The Fight Between Good And Drunk

Racing toward this show, my first concern is the insistently blinking oil light on my dash, threatening to keep me from getting there at all, and secondly I am worried that the doors opened about an hour and a half ago. I turn up just in time to catch the last few songs of the opening band, Only Crime. They’re supposed to be a no frills, straight forward rock outfit, but really they’re just a Face to Face rip off that have the added bonus of being really preachy. Before their next song the lead singer informs me, “This song’s about how to tell the good guys from the bad guys from yourself,” and then goes on to tell me that I need to wake up. I silently wonder if the Monster I pounded on the drive over will be enough to do the trick and meander over to the bar for a Newcastle. Other than unoriginality these guys are also doing their best to pull off wearing shorts on stage, which anyone knows only ever works if your in a band called AC/DC.

Waiting for some music worth listening to, I revel in the rather unique atmosphere of what’s left of punk. The crowd ranges from early teens who can’t stand still to people about my age. Everyone except myself apparently got the memo to stock up on visible tattoos and torn clothing. At least I remembered my muscles and spiked hair. Every girl In the place is showing all the cleavage she can muster and hanging on the arm of some guy who, as she gazes deep in to his eyes, beams back at her with a look that says, “I’m a douche bag, but because I’m in a band, I’m still going to get laid tonight.” I’m not the least bit bitter.

Finally MXPX comes out. “Baba O’riley” by The Who is playing on a track and then they pick up their instruments and pretty seamlessly continue for a few bars. This kind of intro always does less to bring out the band and more to create awkward silence right before the actual first song. They start in with great intensity, not missing a beat until the third song. First the lead guitar and then the bass require switching out. Mike Herrera, the guitar, tries to stall by introducing Yuri, the drummer, but is ineffective in distracting anyone’s attention. After tuning, like a general recovering from defeat, Herrera brings them right back up to where they were. I’ve never seen them melt down quite like this, and can’t imagine what would bring two instruments to a simultaneous crash, but being veterans in the game, they don’t seem to let it bother them much.

This post punk trio were really going for it tonight. Barely pausing for a breath, they barreled through six songs without stopping. Of course, for them, this means less than twenty minutes of solid music, but the crowd is still breathing hard from the effort. Finally they take a break and announce that they are going to take some requests. This was a set up though. They bring some guy named Matt from off stage and he says, “This request is for my girlfriend,” and drops down on one knee. Of course she gets all teary and the crowd goes nuts. So they play “Let It Happen” for the newly engaged and then move on to a few actual requests. For some reason the post engagement song did not extract quite as much energy from the crowd. While this could be attributed to the tempo of the song, it’s probably more because marriage just isn’t that punk rock.

There’s a reason that bands don’t always take requests. Usually the person yelling the loudest wants to hear some song that nobody, including some of the band, have any memory of. Regardless of this problem the fellas muddle through an old song called “Darkest Places.” I’m pretty sure this song is an actual prayer to God, but it comes off less preachy than anything I heard Only Crime sing all night.

At the end of their set the band says good night and launches into “Punk Rock Show.” Either the crowd is not done with these guys, or this is the song they have been waiting for all night, because they lose it. I see teenagers of all sizes running in a circle like they’re going to find the end of it. A few kids start crowd surfing and have to be pulled down by security guards. No major injuries, but Lagwagon hasn’t played a note yet, so anything is still possible.

MXPX have been doing this same act for 16 years now, but the kids never get tired of it. I once rode around in a van in Mexico with 12 American teenagers who put that song on repeat for five days. Wherever they would drive, that’s what they would listen to. There is a fundamental link between these young people and fast angry music. I don’t think there was a face over forty in that room who didn’t work there. I’m not counting several moms and dads waiting uninterested at the bar watching sports.

