This Ain't no Anthem, We Must Fight Them

Much will be made of this past weekend’s un-motherfucking-believable slate of shows in New York City. Hillscore act Alkaline Trio brought their friends (and awesome band) American Steel to The Fillmore at Irving Plaza, Fuck Yeah Fest made it’s Manhattan stop (featuring Dillinger Four and the Circle Jerks) at The Highline Ballroom, and God’s greatest gift from Gainesville graced New York with their (and Thursday’s and Paint it Black’s) presence all on one night. It was almost a hard decision. I had seen Hot Water Music at their transcendent (yeah, I stand by that word-choice) New Jersey reunion, Alkaline Trio bored me the two times I had seen them at Warped Tour (I don’t want to talk about it), and D4 was playing the next day in Brooklyn. So Hot Water Music it was.

Hot Water Music, Thursday and Paint it Black is a pretty solid line-up (which is pretty much HWM’s thing for the reunions) so I got tickets for that for my brother’s birthday. As such, I was on his time for this thing. He had work until six which meant getting into the show just before Thursday took the stage. The little shit was gonna pay for making me miss Paint it Black.

Thursday played a tight, energetic set. I only recognized three songs, but they played those three well. Their new instrumental from their upcoming split with Envy was probably my favorite bit (that or Geoff Rickley’s impressive microphone spinning). Geoff said something to the effect of “These two bands are two of the most genuine bands in music,” that quote earned him much respect from me. They got themselves on stage, and I turned around to see two friends who came down all the way from Boston for this mindfuck of a weekend. Cool, huh?

I got up to about three “rows” back to watch Hot Water Music. They came on to some bluegrass-y song, and delivered onto us the rock! The set was a blur of getting crowd surfed on, and screaming a lot of lyrics. Highlights were “Rooftops” and “It’s Hard to Know” and that by the end of the set, Chuck Ragan was playing guitar from his back. They left and then did their encore thing. They ended on another personal favorite “Turnstile.” Good God Damn that show ruled. My throat was a little raw, so it was time to high-tail it back home in order to rest-up for the HUGE day ahead of me.

A friend picked me up and we met some more friends at the train station, anticipating great things from Fuck Yeah! Fest. Just that morning I had seen that Paint it Black was added on to the bill, my brother lives. And of course there were the great Dillinger Four and Circle Jerks.

So onto Brooklyn. God, that place is awful! I mean, Christ! You know? Club Exit is a really weird dance-club or something. It’s really weird with these mushroom things dangling from the ceiling, and crazy lighting and stuff. You pee onto the wall in the bathroom. It’s fucking crazy.

Anyway, Brooklyn hipster-type band Japanther went on first. There was lots of pounding drums, and what I assume were tape loops because there were two dudes on stage, but a lot of sounds. They kept saying they were a (fill in the blank) band from (fill in the blank) city. That was pretty annoying. After this, myself and one of my friends left for air and subway. We had hoped to avoid the next two smelly hipster-bands and get in just in time for Paint it Black.

When we returned, Team Robespierre was on. They were a slightly less unbearable than Japanther, and people seemed to be having fun. They played on the floor and there was a lot of jumping.

Israel’s own Monotonix came on next. I wasn’t paying much attention though. The crew and I were busy buying merch from Paddy. One of the crew needed an XXL, and Paddy, himself being a big-dude took it upon himself to search for said shirt for literally five minutes. When finally he found it, he let out the most triumphant bellow these ears have heard. We all couldn’t help but join him. At some point I turned around to see a bearded man who looked something like Alejandro Jordorowsky in El Topo screaming from on top of a bass drum that had been hoisted over the heads of some audience members. Pretty interesting, but nothing great musically.

It was time for the mighty Paint it Black. I went all the way to the front. Behind me, one of my buddies from Boston handed me his half finished beer to finish for him, which was nice (what with the no wrist-band thing I had going on). The guys took the stage, and the rocking commenced. Bodies flew everywhere, stage-divers, crowd-surfers, and mosh-warriors by the buttload. It felt about as close as I ever have to being in the old-days of hardcore. Dr. Dan Yemin was high energy and spot on in his vocal performance. Highlights of the set were the whole thing, but the songs I knew best were “We Will Not” and “Memorial Day.” I even got the mic in my face during the former. These guys are totally the best band in hardcore today.

So it was time for me to take about 45 minutes off. Matt and Kim were setting up, and I wasn’t going to be around for their set. I ran into Dr. Dan in the crowd and got a homie-handshake. It ruled pretty hard.

Matt and Kim: BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!

Then I moved up for D4. As Lane set up his drums, the FFY comedians did their bits. The first guy was awful. All dick jokes and Jew jokes. Ugh. Then the second guy, Hannibal Burress, killed it. Absolutely fantastic, but I remember very little except that he liked kicking pigeons. As he left the stage, Paddy from D4 came on to tune and whatnot. He also took the opportunity to flex his standup chops. “How about airline food? Am I Right?” He asked, shrugging. He followed with a knock-knock joke.

“Knock-knock,” he said.

“Who’s there?” the audience asked.

“New Found Glory,” he replied.

“New Found Glory who?” the audience asked

“That’s show business.”

And then, the Four. They opened with Thomas Paine, then ripped into a set of pure loveliness. Before my personal favorite song, “Super Powers Enable me to Blend in with Machinery” Paddy gave the crowd some advice on class-warfare. “Steal shit from your bosses, and then trade that shit with each other,” he told us. They ripped through more of their amazing catalog. They seemed to divide the set pretty evenly among studio albums (though nothing off This Shit is Genius). The set ended with Doublewhiskeycokenoice, but the audience implored them, and they played one last song, but I can’t remember what it was. It definitely ruled though. Oh, and somewhere along the line, someone scratched my face open.

I left after that. It was 12:30 and the LIRR isn’t the best about running. It was a cap to quite a long, and voice shattering weekend.

Photo Courtesy of Emma, who I have not asked for permission. Whoops!