Because nothing says “Good Friday” like naked punk rockers
I’m an athiest, but I swear the decision to go see Fucked Up on Good Friday wasn’t intended to offend Jesus or his brethren. Still, the reward of an amazing presence was overwhelming enough that one could almost start to think that a higher power was looking down on us and smiling.
After a great opening band that was 100% made of metal, Toronto’s greatest hardcore band came on stage all furious ennui. That might not make much sense on the surface, but the duality of the band really comes sharply to light in a live setting.
While there are six members of the band, for 99% of the show five of them looked barely engaged in the performance aspect aside from playing their instruments (which they do flawlessly, I would point out). Disengaged from the audience, to say the least. But that’s fine, because the band’s frontman more than makes up for it.
Mr. Pink Eyes is absolutely an intimidating man: 300+ pounds, great bushy lumberjack beard, huge forehead scar (from an Iggy Pop-like moment when he shoved broken glass into his forehead and the ensuing infection), and constant teetering on the brink of total nudeness. But there’s a reason Fucked Up’s live show belongs entirely to him and that is the overwhelming sense of joy he so clearly gets from being up front. He spent about half of the set wandering the floor of the Distrikt high-fiving, hugging, and in general fucking with people. One dude even got his shirt unbuttoned and a rasberry blown on his stomach (we spoke to him after the set at O’Hanlons and he was pretty okay with it). The next moment he was carrying one of the three guitar players on his shoulders while they performed one of their shorter songs. He walked on top of one of the bars. He inspired one audience member to repeatedly jump off the balcony of the venue. He poured someone’s rye and coke into his boxer-briefs and frequently tweaked his own nipples. In every break he regaled the crowd with anecdotes and jokes, an incredible smile and a twinkle in his eye betraying the potentially-threatening appearance of a guy who bears a passing resemblance to members of Poison Idea.
The music itself obviously loses a fraction of its weight on a stage; as full a sound as three guitar players can create, its not quite the same as layering 70 guitar tracks on a single song. But while the mass of the songs may be compromised, they don’t lose an iota of their power and they gain plenty of urgency and muscle. Oh, and speed. They gain a lot of speed.
So yeah, it was highly amazing. The band was incredibly tight, the singer was ecstatic and hilarious, and the songs are the best-written songs in the whole damn country, as far as I’m concerned. I’m still pumped.
But that was also just the beginning of an incredible weekend of live Canadian punk rock. More to come!
Fucked Up - Son The Father [6:00m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download Fucked Up - Year of the Pig (US 7" edit) [3:12m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | DownloadDon’t forget: Fucked Up stuff is still available from Matador Records and What’s Your Rupture?.
