Wire Johnny Brenda’s Philadelphia, PA 10.10.08 Photo by Malka Spigel We were well into Wire ’s set when an overwhelming sense of self-righteous indignation fell over me like a blanket of barbed wire. This trio of 50-somethings, (them and the unnamed female rhythm guitarist in the background), geezers basically, having packed the venue almost beyond comfortable capacity, basically wrote every categorically Indie or Post-Punk song regurgitated over the last thirty years. Generalizing? Maybe, but listening to those guys play, you do realize that their first three albums, the seminally charged Pink Flag , Chairs Missing and 154 , laid it all out for any up-and-comer in the Indie crowd. And, yes, other bands matter, too. But, for now, fuck them: Wire cannot be denied. That being said, Wire was the sole act at Johnny Brenda’s last Friday, towing the line between polite and aggressive. Aside from an initial issue with singer/guitarist Colin Newman ’s microphone not wanting to