The PirkQlaters, the Useless, JamesPlaneWreck and Skittish Itz @ the Knitting Factory (5/23/13)

"I know you motherf*ckers know the words!" Ryan Sampson shouted midway through the second song.  And he was right: when the chorus rolled around again, the lyrics boomed out from the crowd.

I didn't really know the words.  In fact, prior to this show, I'd never heard nor seen the PirkQlaters before.  I knew the name, however, and their rep as Boise's premier ska band.  Also, I'd come to like many of the band's members both as musicians and as people; Sampson's last project, the now-defunct Hotel Chelsea, was one of the best punk bands in town, and I really don't want to think about how many drinks I've bought from him, Red Kubena, Justin Andrews and Luke Strother over the years.  Anyway, when I added all of this up, I had more than enough reason to check out this Knitting Factory show, which marked the PirkQlaters' rebirth.

There were already ninety people there when I arrived.  When the PirkQlaters played, there were so many that I didn't even bother to count.  I'll say this much, though: except maybe for Sonic Youth, I can't remember any other Knitting Factory show that was so well-attended.  I saw plenty of familiar faces as well, including Ivy Meissner, Dustin Verberg (Black Bolt), Josh Gross, Geno Lopez (the Sneezz), Travis Abbott (Obscured By the Sun) and at least two members of Piranhas (who were originally on this bill but didn't play, for some reason).

Local punk band Skittish Itz opened the show.  "It's not rocket surgery," lead singer Russ Worstell's t-shirt said.  Stupid on the surface but clever when you think about it--suited this band very well, I thought.  Not that their music sounded dumb; it was just that their catchy melodies and buzzsaw riffs did their damnedest to perpetuate that so-simple-anyone-can-do-it punk myth.  Their smart lyrics, complex arrangements, indomitable drums and fluid solos gave the lie, however.  But that just made their love of punk's idealized simplicity even more commendable.

JamesPlaneWreck played next.  After the show, a member of this band told me that they felt uncomfortable being on that big stage.  I can understand that, but from where I was standing, they looked and sounded as if they belonged up there.  Blasting out of the Knitting Factory's speakers, "F*ckin' With Ghosts" and "When We Start to Fold" never sounded more anthemic.  Aaron Smith's rough voice and guitar roared, Shaun Shireman's bass surged along underneath, Shane Brown carved some stinging leads out of his Idaho-shaped guitar and Andrew Bagley redlined his drums.  When the tip of Bagley's drumstick broke off at the end, I couldn't help but wonder why that doesn't happen more often.

Up next was the Useless.  Any fears that one may have had of a restrained, tactful performance were swiftly allayed by the blow-up doll that the band set down on the PirkQlaters' drum kit (it didn't stay up there for too long: one of the horn players chucked it into the pit, where the crowd proceeded to toss it, swing it around and bap each other on the head with it).  Anyway, this groups' throaty vocals, curling guitar licks, woozy brass and bouncy rhythms all sounded as winningly raucous as ever.  In keeping with the revivalist spirit of the evening, when people called out for a number from their straight-up punk days, the band busted it out in spite of their protests as to their age, weight and blood-alcohol level.  The mosh circle started up as soon as the first number kicked into gear, and the crowd in the pit kept up the cheering, jumping, dancing, chanting and fist-pumping straight through to the end.

The PirkQlaters provided a truly grand finale to the night.  Kris Simmons's chugging, melodic bass and Chris Devino's rip-roaring drums provided the engine for the blitzkrieg ska and pop-punk tunes.  Red Kubena's dreads flailed as he slashed away at his guitar, and his and Aaron Clayton's buzz complemented Ryan Sampson's manic chicken-scratch.  Meanwhile, Ryan Sampson's tuneful holler sounded in good form, and it met its match in Justin Andrews's rousing harmonies.  Andrews also pitched in with some jabbing saxophone solos and did pretty much everything he could to whip the crowd into a frenzy (strutting and jumping around the stage, hopping onto the drum riser and urging the crowd to clap to the beat, etc.).  Last but definitely not least, College of Idaho professor Luke Strother contributed some elegant trombone work, grinned, slapped his chest, sang along with and without his mic and generally looked the happiest that I've ever seen him.

Almost everyone in the audience was on their feet for the duration of the set.  The pit became a maelstrom of bouncing, moshing, singing, roaring and crowd-surfing.  The Useless's blow-up doll got popped and torn to shreds (I saw someone holding its arm later on).  A bra materialized on Luke Strother's mic stand.  Andy A from Demoni (and Eightball Break, which Sampson cited as the PirkQlaters' biggest influence) came onstage to play bass on a couple of numbers.  Shane Brown hopped onstage with his shirt open and jiggled his belly at the crowd.  Justin Andrews wished audience member Sage Cooper a happy sixteenth birthday and tossed him a frisbee signed by the band (it got tossed off to the side of the stage not long after; hope the kid got it back).  Between songs, Ryan Sampson crammed in jokes, stories, thanks to the audience and shout-outs to original PirkQlater Zak Gilstrap, the openers and the Boise music scene as a whole.

All told, this was easily one of the best shows that I've seen this year.  "And this is not the reunion show," Sampson told the crowd near the end.  "We're back, motherf*ckers!"

Ryan Sampson holding court at the after-party at Sammy's

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The Toasters, Mrs. Skannotto, the Useless and the Jerkwadz @ the Shredder (1/31/13)

This was a big one for me.  The Toasters helped bring ska from the U.K. to the U.S. back in the 80's.  Their leader and founder, Robert "Bucket" Hingley, also formed Moon Ska Records, which is reportedly the biggest independent label devoted to ska in this country.  They've played Boise quite a few times, but I'd never gotten the chance to see them until this night.

