Goodness, what a day. It's not super-often anymore that I find myself at all-ages gigs, and when I do, they're either gigantic stadium shows, or some sort of loud rock/punk/something-mo show. This one was of the latter variety, though still in a fairly sizable venue, the Croatian Cultural Centre. I've remarked before that going to a show at the CCC kind of feels like revisiting a high school dance in the gymnasium. Of course, most of the patrons of these shows are in high school, so it might seem more like another nighttime function at their local educational facility for them. The only thing un-gymnasium about the parquet-floor, stage-at-one-end super-hall is the opulent cherry wood bar on one side. This pretty, mirrored thing serves only bags of potato chips and bottles of pop and juice, however. It's all-ages, fer cryin' out loud. We can't get the kids drunk. For the elders, there's a lovely beer garden set up in an adjacent room, with folding chairs and folding tables and wall-mounted TVs that play the news.

I haven't even really begun this review, and I'm already anticipating it being a very strange synopsis of the show. You see, this was one of those rare gigs where us photographers had no restrictions. We had the run of the room, and we could use the flash, we could shoot full sets, all the rest of it. So after one small flub where the front-of-house security was misinformed of that non-restriction, I spent the entire show up in the media pit. And while I was aware of my own photography, and the general actions of the band members, specifics elude me. Having no spare hand with which to jot down notes about the songs played and the banter between, and also having half my mind on the large quantities of crowd surfers flying over the barricade, left me able to concentrate little on the details of the sets. The crowd-surfers themselves weren't such a big issue to me. Even if they do kind of land on me, it's only a minor disturbance, and it would take a lot to have my gear damaged by them. The security had a different opinion though, insisting that I better damn well get out of the way lest they hurt me. It became easier to comply with them and stand more to the side than keep fielding their demands and insisting to them that I wasn't concerned about injury. Hell, I used to hold my own in even more rowdy mosh pits for hours and hours on end back in my festival-going days.

But enough of this. I have a show to attempt to express to you all.

I was still underneath the stage, nearing the end of a pretty fun interview with Alexisonfire, when the audience above us suddenly erupted in fanfare. "Well, crap," I thought. "I'm going to have to cut this interview short." I adore Nardwuar, everyone's best subversive-interview-conducting friend, but he effectively culled yet another of Cord's interview sessions by having held onto Alexisonfire before me for about an hour. Blast! Well, no matter, we went into warp speed and managed to finish the chat with some great, if quick, answers. We all got our things together and started up the stairs when one of the group remarked that there was no way to get out of that dungeonesque room, save by actually going across the stage. There was one other exit door that we supposed led outside, but it was blocked by something (very reassuring in the event of a fire or other emergency). So we all piled up the stairs and stood behind the sidestage sound console, watching blue.skies.at.war. charge up the room and waiting for a decent moment to escape. What a sight it must have been from the crowd to, after BSAW's first song, see eight or so people go dashing out from behind the stage and down to the floor.

I spun right about as soon as my feet hit the floor of the room and began photographing BSAW. The set was fairly short, maybe half an hour, but they were quite a sight to watch. They used every speck of that brief time to shake the room up. Let's hope they have a turnaround in luck soon, because they sure deserve it. It's not like some bands that have crappy luck, but they play crappy music so it just ain't justified that their luck should change. These guys are doing some awesome stuff. On stage, they possessed super high energy (something that wouldn't let up with any of the bands the entire night. "Emo" or whatever they may be, but you won't find any shoe-gazers here). They all hurled themselves around and yelled, even when they weren't anywhere near a microphone. Vocalist Chad Stewart has a strong, kind of strained quality to his voice. He sounds near collapse as he sings, and his facial expressions further support his emotion. Or maybe that had something to do with him performing with screwed-up shoulders and one broken foot as a result of a van accident a week and a half before the show. The whole band is very brave for continuing on with their tour, and with the way Stewart spun himself around on stage, you wouldn't even know he had the slightest bit of injury. Bassist Jacob Seaman hiked himself up onto the monitors and scanned the crowd frequently. He seemed actually quite jovial a lot of the time. And holy crap, can we give a shout out to the man in charge of the drums, Vince Zerdzicki??!! If you take a trip to their website and listen up to their player for a bit (or better yet, support these guys and their recent financially-disabling van accident and buy the damn disc), you'll understand what I mean aurally. He's got that super-slick tappity-tap action and accelerated trips across the entire kit down pat. But the man is a demon on stage. Arms everywhere, this intense strain across his face. He gives it.

