NOFX, Birmingham Academy
It’s pretty weird walking down the queue tonight, hordes of studded, mohawked and pierced punkers all tucking into their Big Macs while being very careful not to spill any down their Good Charlotte merchandise. But hey, times change. When the time comes to actually watch the bands playing tonight it’s worth nothing that I’m already buzzing pretty damn hard because I’ve just been lucky enough to sit in a room with one of my idols (known colloquially as Fat Mike) and ask him a few questions about what he believes in. As such, the performances themselves can now be fully concentrated on because it’s fair to say that I was more than a little apprehensive. But now, it is time to rock.
THE EPOXIES open the show with their keyboard-led future-pop-punk (it’s a new genre, it’s fantastic, work it out) that simply never really managed to progress beyond the ‘Six year old with a Casio’ stage. The first couple of songs were fairly interesting as the band whirled around a flurry of electric melodies, but once it became obvious that only the keys and bass were plainly audible the sound began to merge into one. The singer had more than her fair share of stage presence but aside from the keyboardist’s occasional mugging to the crowd the band was content to strut around like they were playing to an NME crowd, not one baying for their punk rock heroes (4).
As much as the SWINGIN’ UTTERS have their measure of respect in the world of punk, I for one was bored senseless by their sloppy, workmanlike set. Mistakes were legion throughout, and their country-inflected street punk was marred by a chronic lack of energy. Save Spike spitting every now and then there really wasn’t much to watch and the pedestrian execution rapidly became dull as hell. Variety was nowhere to be seen and familiar riffs became laboured and strained under the Academy’s gaze as the band slipped into neutral and cruised along for forty long minutes (5).
There are some things in life that will never fail to impress me. Thierry Henry for one, Master of Puppets also. Another is the simply indubitable fact that NOFX possess a simply stunning back catalogue and even when pissed out of their heads (cf. Reading Festival) can manage a fairly tight set. But tonight they were simply incendiary; from the opening fill of ‘Soul Doubt’ right through to Erik Melvin’s heart-warming rendition of ‘Only Fools Rush In’ on accordion, NOFX owned this place. Most of the songs were culled from Punk In Drublic, with ‘Don’t Call Me White’ being a highlight, all snarling melody and enough energy to kill a horse. They’re a firmly established band and their comfortableness onstage is admirably honed by touring for longer than 50% of the people reading this have been alive, and tonight was no exception. Even though El Hefe’s lost over a stone he still plays the part of ‘Comedy Mexican Guitar/Trombone Legend’ with aplomb and what else can be said for Fat Mike except that he sure knows his way around a bass.
Yeah, there was no ‘Stickin’ In My Eye’ but there was ‘Bob’, no ‘Green Corn’ but there was an earth-shaking ‘Linoleum’, demonstrating how exciting it is watching this band rip into the classics. ‘The Separation of Church and Skate’ deserves to take its place amongst the greats and the stupidly powerful rendition of ‘Whoops, I OD’d’ was one of the moments of the night, the drop from singalong oasis of calm to psychotic pit doom being a fantastically executed example of NOFX owning the crowd. What more can you expect from a gig – a watchably funny band, a genuinely epic back-catalogue raided (‘Reeko’! ‘Six Pack Girls’!) in stunning style and a great atmosphere? Brilliant, simply brilliant (10)
Ben
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