East Coast Oi! Fest
Crocodile Rock Café
Allentown, PA
May 26, 2007
By Jillian Abbene
(SugarBuzz Wash DC/Richmond)
SugarBuzz Magazine
BAKER’S DOZEN
As the first band up, and their first ever tour in the United States, the lead vocalist Jon, takes stage. I didn’t know what to expect, as they were the first band up. Standing in a crisp plaid button-down over tattoos and spit-shine red Dr. Marten’s, Baker’s Dozen are straight-shooters. There is no question that these guys play with unsurrendered control. Jon’s sharp-arctic vocals holds grip, and any assumptions of a contrived message are cancelled out.
‘Divided By The Masses,’ is clearly about an honest skin standing up for what he believes in, despite the pressure and not buckling underneath influences. It plays out in stabilized force. As Jon is growling out belted Scott-accented lyrics, bass is prevalent along a very credible rock and roll guitar melody, articulated in extorted riffs from Dave, although a young buck, creates a collective tightly-wound finish with the crowd bright-eyed and attentive.
Followed by, ‘British Oi Is Fighting Back,’ shows passion and angst. Dave lets it rip in old-school guitar with a very thin layer of guitar riff over heavy melodic rhythm. The lyrics, of course, are anthemic and generate fist-pumps from the front audience. It is obvious that Baker’s Dozen has arrived and are welcomed with open arms.
Special mention for the song, ‘Ripe For Violence,’ which is right about the time the band started to loosen up with the beginning bars of blurted out ‘oi’s’, and although the song has that rock and roll guitar staple that pulls in beated cadence, the laced grit beneath has Jon leaning into the faces of the crowd, shaking his fist in front-foot stance, and addressing the audience in reciprocated shouted chorused air-punches.
Just before the next song begins, Jon announces that they were going to cram in the rest of the songs to fit into the time slot allotted. Cranking out, in what seemed like jubilation from Aldo on bass, and Dave on guitar, the last songs burned at record pace. ‘Someone’s Going To Die Tonight, dips into heavy bass and guitar, together in twanged unison, that has a couple of red-haired girls in the front mouthing the lyrics, that even I was getting caught up in. The full-anthemic chorus ends in one big Oi for a finish.
[Note: Go get their latest CD, ‘Sent Down,’ – really great stuff!]
BEERZONE (UK)
Personally, I came to the East Coast Oi! Fest to be rejuvenated. I have had the urge to get back into a close knit-no attitude-no lip-state of mind, and The East Coast Oi! Fest seemed to wet my palette…temporarily. I have been hankering to go outside the perimeters of the Richmond, Virginia-Washington DC area for some time. Systematically, the bands that I write about at the Fest, bands like Beerzone, place a straight delivery into my waning heart.
I cannot figure out why this band has not been acknowledged in the forefront, especially in the US. Their songs are catchy, consistent, and with an equal measure of angst, humor fills in their massive talent. They certainly let others know who really is wearing the boots. Opening with their first song off their newest CD, ‘Against The Flow,’ squares off with steely-searing guitar riffs that instantly peaks my interest in raising-brow form as the screaming guitar consistently flows through the song. Iain, the lead vocalist, shouts the last verse with lyrical snub as he stands authoritatively on the edge of the stage. Just then, I knew it was going to be a good show.
‘Stand Up And Fight,’ slates into quick hard-metal rock ‘n roll blurps, giving Shifty, on bass, all licensing to twang-up and be noticed. Iain and Jeff on lead guitar are almost too casual for the song as they stroll up to the mike for the chorus-bursts in, “Stand up and fight for what you believe in.” Their casualness is either confidence, alcohol-fueled belligerence, or both. It doesn’t matter. It’s effective. The words are basic, the musical verses surrounding them give definition, and their stance isn’t clichéd.
Next is the very catchy, but cut-throat song, ‘Don’t Give A Fuck About You,’ that immediately has a conjugation of other band members shouting in validation. The song is actually about a friend who turned foe all because he couldn’t follow through on being just that--a friend. You know these guys mean it as they sing with such conviction reiterating in heavy chorus and giving the words an extra push. The message is so effective that I can almost read between the lines…jutting up the two fingers…even through verse. They are consistently simple and yet possess talent nonetheless.