The other running theme for the night is love. Undying, endless, heartfelt, friendship and love. Bands like this often seem to become fast friends on tour together, and having a tragedy such as they faced in the midst of the tour only served to strengthen these bonds between everyone. These bands adore one another. They will support each other to the end, they appreciate one another's friendship like you wouldn't believe. It kicked off early with these guys giving their commitment and props to the other bands on the tour, especially to Alexisonfire, who happened to be right behind them on the lonely highway near Thunder Bay where they collided with a mountain. Alexisonfire helped them pick up the pieces (literally and figuratively) and carry them on their way. Of course, Stewart also pointed out that they had a donation box back at the merchandise table for donations to help BSAW replenish their gear and pick up a new van.

Now that the kids were absolutely primed, it was time to carry on with the show. Between sets, I wandered around a little bit, noticing how the groups of kids were cliqued out in large chunks. There was a row of people sitting along each wall, who would occasionally yell out to someone walking past who they knew. There were clumps of willowy figures gathered in circles all over the floor, laughing and smiling and wrestling with one another. There were rocked-out kids, punk kids, goth kids, kids of indecipherable clique-ishness, and even a group of kids dressed up like extras from the Alexisonfire "Waterwings" video. And everywhere you looked, there was a noticeable lack of adults who weren't part of the working crews that night. It's strange, you know. Of course there's going to be a lot of kids at an all ages gig, especially being that they take advantage of the few such high-profile shows that actually hit this city. But one thing I just wouldn't think would be that there would be such a huge lack of older people. Is that because anyone older than twenty isn't a fan of these bands, or just that they have a tendency to avoid the all-ages gig environment? Who cares, the audience was so excited and so into the show, it would be a shame to have the whole atmosphere spoiled by a bunch of poopy, jaded scenester twits anyhow.

Next on the bill was the Black Halos. This is a Vancouver punk band with a solid, long-standing legacy in this city (and Spain, but that's another story). They've been back with us for about a year or so now, after having been on sabbatical for close to two years. We are certainly very proud to have them back, and while the momentum they'd gained during their earlier years had hit a brick wall, and things haven't quite picked up the same head of steam yet, the old fans still love 'em. Vancouver has a soft spot for the Halos.

Of course the entire band contributes valid bits and pieces to the music, but this really is singer Billy Hopeless' one-man show. His face squinches up into this smiley-scowl, so it looks like he can't even see out of his eyes. He probably can't, and I don't think that even matters to him. He seems to just feel his way around the stage. And he definitely uses the stage. Slowly throughout the performance, pieces of his clothing were doffed until he was sweaty and bare-chested, and even then, he still kept removing more clothing. Sort of. On top of his microphone-related antics (swirling it about, swinging it through his legs, wrapping it around his neck, shoving it down his pants…), he would slyly begin to yank his pants off over his leopard-print underwear, drop to the floor, and go crawling to the edge of the stage. This guy is definitely, genuinely punk, and there is no doubt about that. He comes off as a little bit crazy, but damn if he doesn't mean everything he says. The guy is living it. He collapsed against the drum riser at the back of the stage, and, still lying in a crumpled heap, began spouting off a tirade about how if he dies penniless in a gutter in a pool of his own urine, he'll die happy knowing he played music all his life. And you know he's not just feeding you some line in the name of appearing genuine. He absolutely, irrevocably, undoubtedly would rather live his life that way than sell his soul for any amount of money. It's all about the music. So great to see. He also included some short speeches about the local beer brewery strikes and about the newer additions to the band.

On to those newer additions. The departure of original guitarist Rich Jones eventually brought Davey French into the mix. He takes on his guitarist role very effectively. The guy even kind of looks like Jones. Only a bit, but you know… anyhow, he's somewhat more active on stage than I recall Jones being, and Hopeless has a tendency to completely molest the guy on stage. Sliding under his legs, draping around his shoulders, sharing mics… what a brotherhood! The other even-newer addition to this reformed Halos band is bassist Denyss McKnight, who took the reins from Matt Camirand (now busy with a couple other bands around Vancouver). He's the youngest, freshest face of the band, adding an entirely different dimension to them. Dare I say it? He looks surlier than any of the rest of them (ah shit, he's gonna read this, hunt me down and throw a bottle of whiskey at my head), perhaps partially due to the heavy black eyeshadow and pouty lip. Rounding out the line-up is boundless guitarist Jay Millette, and drummer Rob Zgaljic. Millette hid himself on the shadowy side of the stage for most of the set, but every now and then he'd either leap into the path of a light, or else do something so suddenly-intense that you can't help but glance over at him. And Zgaljic keeps an iron-clad concentration on his kit at all times.

