Turn your speakers up! If it's too loud, you're too old!!
It's like going to church, but more punk rock. We're disciples congregating at the feet of the masters, except there are no masters and no disciples, just a bunch of people who love to throw down. Them performing, us watching. But there is no us and them, we're all just a big flailing spectacle. We've come to be edified, showered with absurdist punk poetry and baptized in beer and sweat. It's a dreadlocked and tattooed mass and we're all drinking in the sermon like the sacramental wine we stole.
This past Wednesday I saw Nomeansno, my favourite live band in the world. They're the greatest ever. The brothers Wright, John on drums and Rob on bass, and Tom Hollison on guitar. These are three gentlemen in their late fifties who rip stages apart better than men half their age. This particular occasion marks the fourth time I've seen them play and they haven't slowed down yet. They've been rolling since 1979, quietly (unbelievably noisily) releasing peerless music that pulls from punk, hardcore, jazz, electronica, and the trippiest proggy noise you can imagine. Their music sounds like a plane full of drums crashing into a house full of guitars.
And somewhere amidst the wreckage, you and a hundred of your new best friends are dancing harder than you thought possible. There's no need for coaxing from the band, it just happens. It's music that demands a physical response. How could you stand still in the face of it? If you're not screaming and throwing your fists in the air, you'd better be dead or getting evicted by the bouncers for being too drunk.
Sometimes I think that they choose a terrible opening band on purpose to make the headliners look that much better by contrast. My friend and I arrived at the show late, but somehow too early as we managed to catch a handful of songs from the openers, which we endured from the back wall, as far from the stage as possible. Shortly thereafter, we closed the distance by 100 feet and installed ourselves in the middle of a quivering drunken blob of anticipation. Holy shit I can't wait.
Picture this: I'm standing between a 300 pound middle-aged man with a giant beard, a girl who probably got in with a fake ID, a couple of mohawk-and-safety-pin type charaters, and some moms on a rare night out. That's the thing about seeing a band that's existed for 35 years - they draw a pretty diverse crowd. Then they dim the lights and we're all just fans, jumping up and down hooting like maniacs as a 58 year-old man screams punk philosophy into the microphone and attacks his bass. It's a noise assault, and we're all begging for more.
There's two sides of the coin when it comes to seeing a band that's recorded 12 full-lengths and dozens of EPs, singles, live albums, bootlegs, and splits. On the one hand, they can draw from a huge back catalogue of material and play a different set of hits every night. On the other hand, chances that you'll hear all of your favourites are slim. But on the other hand you'll be reminded of a handful of songs you'd forgotten, and you'll probably hear a few that you'd never listened to before. I've been listening to the band's back catalogue over again since the show and trying to figure out how I can follow them on tour through Europe in the summer. But what about your job? Fuck a job, jobs are not punk rock.
As a drummer, I need to spend a few words talking about John Wright's playing. I'd like to grow up to be just like John Wright. Anyone who Dave Grohl cites as a primary influence merits special mention. He's a rare breed as far as heavy drummers go - he's rarely seen onstage without a Hawaiian shirt (this particular occasion, he wore boxer shorts emblazoned with beer mugs) and plays traditional grip, which is decidedly more punk rock than then 99% of punk and metal drummers who think that matched grip is the only way to manhandle a kit. He's responsible for blasting out some of the most fantastic punk rock songwriting of all time. The man has no equals.
Mr. Wright will tell you how they've continued to write brilliant music and stay relevant for 35 years: “Bands that take themselves too seriously get boring really quickly. We’re all pretty goofy guys — we just try to be ourselves.” It's the type of humour that keeps their music firmly tongue-in-cheek and their fan-base eternally loyal. For instance, when they were recording their last album, they announced the band “has decided to record entirely without electricity, using solely the acoustical effects of the planet’s sphere
to resonate the music worldwide. Touring will be done in a
carbon-neutral carriage pulled by eco-friendly mules named Steven, Fred,
and Marge. Venues are being asked to refrain from advertising by any
other method than word of mouth and bicycle messenger.”
I can't hide my love of this band. I've seen hundreds of shows, and with the possible exception of Rammstein for the sheer scale and spectacle of their performance (PYRO!!!), there's no other band on earth I'd rather see live. I walked out of the venue elated and uplifted, feeling like a million bucks. I spent the next two days re-living the gig song-by-song, dancing around the halls and headbanging in class. The playlist doesn't do the live show justice. If you've never seen Nomeansno, go see them. You haven't lived until you've moshed with a bunch of grandpas.
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