Yup,
that’s The Menzingers on “The Dirty Boat” in the middle of a heatwave; this one
could get seriously sweaty…
Scranton,
PA’s finest purveyors of heartfelt heartland US emo-tinged blue collar
alternative rock are gaining an increasing profile of late on both my gig
“Dance Card” and listening habits, almost – almost! – coming close to
supplanting the likes of The Hold Steady and even Jimmy Eat World in my
affections in that regard. A devastating punk rock performance last time out at
the cavernous Roundhouse (October 2022, gig 1,247) in front of their biggest
ever crowd (2,601 on the night, apparently!) blasted them into my favourite gig
list last year, and ensured I’d be up for more. However, I wasn’t expecting
this one, a hastily-arranged gig at the relatively minuscule Thekla (400 at a
squeeze!) to coincide with a couple of UK Festival performances. I jumped on
this the second the tix went on sale; good thing too, as an hour later they
were gone!
So,
anticipating a hot and busy one, I donned shorts and lenses and hit the road
early doors, picking up Pete “Monkey” on the way. He wasn’t joining me at the
Thekla, however, having an appointment with hardcore band Zeke at the Exchange,
so I dropped him off on the way and parked up, running into old Level 3 face
Mark Carter and his lady friend in the queue! Grabbed a stage front spot, house
left, on entry and chatted to Tim, a fellow blogger and photographer for the
night. Openers, Swansea’s Hot Mass, were on prompt at 7.30; they sported a
guitarist who was the spitting image of my mate Rich May, and kicked up an
urgent, dynamic and shouty form of post-emo punk rock, with slight inflections
of old school 70’s punk (a Ruts descending bassline here, a Ramones surf power
chord riff there). A little unfocussed and one-dimensional for my tastes, with
not much in the way of tuneage to hang a hat on, but I admired the energy and
conviction.
The
place got seriously busy thereafter and I was already working up a sweat just
standing there! Prompt at 8.30, Dire Straits’ cheese-fest “Walk Of Life”
chugged out of the speakers and The Menzingers took the stage, plugging in
ready to launch… then vocalist/ guitarist Tom May managed to break a string on
the first note! Much hilarity and comments about “ghost ships” haunting the
band ensued, before their hasty re-do launched them into an incendiary version
of “I Don’t Wanna Be An Asshole Anymore”, the crowd already responding in kind
to the band’s obvious enthusiasm and sheer joy of playing. The clarion call to
arms of “Burn After Reading” followed in short order, the place went nuts, and
it was already evident that this would be one of those very special all-inclusive
nights, where band and audience come together so closely you can’t see the
join, and revel in the pure energy and redemptive power of unadulterated rock
and roll.
So
it proved. “Bristol! It’s been awhile since we’ve played on a boat… and the
first time in the hold!” announced the livewire Tom to the baying masses,
before the coming of age paean “Telling Lies” switched pace from raucous joy to
introspective melancholy. “Midwestern States”, one of my favourites, was
sweeping and anthemic, the subsequent “The Obituaries” was a raw, ragged rabble-rousing
singalong to the punkish “I will fuck this up” hook to complete a brilliant
mid-set double whammy, and a later “Lookers” was yearning and dynamic in equal
measure (“a goddamn blast!” according to Tom. But really, every number was a
stone cold moshpit catnip gem tonight, delivered with carefree and gleeful
abandon by a band loving it in such close quarters and giving it their all. So
much so, in fact, that not only was I on my way to an utter drenching from my
own sweat, but the stage was likewise in danger of flooding, the roadies
working furiously between songs to mop up the perspiration to avoid any
slippages.
The
breathless “After The Party” concluded an utterly incendiary set, the band
returning after a thorough stage mopping for oldie “Casey” and a hurtling newie
“Irish” to finish, vocalist/ guitarist Greg Barnett thrusting his pick into my
hand as he left the stage. And that wasn’t it; I seriously needed to catch my
breath and also wait until Pete’s gig was done, so I hung out awhile, patience
ultimately being rewarded with chats, pics and setlist signatures from the
band. Tom in particular was a diamond; not only as buoyant and effusive in
person as onstage, but he also ultimately boarded their coach to get Greg’s signature
for my list, waking the man up in the process! Chap! Eventually tore myself
away, collected The Monkey and drove home for midnight and a vigorous towelling
down before bed. I was right, this was seriously sweaty, and also seriously
superb. The distilled essence of a proper rock’n’roll gig, delivered in fantastic
style by The Menzingers!
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