(start at 55:55 at Archive.org)

In this video, Brutal Truth’s set in a grimy space in Philadelphia begins with abstract feedback, a shirtless drummer fluttering around the cymbals, and singer Kevin Sharp—a scruffy man in a brown trucker hat—having a conniption. He’s tearing at himself, yelling, “It’s after the end of the world! Don’t you know that yet?” Sharp repeats the phrase as he confronts audience members like some kind of feral street preacher. Eventually, he stops yelling and starts growling, hopping up and down. The crowd is not moving, likely because they have no idea what the heck is going on. They were expecting the band to play at supersonic speeds, and for Sharp to scream incomprehensibly, but in a friendlier way, not to berate them. And after about two minutes, when Sharp gives a nod to drummer Rich Hoak, that’s what happens. The crowd happily loses its mind; the sea of mohawks, green crew cuts, and white dreads hanging in suspended animation suddenly erupts. The camera swivels away from the band to the erratic mosh pit overtaking the room.

Long after I first saw this video, I learned “It’s After the End of the World” is actually a Sun Ra cover, a truly bizarre and wonderful thing for a group of weed-obsessed grindcore freaks to bring to a world of crusty punks. I had a VHS copy of the show and I still return to it, and particularly that opening song, because it still scares the shit out of me. –Matthew Schnipper

Björk: Vespertine Live at Royal Opera House

2001

YouTube

Recorded at one of London’s most majestic venues in December 2001, during the tender aftermath of 9/11, this 95-minute concert film is a balm. It includes stunning takes of nearly every song on Björk’s quietest—and, if you ask me, best—album, Vespertine, drawing out their intimacy and grandeur. She is joined by a bespoke cast that includes the playful electronic maestros Matmos (who incorporate sounds of themselves walking on rock salt and shuffling cards), virtuosic harpist Zeena Parkins (who ends the show by wailing on an electric harp tricked out with a whammy bar), a choir of Inuit women from Greenland (whose blissfully unchoreographed moves are a joy to behold), and, oh yeah, a full orchestra. Björk alternately whispers and belts her affirmations here, her voice at the peak of its powers. The highlight is a tingly version of “Undo,” where she soars above her collaborators’ heaven-bound swell, offering solace for uneasy times. –Ryan Dombal

Nine Inch Nails at Woodstock ’94

YouTube

“The money, to be quite frank.” That’s the reason Trent Reznor gave when asked why he and his band played the heavily sponsored rebirth of Woodstock in 1994. They earned every penny with this mud-caked, rage-filled, absolutely gripping headlining performance. Before NIN’s set, as rain fell on the grounds and openers Crosby, Stills & Nash lulled the crowd, they’d gotten into a playful mud fight backstage that ended with Reznor being bodyslammed into a small bog. They take the stage covered head-to-toe in muck, as if they are trying to hide from the Predator. Then, for 80 minutes, Nine Inch Nails thrill the massive crowd and the millions watching on Pay Per View with their then-brief industrial rock catalog, including their cover of Joy Division’s “Dead Souls” from the soundtrack of The Crow. A lot of the synth playing is pantomimed, which does not deter keyboardist James Woolley from rocking back-and-forth on the synth as if he’s shaking it awake. But these 15 songs belong to Reznor, who throws mic stands that keep respawning, smashes his head against the mic, and screams with abandon. That’s what the money’s for. –Jeremy D. Larson

Talking Heads: Stop Making Sense

1984

iTunes, Amazon, Criterion Channel, YouTube

Directed by Jonathan Demme, who’d go on to make The Silence of the Lambs, the Talking Heads film Stop Making Sense has long been considered one of the greatest concert movies ever made. Even if you don’t care that much about the New York punks turned art-pop heroes, this is still an essential watch. The film’s device of adding band members to the stage one by one is now considered classic. It was lit and shot more like a film than live footage, so it looks more stylish than almost any other concert movie. And frontman David Byrne simply cannot be beat, whether wearing That Big Suit, playing a nervous rock’n’roll pastor, or dancing with a floor lamp. Stop Making Sense will make you want to wiggle around the house, and many of its lyrics are particularly apt to a self-quarantined headspace, as I discovered on a recent rewatch: “This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco, this ain’t no fooling around”; “Home is where I want to be”; “Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down.” Turn off all the lights, cue it up, and let the paranoia at least sound joyful. –Jillian Mapes

