the line between parody and just plain irony.

Then again, the band never did play "Free Bird." Now THAT would have been punk.

By Suzanne McElfresh, from MTV