Immediately following, ‘Vigilante,’ prompts Iain to shout to the audience, “We are all fuckin’ punks, don’t forget that,” through bass-streaming twangs that guides the song to open up and fuel more energy to the show. It is here, I suppose I got caught up in the melee as Iain [aka the captain] leans in to me at the side of the stage, and with perfect opportunity, spontaneously grabbed his sweaty face-cheeks with both hands. Looking a bit surprised, there was a collective laugh followed at my brazen camaraderie. Unfortunately, I behaved for the rest of the Fest.
Stuck in the middle of the set is the song, ‘Ha-Ha-Ha.’ Iain initiates the song to the audience in a goaded warning, “Don’t trust Michael Jackson with your children,” and with a brief silent reprieve, the slice-hard guitar chords hit by Ducky. There is also an unexpected emphasis on drum beats. Shifty is noticeably slamming the bass in beated twangs throughout. The third verse serves up a sub plotted bowl of unanimous snottiness in agreeable semi-chanting of ha-ha-ha’s which creates quite a few smirks in the audience and a contained chuckle from me.
Dramatic tension in, ‘Ten Years of Chaos,’ comes on as if dragging around centuries of angst memories. The brooded irony has my foot thumping to the heavy drums on the aggressive vocals. The last handful of songs end with their signatured, ‘Beerzone,’ and a rowdier Iain cheering in fervor repeating lines from the song, ‘Chaos Will Kill Us All,’ ending in a direct stop and massive fermented cheers from the audience and stage.
DEAD HEROS
On the Dead Heros’ MySpace page, ‘Fucked At Birth’ is posted next to their profile pic. Well that pretty much sums it up. Punk rock is not supposed to be pretty and Dead Heros definitely fucks it up a bit.
‘So Far So Good So Fucked,’ is their latest CD stuffed with gang-chorus lines intentionally meant for belting and reinforcing brotherhood, and after this set, they successfully have recruited me as one of their new followers. Taking stage in the dark belly of Stage 2 downstairs, there is an intimate feeling – like a secret society – that this is a zone not all can pass. I make my way to the front. Dead Heros has already began playing their opening song, ‘I Hate This Life,’ hypertoothing in chopped-guitar rhythms, and husky hard-choppy shouts storms through an empire of bass-fury with hacking drums that has me standing in bewilderment.
Resurging in old-school punk, Jeff, on lead vocals, certainly breaks down barriers when it comes to stereotypes—very capable of belting out damning, thwarty vocals that seems to make up for his smaller stature. He definitely can hold his own. Showing grit and ‘roll-up-yer-sleeves,’ street punk, fast-rabbit guitar licks from Johnny with weaves-in on a bass line, delivers the song, ‘Slave To The 40.’ As the song bangs through, I keep studying Jeff as he sings—(no offense Jeff)—as I just couldn’t get over the passion and deep throaty vocals he was putting out.
Snapping through pictures, ‘4 Years Flat,’ jumps in with a churning mid-tempo fuzz chunk that shoulders a heavy melody and a no-cop-out lead vocal line. “Hey’s” in the chorus entices the crowd to collect at the microphone, and when the fuzz-chunk sound stops in the middle of the song, the steady bass rises above the lead riff. It occurred just then that Luke busted a string right in the middle of the riff. That doesn’t seem to phase the rest of the band as Johnny quickly strings in a new one and plugs in the M8, breathing new life back into the melody. It is right then Jeff is leaning over the rail belting into the listener’s faces as the rest of the crowd/posse joins without hesitation in the chorus line. ‘Neck Deep In Bullshit,’ switches in a crazy-ass schizo lead riff that screams red-hot immediacy. It took me a minute to wrap my head around it. Shifting into chord rhythm, Jeff stands sideways and puffs on a cigarette, between guttural shouts. While the rest of the Dead Heros canyons a raw-hide melody in Flogging Molly fashion, Jeff marvelously manages to continue to bark out the vocals while puffing on the same cigarette—as it sits limply relaxing on his lips—emanating thug-cool.
