Some 1,000 plus punks gathered in the magnificently beaten down Congress Theater for day two of Riot Fest. The festival started in 2005 and is probably the biggest punk rock gathering in the states that books genuine punk rock bands (fuck you Warped Tour). The organizers of the festival began with the idea of booking bands that wouldn’t normally play together, for example, Leftover Crack, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, and Jay Retard all on one stage is a beautiful mess of different sounds. Over the years, Riot Fest has grown larger and better, booking tons of amazing talent and attracting people from across the country. Compared to other festivals like Warped Tour or even Lollapalooza, Riot Fest has supplied the die-hard music lover with a united community, and has proven to be the punk rock Mecca of the decade.
I went there mainly to see the legendary Cock Sparrer play their first show in Chicago and to witness NOFX bash the P.C. movement yet again. My agenda also included locals Shot Baker and Minnesota’s Off With Their Heads. 88 Fingers Louie reunited to play the show and Boston’s Street Dogs traveled to play Riot Fest as well, but I wanted to see them just to say I saw them- I never really got into either band’s music. And in the middle was Youth Brigade, a band that needs to stay on the west coast because, frankly, no one likes them here.
I only knew one other person who was going, a cousin who had no cellular device, which meant I had no way to get a hold of him. So I opted to take the blue line by myself in hopes that I would find him within the Theater. I sat down next to two older men, late twenties- one who was fat with tattoos, a beard and shaved head; the other rather tan and slim in a green army jacket. “Do you know how long it takes to get to the California stop?” the skinny man asked with a thick Canadian accent. “Yeah, about 20 minutes. Are you going to Riot Fest?” I responded. And with that, the thicker gentlemen joined the discussion as well. As it turned out, the thin man was from Ontario, and the fat guy came all the way from Arizona. We struck up a conversation about the upcoming show that lasted the rest of the train ride. Being the only one from Chicago, I guided them to the Congress. Another gal from Boston, named Annie, joined in the crowd, and the four of us discovered we all came alone. This was my first encounter with the welcoming atmosphere of the festival. The friendliness and sincerity was not expected, and nor would it end there.
After the shuffle through security at Congress, Annie and I decided to stick together since it’s a known fact that women shouldn’t be alone in the Bucktown- Logan Square area. I grabbed a beer and entered the floor area in time to catch Off With Their Heads in the middle of their set. The band began in 2002 up in Minneapolis and has gained popularity over the years thanks to their raspy vocals and gritty, yet melodic sound. Off With Their Heads never backs down during a performance, and made sure to give it their all as an opening act. With the bass loud and power chords rumbling, they performed songs like “Your Child Is Dead,” without loosing their spirit. When it comes to a relatively unknown band playing simple and dark Midwestern punk rock, you’re guaranteed for a good time- and that’s exactly what Off With Their Heads Provided.
My favorite band from Chicago, Shot Baker, was on next, so I quickly secured a spot up front. The crowd was still a bit small, but not small enough to deter Shot Baker from putting on a good show. It was the band’s first appearance with their replacement guitarist, who seemed rather nervous and wasn’t as prepared for the show as one would hope. Many guitar solos were left out of the setlist, and the new member mostly stayed in one spot. But none of this slowed the band down. Lead singer, Tony Kovacs, owned the stage as he jumped into the crowd and climbed monitors, while drummer Chris Gach and bassist John Krohn, held the beat and supplied the oos and ahhs. Although their spot on the bill was for only a half hour, they made sure to intermingle new songs, like “Falling Apart,” with classics like “Gatlin,” and “What Some Call Love.” And, of course, the band regularly ended their setlist with the anthem “Sorry Illinois.” Despite all of the stumbling blocks, Shot Baker still rocked the joint and played with all their heart.
Two bands were down, with only three more to go until the main attractions, Cock Sparrer and NOFX. Unfortunately, the next few bands definitely were not on my agenda. First up was the horrid Youth Brigade, an L.A. band that for some reason keeps getting booked at Riot Fest. Their sound is as generic and boring as it can get. The riffs and beats are cheap imitations of other classic west coast punk bands, like the Adolescents, while their awful singing and lyrics are as muddy and pointless as The Vandals. Thankfully, the crowd was in agreement, and showed little excitement for the quartette. In their almost 30 year run as a band, I have only come to enjoy one song from Youth Brigade- “I Hate My Life,” a song that perfectly describes my feelings toward the band.