The tunes were of the same caliber we've always known from the Black Halos. Hopeless' voice is so jarring and rough and whiny, but anything other than that just wouldn't feel right. The songs are loud and fast, and they played older songs as well as new stuff (titles elude me as I was busy avoiding the new crop of excited patrons flying over the barricade). Indeed though, good ol' favourites like "No Tomorrow Girls" and "Some Things Never Fall" were happily performed, to the raging delight of the audience. People all seemed so happy. Members of the other bands from the night were spotted standing all over the place singing along and smiling.

The entire room was getting muggy with perspiring audience members now, their band-themed shirts clinging to them, and still, around the room they trampled, leaping on their friends, chewing on potato chips, and trying to sneak into the beer garden. Failing that, many were outside smoking or drinking beer from their cars. Smart children… but anyhow, inside, Boys Night Out were preparing to hit the stage.

Having spoken with most of these guys earlier in the evening, they had already impressed me with their personable nature and genuine personalities. They really respect the bands they were playing with, and even seemed to enjoy having me around to observe what they were up to before the show. This carried through to their performance. While singer Connor Lovat-Fraser didn't make an appearance for a few moments, the set began with guitarist Jeff Davis off on the side stage, with one leg up on a monitor, screaming us into the first song. Shortly, Lovat-Fraser came catapulting out onto the stage and looked like he was about to hurl himself with some velocity into the crowd. He managed to stop himself in time, and began a loud and ridiculously-energetic set. Man, they just didn't let up. But between songs, Lovat-Fraser continued to extol the joys and wonders and love surrounding the tour, the new friends they'd made, urged the audience to help out the stricken blue.skies.at.war… it was heart-warming. I found myself grinning like an idiot pretty much all night because of all the gushing going on.

At some point in the set, they all got the audience to wish/sing "Happy Birthday" to their tech guy/helping hand, whose name escapes me at the moment (was it Warren…?)… Sorry about that. Anyhow, the birthday boy was tucked far back at the side of the stage but welcomed his fanfare. And still, members of the other bands from the tour scattered themselves around the edges of the stage to watch what was going on. Vince Zerdzicki, as we saw earlier drumming for BSAW, had changed from his Tshirt-and-jeans drumming attire (shirt provided by Alexisonfire's merch table just before the show) into a swanky pink-on-pink shirt and tie and was wandering around the stage taking photographs and clapping to the music. And suddenly at my side, a hooded figure appeared, crouching, with a snazzy Pentax, pushed directly to my right and began snapping away. I glanced over to see Alexisonfire drummer Jesse Ingelevics, I suppose attempting to go sort of incognito under his hoodie, taking photos of Boys Night Out and totally encroaching on my space, yo. Way to cramp my style, Ingelevics. Being a fellow Pentax-user, I attempted to take a closer look at his camera, and he leaned into my ear and told me that some kid outside had given it to him to take photos with. That's a lot of trust to put in some rock star with your fancy camera.

But alas, there was still a show going on in front of me! I barely know what else to say. This was so anthemic and heartfelt. Lovat-Fraser would strike these amazing poses all over the place, very angelic, very statuesque. He was in the crowd's faces as best as he could be. Davis continued to add his strong, complimentary vocals to the set, and even the slight Dave Costa, on bass, contributed to the vocal stew. Yeah, perhaps it was a bit of a stew. I was going to rescind that comment, or at least explain it away. This was by no means a quality exclusive to Boys Night Out's set, but I must say that the sound in the cavernous CCC room is not always the world's greatest. Much better, mind you, than when the room is almost empty and the sounds ricochet around the walls like a tin can, but when the space is full, things get muffled. It's not really initially designed for this sort of show, but considering that it is essentially just a huge gymnasium, it's not too bad. So while voices can layer over one another and get pulled out here and there, they mostly spin into one big vocal track. Which is still great when you can harmonize as well as these guys were able to. Sweat was flung, vocal chords were shredded.

And then, the main event. Alexisonfire. Curiously, the set began fairly nonchalantly… the band just sorta came onto the stage and plucked their instruments from their respective spots and began to play. They were all wearing identical polo shirts, took their places, and off they went. Well, yikes. Most people know by now the whoa-nelly formless screaming that is the band's signature vocal style. I must admit, on recorded versions, while I very very much dig the music and the backing vocals, I was always a bit too unsettled by singer (yeller) George Pettit's vocal quality. I love screaming in music, and I love the occasional, surprisingly ill-placed caterwaul. But this just seemed a bit too much, like the voice had no regard at all for the tune of the song or the beats. As though the yelping and the music might be two entirely different songs sandwiched clumsily together. However, live everything seemed to tie together much differently, to my surprise. Was it actually on-key? And on-time? I'm not 100% certain, but it sounded more complete than I'd ever heard them before. So live, they won me over big time. And I actually find now, after this show, when I hear their songs on the radio or TV, that I kinda "get it" now. I can hear how the yells come in at the right times, even if they sound scattered on a really superficial level. Who knew??! I have learned the way of the Alexisonfire...