‘Tragedy,’ a surprise song, sludges in a quadruple guitar intensity that has all the skinheads up front rocking the barrier back and forth so hard that the metal frame is almost completely ripped out of the wall! Too bad security had to stop them. Still, the crowd keeps thrashing even after the song stops. In keeping with the momentum, ‘Two Americas,’ cranks out hard vocals, and monster-deep grit-rhythm over the subtle melody, that makes me think this may be their best song yet. Finishing off with, ‘Unreachable,’ Jeff gives full reign to push the mike into the drum hole, banging the cymbals, and pacing back and forth. It is just then suddenly he stumbles to the floor in drunken angst, as both Jeff and Johnny both collide onto the floor in weeble form, with instruments still playing until the bitter end to a stop.
FLATFOOT 56
Spotting the bagpipes, I know this show is going to be different. Steeping in Chicago street-punk recyclings along with welding folk and Celtic presence, lyrical tenderness transitions with a European flair.
With no hesitation in the opener, ‘Chinatown Jail Break,’ drives mandolin over guitar melody, syncopating into solid street punk revisions. Looking out at the reactions of the audience, a seriousness took hold, in my guess, at the absorbing sound. After rhythms jump into the bridge with a great verse such as, “I run but I never get away,” mandolin-strums meet up to a nice stint at the end.
‘Loaded Gun,’ turns out to be a convincing punk song – despite the European/Celtic signatures. The lead vocalist, Tobin, stands tall, in thin red suspenders (and cap) as Josh, daringly in kilt, passionately blows out bagpipes carrying the melody, and his bagpipes, into driving rhythms as a back-bone filler. To best describe this sound, I have decided it to call it, ‘jig-punk.’ With its positive upbeats and tone, who wouldn’t want to do a little boot-stomping to these tunes? ‘City On A Hill,’ has a much faster tempo and Tobin is now crowing hearty, gnarled vocals on top of the street punk lineage running through rhythm guitar and quick searings that subsides in the middle, as Justin proudly bangs on tribal drums. Plucks of clean tactical-tricklings on mandolin leaves Tobin shouting the solo as Justin aligns a crescendo underneath. All ears are perked on the song’s home stretch. It was then I have decided I liked this song best.
Switching from a rendition of a Twister Sister flashback, Flatfoot 56 picks up the momentum again with an accapella version of, ‘Amazing Grace,’ with the lights dimming and a stream of yellow beaming down on Josh and his bagpipes. A defining moment encompasses the room as the ending of the verse is sung, “…but now I see…,” and then abruptly smashes the silence into a heavy chorus and a lead in cross-sections ending in claps from the audience.
‘Breakin’ The Law,’ has Tobin screaming the lyrics along bass lines in ’77 mode as a punctuated chorus has the crowd rushing the barricade in front stage to finish off in shouts and “heys!” I must say that Flatfoot 56 is one of the most unique bands from the ECOF.
[Note: Their newest CD, ‘Jungle Of The Midwest Sea,’ is out now @ www.Interpunk.com].
GUNS ON THE RUN
Sliding in by the seat of their pants, Guns On The Run quickly sets up downstairs on Stage 2. They didn’t waste any time kicking off their set from their newest CD, ‘For Glory.’ Beginning the set, ‘Far From Finished,’ fast tempos in grit street punk succession that drives incessantly while surges on guitar fills the gaps. Vocalist, Tommy Guns, and John on guitar, are succinct in carrying out the melody. Kristen, relaxed on bass, has a memorable presence—standing out with red hair-fins at least 6 inches tall, commands a quiet strength as she plucks quick throbs and keeping time with the driving chords. Alex, although has a slight nasal vocal, adds texture to the quick groove slips into the middle with the chorus. It all fits perfectly into this newer punk style.
