...And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead
Neil, Kevin, Conrad, and Jason...before anything too psychotic has transpired. Click on the image for teaser sound clip.
Neil, Kevin, Conrad, and Jason...before anything too psychotic has transpired. Click on the image for teaser sound clip.
I don’t go to shows just to hear some music. I can do that in my room for free anytime I want. There is something about going to a show that makes me feel like I’m part of something. I look around and I see other kids who love music too and I get this great feeling.That happens at most shows I go to since they’re usually pretty small and intimate. I prefer a small show any day to those huge swarming shows with hundreds of strangers. Sometimes the band on stage just gets up there and plays their set. That’s okay, it’s their way of doing things. But what I really love is when things get crazy. I remember seeing 30 Foot Fall in California when Butch got down off the stage and stood in the crowd and mocked the tiny crowd’s inhibited, head-nodding lameness. He then busted into some breakdancing moves that entertained us more than they impressed us. Otto Matick from the Prima Donnas knows how to bring on the madness as well. His fake English accent and wicked taunts usually get him into insult slinging matches with drunken audience members. One drunken fan went overboard and pulled Otto off the stage in the middle of a song a few weeks ago. All I remember after that was hearing the popping thud of Otto beating the guy down with the microphone. It was a pretty amazing sound. Boy was the show energized after that. Now, if you really want to see some chaos, there’s only one band in town that will guarantee you some insanity in every show. (I’m not talking about a show with moron fucks who try to intimidate or gangs of bald assholes who beat one kid at random. I ‘m talking about good-natured, spontaneaous wildness that might get somebody a little bruised but by no means hospitalized.) I mean, you have to guess they’re up to something just by their name. I’m talking about those wild boys in And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead. Any band with the guts to give themselves that big of a name is either going to suck so hard you see stars or they’re going to rock so crazy you need to take a few days to recover. I wish I had known about these fellas in the early days, but I’m sorry to say that I missed out on much of the mayhem they’ve been behind since Conrad and Jason started fucking shit up in 1995. All I know is I’ve never seen a lame Trail of Dead show. One of my favorites was a benefit show at the Flamingo Cantina this fall. Some long haired wacko decided that an instrumental section of one of their songs needed vocals and jumped onto the stage while Conrad wasn’t looking. The monkey then proceeded to shout and mumble into the mic until Conrad escorted him off the stage. Freak child was not upset by the minor inconvenience of the band not wanting him up there, and got right back up on stage. This time Conrad let him stay a little longer, but that was just because he needed a few moments to kick his ass. I don’t know if he was really hurting the guy or what, but I saw a blur of swinging fists that ended with the unwelcomed performer landing in the center of the crowd. The psychopath just got up and gave them the sign of the devil with bloody enthusiasm. Now, violence at shows usually sucks. I remember seeing my friend Steve getting beaten by a bunch of skins in San Antonio just because he shaved his head and it was anything but fun. You see, back in high school a shaved head and no crew meant the skinheads had a right to beat you up because you were claiming, yet you were trying to be “independent.” They threw him into a mirrored wall, at the DMZ, which left him sliced up pretty bad, and then took him outside and fucked his shit up. That kind of thing is fucking wrong. What happens on and off stage at a TOD show is completely different. There’s no anger of animosity in the faces of these boys as they tear up the stage. Their emotions are obviously running high, but you don’t see hate or malice in their eyes as they throw a bottle or a guitar. The crowd understands, too. The band’s agitators wear grins as wicked and aware as those worn by the kids on stage. You are witnessing a performance about fucking shit up, about the release of repressed intensity, and about entertainment itself. Of course, such emotions are volatile and there is always the danger that the violence could get real. I feel nervous when I’m watching these guys perform, but I’m not scared. I know that I’m watching art, not brutality.