Bassist Chris Steele was on fire (ha ha... ha...). That guy looked like he was having convulsions as he kicked and flew his way back and forth on the stage, just about taking his bandmates out with his bass. Guitarist Dallas Green and his magical voice rung out over the music, and he too twisted and quavered around the stage in fits and starts. The pretty parts of the vocals were echoed on the other side of the stage by guitarist Wade MacNeil. At some point, BSAW's Ryan Mills joined in on MacNeil's mic for some additional backing vocals, and if memory serves correctly, Jacob Seaman also participated over on the far side of the stage. Either way, all those BSAW guys, who were so well-supported on that solitary stretch of Thunder Bay-ian highway by Alexisonfire, were doing their best to return the favour by being undying supporters of the guys on stage. They helped in getting the audience even more spasmodic than it already had been, which seemed impossible, but evidently it wasn't. Zerdzicki continued to sneak about taking pictures, even perching on Ingelevics' drum riser to snap a few. Where were the Black Halos through all of this? Who knows. They hadn't been on the full tour, so maybe they just weren't into the family vibe as much as everyone else.

As mentioned, the crowd was even more nuts than it had been all night. The stagefront security was working overtime, and even while I wasn't really getting hurt every time one of them smushed into me or trapped me between them (and then complained about having to get out of the way if someone was coming over the barricade), I figured soon that it might be best to stay closer to the sides of the stage where there was less chance of being bombarded by flying bodies the whole time. The audience sang (yelled) along to every song, cheered like never before, and managed to lightly rock the barricade back and forth and actually bounce the floor slightly. I didn't think that happened anywhere outside of the Commodore. Continuing the night's courteous nature, the members of the band often took bottles of their own water from on stage and sprinkled it into the overheating crowd. Pettit expressed more love for their tourmates.

And then shirts began to come off. Pettit sweated through his shirt and promptly removed it, chucking it towards the back, and continued his set partially au-naturel. Beyond the mass of cymbals, one could see that Ingelevics had done the same some time earlier. The rest of them kept their clothes on. Members of Vancouver band Crowned King, who had shared the bill for every stop on this tour except the Vancouver date (deferring to the Black Halos), had begun to spring up at the sides of the stage to watch. The newest Crowned King addition, Ryan Darnell, was particularly exuberant, smiling like crazy and cheering and dancing more than many audience members were. Pettit handled his mic cord like a lasso when he didn't have the mic itself clasped firmly in one fist against his face, yelling bloody fucking murder into the thing. This band is probably the best way to get out aggression. Even just listening to, watching, and maybe screaming along to it. I can't even begin to imagine what a release it must be to actually be in that band, cavorting around in such a rage. Something about this set seemed really short. I don't know if it actually was short (since there is a curfew to adhere to at the CCC), or if it was just the frenetic pace that made it seem to pass quickly. They didn't do an encore - when they finished their set, that was it. It was done.

Well, anyhow, it was fucking awesome. The kids screamed for more for a while until the house lights started on and canned music began to pour from the speakers again. It all emptied out very quickly, but many people hung around outside the venue doors waiting to catch a glimpse of the musicians off stage. The floor of the room was littered with plastic cups and chip bags and handbills. The merch booth had been dented visibly, and the sweaty and exhausted kids tripping out of the building proved that this was a show that had carried a lot of impact. The love spilled over to them too, as even those exiting audience members clung to one another and hugged and kissed and generally seemed incredibly upbeat. And so, another great punk tour neared its end. The happiness of the evening had been quelled slightly by the sadness over it being the second-to-last stop on the tour. I hear the last show in Victoria was quite the emotional humdinger. That doesn't surprise me.

The parking lot out front soon turned into a giant hackysack game as a few people attempted to load up Alexisonfire's trailer and locate a lost article (…) that had been dropped in the trailer somewhere. All the bands from the tour (Crowned King now replacing the Black Halos who had already left) were scattered about chatting or hacking or moving things around in the van. I took off, and soon they all drove past me honking, and off into the night.

Oh the warmth of the night. See, I told you I'm emo.

Elsewhere

By Andy Scheffler
Photos : Andy Scheffler
Published : June 8, 2004.