‘Reckless Abandon,’ has pockets of a shouting community chorus line, and Alex’s vocals gradually become more scratchy, pushing harder to get the words out. This seems to adds a little more intensity to their set. Complimenting chopped scrape rhythm, skidding notes rise to pick up in full thrash—changing the energy. ‘The Curse,’ mixes a lead guitar riff with hard-driven rhythm-in-drum in stern concentration—which simply means they are getting into it. Kristen’s deep back up vocals in the chorus, ’I never want it,’ switches without warning into a rock-groove planted right in the middle of the song. The mid-tempo picks up in a beat leaving a catchy participated chorus that sounds far more fierce live than on CD. ‘Passion Beyond Reason,’ although their last song, leaves an everlasting impression as it’s full-on, full-tilt to the right, heavy drum beats included, and expansive guitar dominates once again in ’77 installments. (Big kudos for just jumping in at the last moment.)
In closing, intricate guitar details allow Alex to focus on catchy verses that command this song as a solid ending to the set.
Touring this fall, GOTR blew in to Richmond, Virginia at The Rocks, September 18th and really made a serious come back with a big sound and lots of energy. Do you hear me Richmond?!
HAGGIS
www.myspace.com/haggiskingsofnorway
Trekking all the way from Norway, who knew Haggis would be such a knee-slapping welding theme of humor and beer? Beginning the set dramatically, the lights are out and a Scottish-tuned recording blares across the venue. Suddenly, the lights go up and the lead vocalist, Ottar aka Fat Animal, is standing front and center. Holding a radio mike in one hand, he’s shirtless, tattooed and dons a pair of black silk boxing shorts—and cap, breaking open into their set with, ‘Enlist Today.’ Among the solid drum rolls and thrash-heavy cymbals-n-pedal, Ottar is now red-faced, and has an apparent stiff upper lip that casts him more like a mischievous boys. Steady vocals including octave changes adds texture to Ottar’s commanding stage presence and sound.
Switching gears, calling out for a volunteer from the audience for their eyeglasses, a brave gal obliges in handing them to Ottar, who places them on his nose to launch, ‘4 Black Eyes,’ in thrash-driven boot-stomp guitar machine gun artillery. Sitting well with the audience, the thrashy pit remains active throughout the entire set. ‘Flashing Tits,’ has with the encouragement of Haggis, a borderlined pubescent girl unabashedly flashing the crowd while Ottar proclaims, “Get yer tits out,” receiving the audience with snickers and mixed emotions with me rolling my eyes. However, the pot is stirred, and deep-heavy guttural animated vocals is received atop mid-tempo rhythms, and Andy Kneecap, lead guitarist, leans back in a fury-rip on three-chord third-notes, colliding into ’77 style ending the song with the audience, finishing the chorus on, “I love tits,” and a fond ‘fuck you’ with band and crowd in unison.
‘The Vikings Are Cumming,’ ends the set in a grand finale of plunging guitars and excellent snipbits of guitar-plunks along with choir-boy harmonies completes the set. Judging the band width of the audiences’ reactions of cheers and claps, Haggis will be back to rape and pillage the US soon.
HUB CITY STOMPERS
www.myspace.com/hubcitystompers
Everyone likes to dance now and then right? The Hub City Stompers breathe fresh new life into Ska-punk. I always like a mix crowd and appreciate the influences of Klezmir, Russian folk, hardcore and oddly enough, a hint of rap that the Hub City Stompers has pulled off as an exciting set that has the audience hopping in positive vibe from the first song to the last. Even the toughest bad-ass punks are tapping their feet, head-nodding or soft-circle skanking to the infectious beats. Their newest release, ‘Dirty Jersey,’ has no doubt, proven skeptics wrong when trying to shove punk rock into one sound. Hub City Stompers are about breaking sound stereotypes and labeling.
The lead vocalist, Travis, aka Reverend Sinister, walks out on stage with a little spring in his step, brimming with confidence and charisma, while greeting the audience. The opening song, ‘Ska Ska Black Sheep,’ is an upbeat well-versed, flexed-muscled, Ska tune that deceives in sardonic lyrics that just seems to roll off his tongue—in Ska 2/4 measures. These are the kinds of songs that let you drop back from the intensity and let your mind empty.
When the third song, ‘Chatterbox,’ is introduced, everyone is having a good time. Just then as the groove starts, panties are flung onto the stage as The Rev gladly picks them up and wears them on his head--chef-plumed style. With the edges sinking over his eyes he bobs from one end of the stage to the other, in controlled-humor. His stinging verbiage such as, ‘run like a bitch,’ along a dirged-metal fusioned clip has me laughing at the intensity of the guitar-fusion against the plumed hat he is prancing around on stage sporting.
