Christ on Parade, from Emeryville, California USA, formed in the mid 1980s. 'Sounds Of Nature', their first record, was produced by punk legend Pushead (artist ' illustrator and vocalist of Septic Death) and originally released by his Pusmort label in 1985. After this record the band parted ways with their original singer Barrie, and Noah who played guitar handled the lead vocal duties. The band put out two 7 inches and one more full-length LP before disbanding.
From 1985 to 1989 the quartet (or quintet depending on the year), would evangelize new fans with their incendiary live shows...
'Outside the weather is brisk with a slight moisture in the atmosphere. Noisy confusion persists on the paved black asphalt as the automobiles slowly inch forward in the continually jamming traffic. On the concrete walkways, below the glitter of flashing lights, stands a restless crowd of enthusiastic individuals. They are talking amongst themselves, creating havoc with the tourists who walk by in hair-raising panic, weaving in and out of the crowd, wildly skating mayhem madness and occasionally screaming at the tops of their lungs to the pandemonium in the streets. After much delay a groveling man, looking half asleep and smelling of pungent alcohol, slowly opens the dark, poster pasted doors to the low ceiling of this run-down musical club. The crowd hesitantly ventures into a dimly lit area, stretched out in its small size. Directly in the forefront sits a low-standing stage about two feet above the ground, where musical instruments have been appropriately placed.'
'Five unusual characters clumsily stumble about the stage in the faint illumination that exists, picking up their pieces for tonight's performance. Furthest on stage left, a short young man in ripped jeans, a plaid shirt hanging from his waistline and two different colored shirts hanging from his shoulders, reaches down and picks up a guitar. A rather waxed mohawk protrudes off of his head, starting at his left eye and inching its way across the side of his scalp and checking to see if the guitar is in tune, frenzied distortion echoes across the club. He is called Noah. Another member, again in ripped jeans with an ammo belt wrapped along his waist, sits behind the drums and starts to beat on the skins. He is called Todd. Two others appear at stage right, both clad in torn, dyed jeans and silk screened t-shirts. The one with the long, dyed hair of orange, who picks up the bass, is called Malcolm but is sometimes referred to as "Milky" for his personality. The other, a normal looking fellow with the sides of his head shaved picks up the guitar and plucks a few cacophonous notes. He is Mike and when the music begins he is a madman, literally all over the stage in crazed aggression. Slowly walking to the center of the stage is a tall, lanky guy with a blond center mohawk that is fuchsia in a few front strands. Taking the microphone out of the stand he croons a few tests for mixing purposes. Limbering up, he is ready for the gig, he is called Barrie, and his voice hammers down to the eyeful crowd..."We're Christ on Parade..."'
'Like a whirlwind just appearing out of thin air, guitars light up with ferocious speed, throwing all combustion into sheer power as the drum beats are rapid and consistent, forcing an exhilarating appeal to the wild audience; already taken to throwing themselves barbarically in ritual dance. The intensity is unique, a blast of 1,000 mph chaos, churning noise into melody with changing rhythms and dynamic quickness. Vocals sound the alarm with rough edges as spurting lyrics prance with the blend of harmonies so suddenly attacking the senses. Twin guitar power adds the assaultive punches that flail with occasional whining leads and zooming chord changes. A continual barrage of thrash mayhem bewitches the bellicose crowd who dive amongst the stage in fleeting fury, as this young outfit delivers a high performance set of strength and energy... excitable in every sense of the word. There are no boundaries here, both types of musical fanatics froth for this sound, the leering jabs of Christ on Parade. "Just because I'm 18, doesn't mean I'm gonna fight, Won't register for your fucking draft, Won't give up my only life, Don't wanna go, Don't wanna fight, Don't wanna lose my only life, Don't draft me, I won't go, Don't draft me..." As the crowd takes over the microphone and sings along.'
- By Pushead as published in 'Thrasher Magazine / September 1985