Tonight, as I stood at the back of the club prior to the New Model Army gig, Jack from England, who came stateside to follow the UK band along part of the east coast tour, posed some questions to me: "Why aren't these guys bigger over here? What's the problem?" Jack is one of the NMA "following" or "family" and he searches for a reasonable explanation from an American. Blame the original major label for inadequate U.S. promotion when the band should have broken big in the `80s, I say. Blame lack of radio play since New Model Army do not conform to the usual radio fodder, I add.

Then I ponder his question for the truth.

You know what, Jack, blame the mindless masses watching "American Idol" and thinking: "Wow! Look at these talented singers. See how nice they dress, look at those white teeth, and listen how well they sing pop songs from the 1980s. Let me text in my vote; I can make a difference." Yeah, Jack, in their flat-screened, comfy chair living rooms sit the marketing-tuned ears of an apathetic American public with TV remote in one hand and Diet Coke in the other. Yes, Jack, this is the lackadaisical state of the Union. These clueless couch critics blindly follow the empty-headed into the musical abyss and avoid any temptation into enlightenment.

Did I answer your questions, Jack?

For we few, we chosen few, we know the difference between media hype and talent. Tonight at the Rock ‘n' Roll Hotel in the nation's capital, the eclectic mix of the multi-pierced teenagers pressing against the monitors at the front of the stage, who were not yet born when I saw my first New Model Army gig back in the 20th century -- 1989 to be exact -- to the "second half of life" followers who traveled across the miles from places such as Mesa, Az. and Boston, Mass., we united for uncompromising musical inspiration and integrity, a redemption from mediocrity.

By 10:00 P.M. the packed room throbbed with anticipation, and the opening band, D.C.-based Supreme Commander, kicked out punk thrash speedcore at a frenzied intensity to start the blood pumping and the pit pulsing. Towering frontman Boo commanded center-stage and spewed justifiable rage while his comrades-in-speed viciously hammer out their musical mayhem to an openly appreciative audience. With some brilliant tempo change-ups to knock you off guard during the breakneck four-prong assault, the quartet delved into solid musicianship as opposed to full-speed-ahead noise. For this set, I felt like I was back in the D.C. clubs in the late `70s / early `80s with the burgeoning hardcore scene, and it was brilliant to catch a glimpse of the future.

It's 11:30 and the recorded voice of a D.C. street-corner preacher blasted through the speakers, sternly advising we are all past salvation. Not tonight, my friend, for musical redemption is close at hand. Then enter New Model Army and the audience surged forward while the band opened with "Vanity." The opening riffs pulsated and frontman/guitarist Justin Sullivan stared wildly into the audience while they mouthed the lyrics as he orchestrated the explosive symphony. The "following" knew these songs and personally savored the melding of words and music coursing through brain and soul. When Sullivan sung, "Because nothing dies easy, it holds on until the end / It takes all of your power to push the blade in / The last glow in the ashes, a last spark in the eye / Breaking the glamour, breaking the spell / Breaking another wild part of myself" from High's "Nothing Dies Easy," the bitter angst flowed from the frontman's emotive vocals.

Advising the audience the song "Island" is "analogy of what is to come," Sullivan fiercely belted out his apocalyptic vision. While the thundering rhythms of drummer Michael Dean and bassist Nelson expertly held down the bottom end, guitarist Marshall Gill and keyboardist Dean White added a full, rich texture to the formidable mix.

From the new release High, the compellingly melodic "Into the Wind," the palpitating drum-driven "Breathing" (teeming with haunting imagery of London's subway survivors from the July 7, 2005 bombings), and the captivating and reflective "Rivers" followed one into the next and it was difficult to fathom the unadulterated passion and prowess of these five musicians. It left you breathless.

But suddenly, when a lone breath could be inhaled, NMA changed it up and "Get Me Out" bore down and knocked out your air with an aggressive aural punch. The crowd was screaming along with the chorus, "Get me out, get me out of this place / Get me out of this trap, get me out of my brain." Like no other band I have experienced, NMA has this innate power to create a symbiotic relationship where the fine line between band and audience is blurred and the connection is electric.

Standout on the new release, "One of the Chosen" emerged with minimalist guitar, then soon after a few repetitive chords, a faint cymbal appeared and ethereal keyboard filled slowly begin to fill the air. It washed over you, then the tempo savagely built; tribal drums pound and aggressive riffs propelled the song into fiery intensity. With a warning of religious fundamentalist brain-washing and becoming "…part of something I am one of the Chosen," NMA reminded us they still craft socially conscious and meaningful songs and not mindless tripe set to over-amped guitars.

The music pummeled away at your senses while the confrontational lyrical onslaught mutilated the cobwebs from mainstream-overloaded brains. It's exhausting and exhilarating at the same time, and the audience wanted it to keep going as they channelled unbridled energy toward the band members who soaked it up and returned the favor tenfold. However, after 14 songs and closing with the moody and longing "Green and Grey" from 1989's Thunder and Consolation, NMA departed the stage.

Had the show ended, the Rock ‘n' Roll Hotel would have been razed to the ground by the band's zealot followers. Back onstage for an encore, Sullivan played the D.C. crowd with musings that the nation's capital is the "‘51st State,' but we're not gonna play it!" Instead, the band let social injustice fury fly with "Master Race" from 1986's The Ghost of Cain. Then the jangling guitar and pulsating beat of "Wired" led into the anthemic "Vagabonds" for the NMA's farewell to arms.

The band left the stage after joyful, thunderous applause and screams from a spent audience. The house music piped in, and people wandered out into the clear spring night to consider Sullivan's thought-provoking -- and still-inflamed-after-all-these-years -- lyrics. If this was a first experience, they would be back, just like the follower from Mesa, or the UK...or me.

Over a quarter-century has passed since the band's inception, but the Army maintains its fury, angst, passion and convictions to create socially relevant commentary with solid musicianship to build its case. New Model Army does not fit neatly into the post-punk/rock/metal/alternative/whatever niche; that would be too easy for a band as complex as this. This is a band that creates its own militant platform then shatters it to build something honest, unyielding and undeniably theirs.

If you haven't followed the New Model Army, you have no one to blame save for yourself.