Jenny Whiskey on saxophone doesn’t seem to mind sitting in the background as horns toot a happy piss-off, snaking underneath. Jumping from one song to the other, immediately I recognize the spoof rendition of, ‘Boys Don’t Cry,’ from The Cure, as they introduce their own creative version entitled, ‘Skins Don’t Cry.’ Launching quick chords, guttural humorous lyrics and odd soft chords from the keyboard in the background, is inclusive with oi’s ending with the Reverend fake-crying. Everyone picks up on the cynicism as giggles and laughs are heard trailing off at the end of the song.
Last but not least is, ‘Bumble B,’ a fast new wave Devo take-off mixed with Ska and choppy verses that breaks up keyboard melodies to give a quirky sound. The crowd is in full dance mode and big grins are expressed freely. Jenny Whiskey’s cooey oriental-influenced vocals are stapled in between the metal M8 header with a one-note lead-riff-hold that ends in Jenny speaking Japanese gibberish chopped up in the steady rhythm.
Ending on a hot note, the crowd is hanging over the barrier in dance-sway with bodies every which way. The drunkenness has begun!
LAST CALL BRAWL
Drunk punk can be memorable by default just for the humorous factor. With that, often times, the band is overlooked for the talent they deliver. This can be said about Last Call Brawl. Playing down in Stage two, Chris, aka The Dog, stands clean-cut in a polo shirt and well-fitted jeans, along with the rest of the Long Island crew. These guys throw down some great street punk with the motto for the basic 3—drink, fight, and fuck and not necessarily in that order. But tonight it was, thank God, as I watch on, all drunken fun.
Opening with, ‘My Stomach Hates My Guts,’ initiates with solitary drums. Tonight, Jensen, the drummer from Pledge Of Resistance, is filling in as the original drummer, Mike, who is a roadie for Sick Of It All. Chris is not afraid. He exerts himself automatically in a baritone monotone melody in street punk style—until he gets to the chorus. With words like, ‘take your fingers out of your mouth and stop throwing up,’ it’s no wonder there were smirks from the crowd and a burst of laughter from yours truly about an eating disorder can be displayed so poignantly. Simulating stomach heaves incorporated into the chorus, Chris successfully vomits up a growling-roar. The bridge throws back a ‘90’s familiar sound as trailing guitar from Rich, screeches in between verse.
By now, the band and audience are warmed up--including Chris, is clearly liquored up for, ‘Chewing On Hatred.’ Rhythm guitars drive in smooth-chords as Chris, although not staggering but toasty, belts out a long string of wordy lyrics and chorus like a hyped-up coke fiend. Intentionally spilling beer all over his face in between oi-oi-oi’s in the chorus, he kneels onto the floor, and begins lapping up the remainder of the spillage. With Chris still on the floor, the rest of the band keeps the faith by keeping the cadenced sarcasm and doesn’t miss a beat in a roll-through of, ‘Television Sky,’ that possesses old school elements and a preserved underscoring theme, that makes the song. I like this song best for its transitions that has more than one bridge.
Each song seems to encourage more participants from the audience. By the time the last song is played, ‘Beer And Violence,’ Chris is sporting ‘Dagwood’ and the metal barrier between crowd and band is bending over from the weight of Chris leaning directly into the crowd for more vocals, closing the set with sloppy cheers.
THE NIHILISTICS (NYC)
Despite schedule changes on the band times, The Nihilistics had driven down from New York City to Pennsylvania in a grand, shiny-black hearse. It was really something to see—as they quickly find their way to the bar in passive-chill mode, until show time.
Enough gushing…mantling their equipment, the venue is suddenly metamorphasized into what I crown, ‘The room of the intrusive punk gods.’ In heavily, studded leather with spiked two-inch spikes perched on his shoulders, Ron Rancid postures much like a Triceratops ready for a rumble keeping time in treacherous, snarl-raspy barks. Clearly pissed off at the sparse crowd, The Nihilistics have no problem polluting their exerted venom.