Right after the last song ends, there is an immediate changing of the guards. A flood of sweaty teenagers comes rushing at me from the stage while the same number of freshly hydrated soldiers pushes from the back. I can’t help but wonder, “aren’t there at least a few fans that these two bands share?” They’ve been making music for roughly the same amount of time, they have remarkably similar styles. They are both vocally driven punk bands with subject matter that appeals to kids in high school. The fundamental difference can be seen as the two bands collide and in the center are the desperate mothers of their fans. For years MXPX was the bastion of Christian punk music. No matter how self contradictory this phrase might sound, the trio spearheaded an entire movement in the 90’s. Backed up by Tooth and Nail Records, they tried to give kids a “healthy” alternative to their secular contemporaries. In the minds of these parents, bands like Craig’s Brother, Slick Shoes and MXPX were pitted against the likes of NOFX, Lagwagon, and Less Than Jake, to sway their children for good or ill. Even so, the musicians never really seemed to have much animosity towards each other. Even the illustrious Fat Mike of Fat Wreck Chords, although overtly anti-Christian, has had plenty of tooth and nail bands on his tours over the years. This could mean one of two things. Either that different belief systems can still agree on good music or what is more likely, money conquers all. I suppose I’m done philosophizing and we can get on with the headliners.

They stumble out, all wearing red shirts for no explicit reason, and lead singer Joey Cape slurs out that this is going to be the best Lagwagon show ever. He attempts a couple of stage dives during musical interludes and the crowd pass him around until he makes it back on stage. Even before his side project, Bad Astronaut, I’ve always thought that Cape could fit pretty comfortably into the singer/songwriter category, but I don’t think he could ever get away from the fun of touring and playing with this group. Not to mention the fact that it’s a lot harder to play an acoustic set when your blacked out drunk. For some reason mistakes seem to stand out more somewhere below a hundred decibels. There is a palpable chemistry between these guys, which often culminates in a mock fight between Cape who is maybe 5′ 5” and guitarist Chris Flippin, who towers well over six feet and easily pushes three bills. Cape calls Chris a big bitch and rushes at him only to bounce off and end up on the floor.

These shenanigans go on throughout most of the show. Some of there lyrics fit well with it, talking about partying and the wild life on the road, but even most of these songs carry a darker, more sincere undertone. Cape seems to write from the point of view of the outcast and the unaccepted. The opening number, “Island of Shame,” screams rage at anyone who would reject someone for being homosexual.

Before one song the crowd takes a cue from Flippin and pelts Cape with cigarettes. He refuses to start the next song until someone gets him a clove. Miraculously one is produced and they charge into a fast, up tempo number called “coffee and cigarettes.” Before the song is even over Cape begins to announce that the next song is the first track on their new EP, “I think My Grandma Used to Seduce Me When I Was Four, And I think My Uncle Used To Fuck Me When I Was A Child.” (actually called I Think My Brother Used To Listen to Lagwagon) The title is apparently suggesting that the band is old and washed up, but these guys will continue making music as long as Cape continues writing, if only to stave off the inevitable scene of his head exploding and song lyrics spilling out onto his living room floor.

For the encore Cape comes out wearing a towel tied around his neck and a white hard hat he stole from an audience member. He is our punk rock super hero. They play another song about coffee while drinking something that was definitely not coffee. As they start into the last song of the night, “May 16,” Cape is alternately jumping rope with the microphone cable and doing curls with the stand. The song is named for the date of a particularly devastating break up. In between gyrations he sings out, “liberate yourself from hell.”

Walking to my car I notice a sweat drenched teenager remarking to his friend, “Yeah MXPX. I didn’t even know they were still around.”

This show meanders somewhere in limbo between those acts that are solely spectacle and die hard musicians who will sacrifice all showmanship for the precision and integrity of their art. There is certainly an artistic feel to the music, but much of this particular art form is drunkenly screaming and making the audience laugh at obscenities. It’s a total package that would not be the same were it missing either quality. I’d like to say that I remember them playing less drunk 10 years ago, but more than likely, I just wasn’t as aware of it. It’s pleasant to imagine Cape sitting at his computer with reading glasses, typing out his latest masterpiece, which he will eventually scream while running around like a lunatic.

So, is their a financial equation that put these two bands together on the same ticket? Are they here because they draw the same types of people? They are playing this show because they are idealistically opposed. It would be interesting if Herrera shared a beer with Cape back stage, but I wouldn’t bet on it. The sober precision and upbeat tone of MXPX compliments Lagwagon’s drunken idiocy better than any Fat band ever could.