Alright, ya poop skunk cockers, I’d like to share with you a life changing lil’ some’in I learned at the Sum 41 show the other night: the trick to getting drunk at Metropolis and saving money is to buy a bottle of wine for 30$. Now, the bartenders won’t give you the bottle to carry off with, so ask for two big cups and you’ll be good to go – promise.
When I saw the name, I did not know who the F British pop-punkers As It Is were. When they flew onto the stage with a burst of scissor kickin’ energy coming from vocalist Patty Walters, I did not know who the F As It Is were. In fact, when talking with bass player Alistair Testo after waiting for the bands to come out of the venue after the show like a creepy stalker man, he himself admitted that “97% of the people there probably didn’t know [who the F] they were”, but I would bet that the masses at that show wanted to know more about them after their set. They did good, is what I’m attempting to convey with a profound approach, thank you very much. Aside from the fact that their space was limited due to the two other bands’ drum kits on stage, these guys managed to pull off a high-voltage show, igniting a crowd that started off pretty dead, but that were revved-up and partying hard toward the end of their set. Admittedly, the other members of the band weren’t too gazed, but kinda lookin’ like Justin Bieber and at times sounding a bit like Miley Virus, Walters was the furthest thing from both those wieners and was definitely the fuel to the fire – and the way I was farting that night, the combo of both of us blokes (#BritishTalk) could have been life-ending. Regardless of how great of a job Walters did throughout their performance, I’m still going to note (while laughing at him) that he needed help getting back onto the stage after jumping off to approach and sing into the crowd – the bouncer had to push him up as he kicked and kicked.
The crowd was crazy; the songs playing between sets were enough to get them riled and moshing. If they weren’t already heated up, Senses Fail starting their set with “You’re Cute When You Scream” kicked them right up the ass. The music was great, and vocalist Buddy Nielsen’s stage antics were satisfying themselves. He belted out solid vocals while throwing his mic all over the place and into the air, catching it behind his back, all while covering his eyes and doing cartwheels and never dropping it, which added to the loads of amusement emitting from the stage. Performing a song such as “Shark Attack” (which includes some frightening screamo elements) while using his microphone wire as a skipping rope created the idea of serious music not taken seriously. I was lovin’ it; the crowd was lovin’ it – maybe even more than McDonald’s, if that’s even possible. To top off their solid performance and really get the crowd creaming in their pants, Nielsen played the BSL card HARD, speaking out against it and sharing that he brought his pitbull to town with him – what a kiss-ass, haha.
By the time Sum 41 was unleashed, I didn’t know if the mic volumes were low and muffled, or if I was just going deaf. Playing a 23-song set and kicking off with “Hell Song,” Sum hit hard, truly making a sum-back on their Don’t Call It a Sum-Back tour (I sure did). Although my dance moves weren’t as SWEET during their new and, in my opinion, less killer songs “War” and “Fake My Own Death,” when the classics “In Too Deep,” “No Reason,” and “Motivation” charged out, I was like a little kid again, dancing naked in my parents’ living room. (Actually, I would do that while listening to Backstreet Boys and Aqua, but whatever). To clarify, I wasn’t naked this time, but there WAS one girl there, sitting on some dude’s shoulders, who just LOVED showing off her big, floppy hooters. This show was both a (re)gain and a lost for me: I regained an appreciation for Bum 41; I lost my cap while crowd-surfing. The sound was great; the performance was solid; people were drunk, partying, crowd-surfing, and losing their caps – it was a shit show, but most definitely not a shitty show.
As if things couldn’t get any more rockin’, a BIG, bad-ass inflatable skull erupted behind the drum kit, designed to flip off every audience member at the sold-out show. Closing the set with el classico “Fat Lip,” the confetti fell and I almost fell – down the stairs.
Written by Keenan Kerr
Photography by Stacy Basque
*edited by Kate Erickson