Opening with their song from their latest CD, ‘Al Qaeda Detonator,’ also the entitled track, dives straight into a no censorship version of defiant volatility--complete with added, “Fuck you’s” in the chorus, and successfully transplanting their rage from The World Trade Center tragedy…and this is just the beginning.
By the time, ‘Good Life,’ is sung, Ron decides to bleed in some poetic cinematic license—literally. Walking up to George, the bassist, he leans over and bites down on the strings, plucking heavy-deep bass notes with his teeth! When coming up for air, and blood filling his mouth, finishes the song with a crash ending, and flings CD’s and records into the audience as if delivering the morning newspaper. ‘Black Sheep,’ comes off like a religious chant, hammering guitar-thrashing arsenals in catchy mania. You guessed it—I like this song. ‘Drop Dead, Fuck Off, Leave Me Alone,’ only fuels The Nihilistics’ angst. Mad as shit that many have left the venue early because of the ‘guest appearance’ from the SWAT team, (i.e. plastic shields, police dogs and tear gas), proves to produce this great stabbing riff, hydraulicized by Ajax, the lead guitarist.
Starting out with single guitar pluckings of the melody along with the vocals, the childhood tune, ‘ABC’s’ is seasoned with deranged lyrics such as, “I’m getting hot touching your cold purple flesh/I’m gonna do it to ya while you’re still kind a fresh....” A strangled and loathed ending in classic, dark lyrics feels more like being forceably handcuffed to a bastardized bedpost than anything else.
A terrorizing nonapologetic encore, ‘Kill Yourself,’ palpitates drum by Troy and blurry-fast odd-noted riffs on the M8 expiring the set in slanderous glory. Perfect timing, as my camera batteries died right at the end.
[Note: I’d like to extend a heart-felt thanks to The Nihilistics for personally seeing to it that I had an all-access pass to the Fest without me requesting one—without you, I wouldn’t be able to cover all these great bands. Thanks. xx]
THE TEMPLARS
http://www.myspace.com/thetemplars
Lining up on stage, there is no flash or glitz. As the energy of The East Coast Oi! Fest crests, whatever energy that may have been suppressed earlier, is cracked wide open with The Templars closing out the night. Eager to hear something great, The Templars pull songs from their personal vault. Carl, on vocals, has one hand on guitar; legs are positioned in sure-fire readiness.
Capping out random songs off their lengthy discography, there are 2 key points of observation. One, blunting street punk/Oi anthems that mark life experiences of the working class that emanate a personal expression I rarely hear. Two, solid consistent guitar drives that are heavy in influential sounds of The Clash, Stiff Little Fingers and even a hint of The Jam. This poetically creates the grit and melodic substance to their songs that I appreciate most.
True to their cause, The Templars, although formed in the early 90’s, have never been a sell out. Matter of fact quite the opposite as they seem to keep improving and strengthening their style over the years. Cranking into, ‘These 4 Walls,’ steadied mid-tempo rhythms are clean. Carl’s gravely vocals are exerted into more of belting-out statements, rather than crooning. Calculated in structure, a somber melodic theme runs through with heartfelt lyrics.
As the crowd cheered a warm welcome to, ‘War On The Streets,’ it rolled in as an upswing. The band performed very composed, without animation--to the opposite reaction of the crowd. Zealous pushing and shoving as the chorus is shouted in their signature songs, ‘The Templars,’ that has the unison up in full volume. Voices can now be heard over bass and Phil’s rapid drum-roll trips. Precisely orchestrated guitar twiddlings throughout are fond reminiscences with a dash of melodic flair.
Despite the fact that I was unsuccessful in obtaining the set list after the show for the review, I do recall, ‘Fists Up,’ playing with fervor as serious driving guitar stations slightly under Carl’s graveliness. In fact, their songs although almost entirely made up of anthemic sections, are a thick layer of deep intensity. A reserved strength is noted and as followers cheer beckonings for an encore, The Templars gladly deliver. As the set seems to end too quickly, I am left disappointed for more—in wishful thinking to see this band a second time around for a deeper dip into The Templar vault.
http://www.myspace.com/eastcoastoifest2007