The crowd gathered again after Youth Brigade left, since they knew their ears wouldn’t bleed anymore. Boston’s Street Dogs began to set up the stage as the Irish Chicagoans horded with their fists clenched in anticipation. My new Boston friend, Annie, was thrilled to see a hometown band play the festival. Formed in 2002 by Mike McColgan, the original lead singer for Dropkick Murphys, the band is a typical east cost punk rock band influenced by the pubs and bagpipes. Much like the other Boston based bands like Dropkick Muphys and The Ducky Boys, Street Dogs are made of haunting vocals and grand power chords with a hint of Celtic harmony. The band’s spirit gripped the stage while the punks danced with fists in the air. Their enthusiasm was invigorating and thrilling, while their talent manifested throughout the Congress Theater. Even though I wasn’t familiar with Street Dogs material, I still found myself enthralled with their music.
Next was the newly reunited 88 Fingers Louie. The news of the band getting back together just for the festival, didn’t really rock my world. The only reason 88 Fingers Louie is popular to begin with is because their original members Joe Principe and Dan “Mr. Precision” Wleklinski were founding members of the band Rise Against. In my book, 88 Fingers Louie is a rip off of other, much more talented, melodic hardcore bands like Pennywise, and to an extent, early Bad Religion. To put it simply, the band isn’t unique in any form, so I chose to purposefully not enjoy their performance. The crowd, on the other hand, was ecstatic to see 88 Fingers Louie perform old tunes, of which they hand picked in an online poll.
While 88 Fingers Louie, Youth Brigade, and Street Dogs performed, I spent most of my time mingling with strangers. Annie and I met several interesting people not only from Chicago, but also across the country. We met numerous people in the large line for the grubby woman’s bathroom and the delicious bars. But the smoking area was a guaranteed chatting circle. Created out of the tiny garbage alley, the Congress Theater thought it would be a magnificent idea to assign the designated smoking area to a smelly, dirty, and extremely small passageway. The only thing they didn’t take into account was the amount of smokers. In a section that could hold maybe 30 people comfortably squeezed 150 sweaty chain-smoking punks. But the lack of space resulted in plenty of intimate and heated discussions on music and life in general. Oddly enough, the seemingly bad scenario of an overly crowded turned into a magnificent area to get to know your neighbor.
When I wasn’t craving for a cigarette, Annie and I enjoyed the sight of the bouncing horde of hooligans from the top balcony. The sight was amazing. The growing audience was a sea of jolly delinquent music lovers, enjoying every second they spent with their arms around one another in the pit. The mood was friendly and warm. It didn’t matter what you were wearing or how you looked- everyone was welcome because everyone had the same passion for punk rock.
In promotion for Riot Fest, the organizers included old pictures from 1977 of the cheery English lads of Cock Sparrer. Even though over 30 years had past, I expected the same thin and youthful young chaps to perform. As Cock Sparrer made their way on stage to a recording of a Victorian inspired harpsichord in the background, I was a little shocked to see the lack of hair, increase of weight, and immense amount of wrinkles. For a split second, I feared they wouldn’t be able to produce that unique sound they helped to originate. But their vitality and urgency proved me wrong. The mere sight of Cock Sparrer initiated thundering cheers and a syncopated clapping beat, for it was the first time the lads had performed in Chicago. And with that, the band exploded into “Riot Squad,” and the Congress Theater went crazy.
Cock Sparrer continued to storm through songs like “England Belongs To Me,” “Argie Bargie,” “Take ‘Em All,” and my favorite “Teenage Heart,” all while the crowd screamed the lyrics along with lead singer Colin McFaull. The hooks and classic guitar riffs created a mass frenzy of dancing, fist pounding, and moshing. Cock Sparrer got the crowd so worked up, that at some points the punks were louder than the band. Despite their age, Cock Sparrer didn’t back down for their first show in Chicago, and delivered even more energy than their recordings could ever provide.
