I’ve had a week to process the bounty of delights experienced back home at Riot Fest and wanted to stop in and share (just in case I erase them in a few hours at the big beer festival). I’d been excited about this weekend for months since barring one or two omissions, the lineup had most of my absolute favorite bands on it, so was super jacked to go see em all again in the city I love. And despite being hot as fuck for September (which is not a good thing for a crowd of punks with an unrestrained love of black clothing and denim) the weekend somehow surpassed even my unrealistically high expectations.
There was the free show the night before the festival (with free beer to boot) to see my beloved Orwells, which was so good it got me in a pit for the first time in probably 15 years and left me soaked in sweat and beer (and happiness). There was Black Pistol Fire’s furious early afternoon set that nearly blew out my hearing (and my insides) five feet from the stage. There was the magic of Built to Spill playing their entire classic Keep it Like a Secret and lulling the crowd into a blissed out waking dream.
There were solid sets from old faves that reaffirmed your love (DFA, Gogol, At the Drive In) and better than expected sets from headliners that put caps on already excellent days (instead of being lame and driving you home early like normal festival headliners — NIN, Queens). There was the chance to see vintage acts that peaked before my time whose sets still captured the energy of their early years and made me go back and re-listen to their albums (X, Buzzcocks, GBH). There was the chance to see acts you’d never check out on their own, but you gladly did here (and you came away happy that you had — New Order, even the cartoonish gore of Gwar) and the new discoveries you happily stumble into that’ll generate some winter spins (That Dog., The Smith Street Band).
No discovery was more surprising or powerful than the third night’s headliner, though, Jawbreaker. There was a ton of noise about the festival getting this band back together, playing their first show in 20+ years after an apparently spectacular flameout, which had struck me as curious leading up to the show. Both the amount of chatter and their getting such a prestigious slot — closing night of the festival with almost no other concurrent acts — seemed strange as I’d somehow never heard of them. Despite being big in the east coast punk scene and even touring (briefly) with Nirvana, word of these guys never made it to my high school self, so I had no idea what I was missing.
Until Sunday night, that is. When the big band that never was came onstage and blew away my ignorance with one of the many songs I’ve been obsessing over this week, “Boxcar.” It’s an irresistible little ripper (one so good Green Day basically rewrote it years later) and a great thumb in the eye of the punk purists who had turned their back on the band once they signed to a major label. (“You’re not punk, and I’m tellin’ everyone — save your breath man I never was one…1-2-3-4 who’s punk, what’s the score?”) And the band didn’t let up from there — other tracks instantly jumped out during the set: “The Boat Dreams From the Hill;” “Save Your Generation;” “Sluttering (May 4th);” “Accident Prone;” “Jet Black.” Others were found on repeated listens throughout the week: “Want;” “Chesterfield King;” “Tour Song;” “Indictment;” “Fireman;” “Lurker II: Dark Son of Night.” Each of which reinforce the question of “how the fuck had I never heard of these guys?!?”
Frontman Blake Schwarzenbach’s gravelly voice and snarky, lovesick lyrics call to mind early Replacements at times (a band that DID register with young Sunshine and consumed his middle school years), but the band’s rhythm section is what really stood out on Sunday. Bassist Chris Bauermeister threw down some solid, nimble riffs, while drummer Adam Pfahler absolutely destroyed his fucking kit (literally) by the end of the set. The band’s shifting time signatures, howling guitar, and bruising lyrics were an infectious counterpoint to the singalong choruses and I was instantly converted. I spent the better part of the week tearing through these guys’ albums in an attempt to make up for lost time and I’m enjoying the heck out of that fool’s errand. Check em out yourself here, starting with the one that got me from the jump — “Boxcar.”