Fucked Up + Mariachi el Bronx + The Bronx - Wonder Ballroom (MFNW 2009; Sept. 19)

Oh Lord, forgive me for I have grinned. Nine bands, one day, alive and well in Portland, OR.

My journey into the promised land started with a long walk down an uncrowded street on my way to the Wonder Ballroom. I was back for another early show sponsored by Nike, but when I got there I couldn’t help but wonder, where were the lines? They were around the block for the Arctic Monkeys show, but now, no one. Can a Fucked Up show really be outside the musical tastes of my town by the river? Apparently, it can, because when I got inside the venue, I looked into the eyes of 50 people, tops. The numbers would swell as the show went on, but I’d wager ¼ full was as packed it got. Shameful.

But, you couldn’t see anything other than absolute happiness in the eyes of Mariachi El Bronx’s lead singer, Matt Caughthran, as he beamed his way through his hardcore group’s shape shifting side project as a mariachi band. Decked out in the traditional attire and complete with trumpet, congas, and classical guitar, the six-piece band gave the enthusiastic crowd a little taste of Mexico mixed with tongue-in-cheek lyrics and stories about coke-loving cab drivers. It was a fun excursion into the heart of contrast—as the sight of tattoos on a man dressed up in a traditional and historically conservative outfit would, by definition, evoke—and acted as a nice appetizer to the scream-fest that was about to rain down upon the eager faces behind the barricade.

After their set, El Mariachi Bronx regrouped and reemerged as their main meal ticket, The Bronx. Suddenly, it was t-shirts and jeans, headbanging, and deep guttural screams that pierced your ears and sent shock waves into your stomach. The audience became supercharged: fists up in the front and fists out in the pit and Caughthran egged them on, creating a thunderstorm of energy that they could latch on to. Each number was devilishly fast and refused to give anyone much of a breather aside from the dedications that were given to start off most of the tracks. And the best part of all is that they seemed to be having a great time. Punk is a style and it, like all other styles, leads to a bit of posturing, especially the hardcore branch, so it’s kind of nice to see a singer take a moment to smile and appreciate the controlled chaos.

Before they headed out, Caughthran made sure to say how great of a band Fucked Up is and, jokingly, that they wanted to thank themselves for pulling double duty. And he’s right, they deserved some appreciation and the audience made sure that they knew that everyone was in agreement. When they left, most of the crowd left and I shook my head. Shameful.

After a fairly short wait, the band members of Fucked Up came out, minus Damian “Pink Eyes” Abraham, and dicked around on their instruments for a second before charging into the first number and believe you me, when they play, they play like it’s their ass on the line if they don’t. A wall of distortion flew out over the nearly empty venue and the mountain of a man you may know as Pink Eyes strolled onto the stage garbed in a blue cap and white basketball shorts, grabbed the mic, and proceeded to wrap the cord around his face. We were off.

Pink Eyes and his crew begin with the brilliant Chemistry of Common Life opener, “Son The Father,” and built it to my favorite lyric:

“It’s hard enough being born in the first place
Who would ever want to be born again?”

And while I, as a fan of Fucked Up, loved hearing some of my favorite songs, in all honesty, the sound was shit. The wall of distortion was great, fine, super, necessary, but for some reason, Pink Eyes’ vocals were muffled and resided behind it. I’m not blaming him because the clarity of sound isn’t his department, but I wondered whether or not the band had a chance to hit up sound check before the show.

But maybe the greatest testament to how kick-ass this band is that it Did. Not. Matter. Pink Eyes, the consummate showman, spent most of his time in the crowd, giving piggy back rides, giving the photographers a present by having the audience douse him with water as he spread his arms crucifix wide, and by letting the fans belt out their inner demons into the mic. And you can see it in his eyes, he loves these kids that come out to the show. He wants them to lose themselves during “Crooked Head” and “Black Albino Bones,” and he makes a point to let them know that by forging the bond during showtime and responding to any conversation requests after the show. I got to meet him, too, and overheard how he was talking to other people and let me tell you this: you can instantly sense that he’s a really good/kind person. Not something you’d immediately expect from the lead singer of a hardcore band, huh?

Their set was short, but oh was it sweet, and I filed out with the rest of the 5 people (joking), on my way out into the night and to see what would be six other bands. But none would be able to match the connective power that Fucked Up had with its fans, and that, to me, is the lifeblood of a good band. 

DOWNLOAD: Fucked Up - days of last (MP3) or Follow us for more Fucked Up MP3s (Twitter)

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