A Review

1. New Found Glory
with 2. Bayside, 3. Set Your Goals, 4. Shai Hulud
April 4th
Gothic Theater
Doors 6:30

It's tough to get excited about a show these days. Government grants and small business loans have given every two-bit hustler the funds to start up a music label. These inconsistent labels gain the empowerment to sign the musically impaired, package them with a pretty black and red bow and ship them off to the eager emo bangs waiting at the hippest, most-independent record store in town. "For fans of Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, Boys Night Out and Fall Out Boy" functions as a deft warning to the keen observer of the human condition; but most of these impressionable youths shell out the 16.99 for what turns out to be mostly pomp and circumstance. Thank God for the bands who just play because they love music.
New Found Glory has always maintained street credibility as a band who love punk music but want to make it a little more fun. They dont hide behind fashion or motifs, but rather assault the stage with the kind of honesty and kindness that only many years in this business can bring. With the release of International Superheroes of Hardcore last year, they proved that irony and humor are much more precise and difficult than just growing that hilariously ironic magnum P.I. moustache all the scenesters are sporting these days. They provided deft commentary about the lack of definition between real musicians and teenagers with pro tools, between "emo" and emotive, driving music. Basically, they provided what they always have; fun, provocative pop music written and played by punks and hardcore kids.
With their release of Mutiny last year, Set Your Goals placed themselves atop the pack. With much more talent and creativity than many of their competitors, they have crafted a very specific sound that incorporates many of the best elements of punk and hardcore music into melodic overtures. They may draw the black hair dye and uneccessarily utilized hooded sweatshirts that infect local venues these days, but that could be a good thing. A show like this would be a great chance for exposure to some of the cornerstones of the genre. After all, these emo kids are tomorrow's music critics. Bayside brings vibrant authenticity to an all too common equation of the exhuberance of youth and ignorance; but while most bands come off as overwrought, these guys manage to transcend the stereotype and create impressive songs. All the melodies and pop punk fun will come as relief after Shai Hulud takes the stage and totally destroys. Somehow, having such a seminal and authentic hardcore band tour with these three gives more creedence the affair overall.
Some of what happens at the Gothic theater will most likely be forgettable, and I'm certain the requisite chest-popping bad boys will try to so totally rule over the tiny waifs with flattened bangs. What makes this show more than essential viewing is the wide variety of talent in what is quickly becoming a music scene ruled by fashion rather than substance. Every one of these bands is singularly admirable in the fact that they actually love the music. And, although it seems strange to say out loud, not many bands actually worry too much about the music these days.

A very rough first draft

The small bump on the landing rushed me out of my dream and into the rude efficiency of the cramped cabin. The fog of the unconscious moved slowly away from me as my eyes widened and focused. I was seated in the window seat. Directly to my right was an old black man wearing bent wire frames and a black bowler. To his right, a whale of a woman spilled over into the aisle. Her pale white flesh was sneaking out of every secret little crevice in her halter-top. I often wonder how each plane flight is completed without incident. Racial slurs and stereotypical epithets find their way into daily life all over this country in every city, and yet the cordiality of proximity prevented honesty and emotion. In a more accurate representation, I imagined the old black man snickering to himself about the sheer size of this woman. Instead the man slept quietly, awaking every now and then to adjust his glasses and then falling back into that kind of waking dream we can only experience in flight. When the man had earlier excused himself to the lavatory, I envisioned the woman commenting quietly to me about her unexplored interest in being sexually dominated by a man of color. Instead, she leaned forward in a big awkward performance to retrieve a large bag of cheetos from her bag.
We all shuffled the slow dance out of the cabin and onto the jet way. The familiar scent of unrecycled air crept in through the opened door and I breathed in heavy. The cold air moved quickly and calmly into my needy lungs. I had not felt the comfort of cold for weeks now.

********

“Wake up!” he screamed as a bucket of warm, salty liquid stung my eyes and invaded my nasal passages.
“How the hell did you even get in here?” He was looking for answers, and all I could think about was how horrible I smelled. It all became a little blurred in the next moment as something struck me on my left jaw and I recognized the cruel taste of blood on my swollen tongue.
A single bulb was swinging slowly around. I could see no shadows of a corner which led me to believe I was in a large room. I heard only one voice. I was with one man in a large room who was hitting me and pouring mysterious liquids on my head. I did not know how I had gotten there, but most of the time that’s the wrong question anyhow. My hands were tied behind me. My legs were free. The echoes sounded like stone. I was in a cave or a cell of some sort.
“Thwack!” Again, with the hitting. How did this guy expect me to answer him with a mouthful of blood and a nose full of god knows what?
“This is a restricted access zone. You do not belong here. What were you looking for?” He was screaming. I could tell by the tone in his voice he was about to hit me again.
“Hwaytecha” I gargled as blood drained from my mouth.
“What did you say?”
I coughed a little and spit out as much blood as I could. I raised my head to look my new friend in the eyes. “I was trying to say, ‘Hey wait a sec.’ I don’t like to have my ass kicked for no good reason friend. So I was wondering if you could inform me, that is to say, I was wondering if I could ask you a question.”
Clearly not amused, he kicked me in my chest and sent me falling backwards onto my arms. I felt my right shoulder dislocate as I crashed to the ground. I could tell by the steel digging into my neck that I was tied to a metal chair. My legs flailed and flipped backwards over my head. I must have looked pretty ridiculous.
“You know I’m no contortionist friend.” Even in immense pain, I couldn’t practice a little self-control and bite my tongue.