Urgh! A Music War

1982

YouTube

As a young teen stumbling across Urgh! A Music War on TV one night in the mid-’80s, I had no idea what I was watching. The film is a hodgepodge of footage from dozens of different concerts, linked by no discernible theme except for the bands’ generally left-of-center standing. The Police and the Go-Go’s were familiar faces from MTV, but the rest may as well have been emissaries from another planet. I didn’t know what Dead Kennedys’ Jello Biafra meant when he sneered, “There’s no punk rock in Argentina,” but it sounded dangerous and thrilling; Gary Numan was just as captivating as he zoomed back and forth across the stage, seated in what appeared to be an actual working hovercraft. Even as a nonbeliever, I could tell that Skafish’s “Sign of the Cross” (“It’ll make you feel real boss”) broached a whole new level of sacrilege. And nothing could have prepared me for the spectacle of Klaus Nomi’s spandex-clad sad-marionette getup or Pere Ubu’s David Thomas inscrutably channeling backyard warblers. More than three decades later, those performances remain seared in my brain after a single viewing. The idea of “alternative” music has mutated a thousand times since then, but Urgh! A Music War captures a moment when the future felt like it was up for grabs. –Philip Sherburne

Grateful Dead: The Grateful Dead Movie

1977

Amazon Prime

You’ve got hours and hours at home ahead of you, waiting to be filled with endless jams: What better time to get into the Dead? The Grateful Dead Movie documents a five-night run of San Francisco concerts from 1974 that were billed as the band’s farewell performances before an indefinite and possibly permanent hiatus. In the end, that break from touring lasted less than two years, but the shows are still important, capturing the end of the Dead’s most exploratory and vividly psychedelic period. The film includes a career-highlight rendition of “Morning Dew,” a crystalline ballad about wandering an unpopulated, post-apocalyptic landscape that may resonate with anyone who’s broken up their quarantine with a solitary stroll. But the best reason to watch is the camera’s playful and inquisitive interactions with a motley array of fans, a remarkably potent living-room simulation of hanging out with a bunch of giddy hippies on the best nights of their lives. –Andy Cush

The Decline of Western Civilization

1981

Kanopy/Amazon Prime

If you get the urge to thrash around, perspire, and get within spitting distance of your fellow humans: don’t. Instead, satisfy those desires by doing some wall sits and watching Penelope Spheeris’ groundbreaking 1981 documentary The Decline of Western Civilization. In these 100 minutes you can witness Black Flag, Germs, Fear, and their unhinged audience members doing very bad things so you don’t have to. The Decline captures the last gasps of L.A.’s first-wave punk scene, with incendiary sets by Alice Bag Band, Catholic Discipline, and X, as well as provocative interviews with Germs frontman Darby Crash and Slash Magazine co-founder Kickboy Face. The crowd is just as captivating as the bands: As the film opens to X’s “Nausea,” the screen fills with a furious, churning pit—flailing bodies operating with total abandon, no six-foot rule to be found. –Madison Bloom

Bruce Springsteen at the Capitol Theater (Passaic, New Jersey)

September 19, 1978

YouTube

People have been passing around Bruce Springsteen’s live shows for decades. The received wisdom was, “You had to be there.” He played for four hours; he played every song we came to hear and then an encore of other songs; he jumped into the crowd and put his arm around me and all my friends. Quickly, bootleggers started showing up to record his sets, circulating them on vinyl, cassette, CD, mp3 blogs, and, eventually, on YouTube, where you can now venture to the swamps of Jersey from the comfort of your home. This particular show from the Darkness on the Edge of Town tour is one that could make an evangelist of anyone. It’s a small miracle that such high-quality video exists. “LIGHTS OUT TONIGHT,” the 28-year-old frontman shouts to the crowd gathered around him at the Capitol Theatre. The lights go out. The crowd explodes. The band kicks in. You won’t believe what happens next. –Sam Sodomsky