The Front Bottoms – O2 Ritz, Manchester.
Admittedly, when I positioned my humble self at the back of the queue for The Front Bottoms; all that was of my understanding was that these are the guys that indie-punk band, Modern Baseball “sound like”. This is information I trust despite it being some stranger’s comment – found on a Modern Baseball YouTube video.
As British etiquette dictates, more attendees of the gig continued to form the line in an orderly fashion behind me, two of which conversed within earshot of yours truly. One with such utterances as “I remember when these guys were tiny, I bet people in this line don’t even remember when Modern Baseball released ‘You’re Gonna Miss It All” – That’s right, I was positioned directly in front of THE stereotypical hipster; making pointless claims-to-fame and backing them up with entirely unrelated, entirely bold predictions. All the while, judging every single individual in line for the very same performance he was attending, grabbing at the shortest straws available that will make himself seem special. Though, the tyranny of this guy’s monotone was short lived because – contrary to said hipster’s belief – this was an alternative gig to be attending, so we made our way inside easier than the breeze between the cheeks of our front bottoms.
First act to support were Apologies, I Have None – and they didn’t apologise, yet they needn’t. Most of the crowd were not visibly enthused, though their attention was undivided. Though, those dedicators who were – REALLY were. Those kids were jumping up on tippy-toes as if trying to reach the cereal from the top of the cupboard. Likely due to an imperfect sound check, I couldn’t hear a word of the band’s lyrics but the few fans within the audience didn’t need to, they knew the stories word for word.
The song melodies were pop-friendly yet somehow avoided the usual clichés of ‘pop-punk’. As usual with this genre of music, their tone was exhilarating and motivating but they tackled lighter melodies and avoided relying on catchy hook-lines and riffs to provide a sense of motif. It’s difficult to claim that a band are authentic as soon as the label ‘pop-punk’ is mentioned.
Gnarwolves are a band that have been highly recommended to me many a time, though until this night I had failed to give them a listen – I regret that. The levels of energy that those guys were throwing out into the crowd were levels I thought unobtainable. The crowd were hungry for it too. The circle pits never ending.
The band clearly have some pretty messy stories to tell too. ‘The Comedown Song’ is a yet to be released track
“...about doing a bunch of acid and thinking that you’ve died”
– according to frontman, Thom Weeks. He also reminisced –
“We were touring in March and we either wanted to kill ourselves or each other. We had a break and now we’re back to kissing and cuddling”.
On the night, they did everything but. Gnarwolves were howling, jumping, using half-time, double-time, riffs, licks and more.
Once again, I hate to use the label ‘pop-punk’ as it tends to demine the value of the musicianship behind the music in many eyes.
The composition of their material was comparably worthy of an 18th century symphony when ignoring the 3-piece instrumentation and the violent subject matter of the songs. Yes, it was punk, yes it was melodic and, of course, there are elements of pop. - but if you ever make assumptions on any of their song’s direction after hearing as little as the intro, you will be caught with your trousers down.
What comes next, is the wait for the headline act. This is usually the point where the trendy crew members begin to unveil the arena-ready drum-kits and wheel out amplifiers the size of houses. The Front Bottoms however, had something a little different in mind. The stage was decorated like a living room! An arrangement of non-uniform domestic lampshades, a stage-facing retro colour TV fitted with VHS, and finally a two-seated sofa that comforted the bodies of some guy and some girl – they were never introduced, yet they remained seated – reading and chatting for nearly the entire set mind the occasional trips backstage for beers.
When I wasn’t busy squinting at the tiny television trying to guess what film was on, I was enjoying The Front Bottoms. A four-piece band with the usual suspects – The always acoustic-guitared Brian Sella, accompanied by bassist, drummer and one-man band, Brian Uychich – who effortlessly swapped from lead guitar to keys, to trumpet, to tambourine, to vocals. Already these guys don’t fit the ‘pop-punk’ stereotype with this arrangement. But the crowd – who at this point I gathered could probably mosh to national anthem if they tried – treated it with an only slightly more friendly passion than was displayed for Gnarwolves.
The lyrical content was the notifiable step-up from the band’s predecessors, and also the main comparison I can draw between The Front Bottoms and Modern Baseball. Lyrics within the verses almost seem rushed in order to squeeze the copious amounts of syllables into each stanza. A good example of this would be found in the structure of Front Bottom’s ‘Flashlight’, where the high-tension verses with rushed lines lead to a chorus that breaks open into half-time and allows more space for catchy melodies. The other main comparisons to Modern Baseball is their general washed out aesthetic accompanied by the acoustic-to-punk combo. It’s not a done style though, it makes their sound unique and there’s a sense of trust that the lyrics have a true substance when they sound as if they’ve been ripped from an emotive youth’s diary. It felt as if every song they played that evening was somehow a major hit, I can’t recall any moments where I felt the energy lacked, though this is from a fresh and uninformed perspective of the band. A wager was even raised by Sella when a roll of toilet paper made it’s way to his grasp.
He proffered that if someone manages to hit him in the face with the toilet paper, they would play ten more songs. I swear it came so close to wiping the front bottomed frontman but no Kandoo. Instead, after the encore the seated male and female went missing and all apart from Brian Sella replaced them on the sofa. After he and the rest of the room sang out their final song ‘Twelve Feet Deep’, they departed, leaving an open invitation to Satan’s Hollow for the afterparty.