I counted about thirty-five people when I got down to the Shredder.  The crowd grew to about forty-five or fifty as the night progressed.  Modest but respectable.

The Jerkwadz opened the show.  Their tunes sounded as tough and supremely catchy as always, and Jimmy Sinn's buzzing guitar and casually muscular vocals both sounded in good form.  However, a certain awkwardness held the music back.  Sinn's guitar, Cacie Lee's stolid bass and J.R.'s quick-stepping drums didn't quite mesh the way that they should have, which made everything feel just a little bit off.  The problem could have stemmed from a lack of rehearsal time: Sinn told the crowd that they'd only practiced with J.R. three times in six months.  Still, the songs got over because they're that friggin' good.

Up next was the Useless, who played with only two horn men this night (Jason Rucker said that he had no idea where the hell the third guy was).  Regardless, the band members who did show up sounded just fine.  Rucker's friendly bark and ripping guitar grooved seamlessly with his bandmates' rubbery bass, slamming drums and woozy brass.  A sizable chunk of the audience moshed, danced and stage-hopped.  Banter-wise, an especially nice touch was when Rucker dedicated the love song "Taco Truck Girl" to Shane and Miranda Brown, who were outside hard at work in P. Ditty's Wrap Wagon.

Mrs. Skannotto, a six-man unit from Rochester, NY, played next.  It took the crowd a little while to warm to this group's mix of brawny vocals, soaring horns, warped guitar, coursing basslines and lithe, muscular drumming.  However, once they downshifted from some anthemic, 90's hardcore-tinged material to some smooth reggae grooves, people started to move.  By the time that they revved back up with some manic ska, the joint was jumping.  Damn good stuff.  It was a little odd, though, seeing a guy and gal swing-dancing to "Girlfriend," a rowdy yet slinky number about stalking an ex.

The Toasters closed out the night.  Damn near everyone in the crowd danced during this set and rightly so.  "Bucket" Bingley's rough, charming croon and sharp guitar blended with Logan LaBarbera and "Lonestar" Johnson's jazzy horns, "Westbound" Merritt's rippling bass and Jesse Hayes's unstoppable one-two beat.  Songs like "2Tone Army," "Run Rudy Run," "Weekend in L.A.," "History Book" and "Don't Let the Bastards Grind You Down" were as bouncy and irresistible as anything this side of Desmond Dekker.  Their warmth and good humor were reflected in Bingley's jokes and banter with the audience (I wonder, did he get a picture of the barefootin' girl's feet like he said he would?).  Simply wonderful.

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Teenage Bottlerocket, the Useless and Hotel Chelsea @ the Red Room (11/8/12)

A couple guys whose taste in punk I respect were excited about Teenage Bottlerocket coming to town, so I grew intrigued. The fact that local outfits the Useless and Hotel Chelsea were opening for the Wyoming band seemed like a good sign as well, so I marked this show down on the calendar.

The gentlemen I spoke with weren't the only ones excited about this gig.  There had to have been at least eighty people at the Red Room when I arrived, and Wes Malvini would tell me later that 160 people had paid for tickets.  Pretty impressive, considering that Gwar was playing at the Knitting Factory this same night.  I found the fairly broad age range of the audience equally impressive.

Hotel Chelsea opened the show.  Not only did their buzzsaw guitars and high-speed rhythm section sound in fine form, the band seemed genuinely happy to be playing this gig.  Red Kubena's harmonies rang out loud and proud on "Sampson is a Fuck," and the crowd danced, clapped, cheered and threw up the horns throughout.

Next up was the Useless.  This marked their second time playing live with their reassembled horn section (their first was an opening slot for Reel Big Fish at the Knitting Factory, which I'm sure they didn't find intimidating at all).  The trombone and two trumpets added just the right jaunty, woozy touch to such paeans to delinquency as "French Fries and DUI's" and "Policeman."  Jason Rucker's rough vocals and sharp guitar sounded pretty damn good, especially considering how drunk he was, and the sturdy rhythm section kept van cruising down the road.  Moments where the grip on the wheel slipped a little just added to the fun.  A few excerpts from this set:

"Shh!  It's a sad panda party!"

"Hey, who here likes ska?"  "WOO!"  "Who here likes heroin?"  "WOO!"

"How many of you are f*cked up right now?  Raise your hands!"  (Five or six people did, but I wouldn't consider that an accurate number.)

"Jason Rucker got me drunk!"

"I suck?  Depends on what you're selling."

"This is probably gonna be our last song unless more shots come."

"If you're a cop out there, this song goes out to you!  SOO-EEE!"

Teenage Bottlerocket closed out the night.  If one of their members hadn't regularly shouted out "ONE-TWO-THREE-FOUR!" in perfect Dee Dee fashion, I'd have never guessed that these guys liked the Ramones.  Just kidding: their rip-roaring guitars, hi-hat-heavy drumming and lyrics about freak-outs and nuthouses had the Ramones written all over them.  They had strong enough songwriting and performance chops to make this stuff their own, however, and they'd also taken care to absorb the Ramones' sense of manic fun.  The crowd became a roiling mass of flesh as Teenage Bottlerocket blasted through one song after another.  "I don't know why the f*ck we never been here before," someone in the band said at one point.  Hopefully, it won't be the last time.

You can find info on these groups on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Wes Malvini and the Red Room.