With the Riot Fest army still in an intense euphoria, the minuscule banner that graced “NOFX” lowered as the band began playing their definitive “Linoleum.” I’ve seen NOFX tons of times before, so I knew what to expect. They would play the usual songs like “Stickin’ In My Eye,” “The Brews,” and “Rico,” along with their newer mishaps “Franco Un-American,” and “Seeing Double At The Triple Rock.” But this time they played a few songs I didn’t expect, like “A Perfect Government,” and newer songs off of their recent “Coaster” album, like “They Call It America.” NOFX made sure to keep the crowd interested thanks to endless politically incorrect jokes and their intense musical talent.
The highlight of their performance, though, was Fat Mike as Cokie The Clown. With green spiked hair, obnoxiously large clown Converse, and a painted face complete with tears, Fat Mike’s persona of Cokie was hilarious, especially with his giant yellow flower that shot out a powdery substance he claimed was cocaine. At one point of the show, Alkaline Trio’s Matt Skiba came onto stage, making sure to hit Cokie with his own coke-flinging flower. With the persona of Cokie established, the band flawlessly played their intense new single, “Cokie The Clown.” NOFX ended with another typical tune, “Kill All The White Men,” which bled into an abnormal skit mimicking “Everyone’s A Little Bit Racist,” from the musical Avenue Q. The act included choreographed dancing and lip-syncing. Unfortunately, though, most of the crowd was uninterested, and not too entertained by their lengthy attempt at Broadway. Although NOFX performed well and supplied laughs, the Riot Fest organizers should not have had them at top billing. With a legendary band like Cock Sparrer playing for the FIRST time in Chicago, they should have been the main attraction.
In spite of the few mistakes the festivals organizers made- like inviting Youth Brigade back and the extremely small smoking area- day two of Riot Fest was still phenomenal. Compared to the other “punk” festival Warped Tour, Riot Fest has provided fans with countless legendary and influential punk rock bands time and time again. Riot Fest is an intimate time for the fans and bands to intermingle with each other. Those that have played the fest do it merely for the passion, and it shows. Instead of using laser lights and stage props to put on a decent show, the musicians used their energy and eagerness to put on a hell of a performance.
The community Riot Fest provides and encourages is much more hospitable and loving than what you would receive at any other festival. Take for instance my lonely train ride, or even the busy lines for the bathrooms. Each of these instances I was able to strike up a friendly conversation without feeling contempt or disrespect. Lets face it, being a misfit in this society guarantees laughs and bullies. But here, there were no tormentors because the Theater was filled with similar misfits, willing to give each individual a chance.
With a festival like this that invites thousands of punk rock lovers, it makes one wonder what the very definition of “punk” is nowadays. When I found my cousin at the end of the show, he had drunken ten too many beers and swallowed one too many Vicodin. So is that “punk rock”? No, that’s just plain stupidity. This whole I-hate-the-world-everyone-is-a-poseur-I-have-the-biggest-mohawk-in-town-I’m-gonna-drink-myself-silly mentality is frankly a crock of shit. Yes, it may have made sense during an age of excess and disco and John Travolta when a rebellion was needed, but it doesn’t any more. What was the former definition of “punk rock” is now dead. Punk rock is not about how many studs you can fit on your leather jacket, how intoxicated you can get, or how much Elmer’s glue you use to spike your hair. It’s all about the music and that’s what the Riot Fest crowd understood. Here was a gathering of kids who had a genuine love for power chords and bad singing. Why? Because it’s honest and pure and raw and something THEY could do. Punk rock gives poor, working class kids hope in becoming something great. The elimination of the rock star helps the community to feel more like a family, and frankly that’s exactly what I felt. I came alone and mingled with strangers, even making a few friends along the way. I danced with random people, chatted with fellow smokers, and sang along with my fellow brothers on stage. We were one body of music junkies and humanity lovers, traveling to our Mecca. Now that is punk rock.
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