In April, I saw The Gaslight Anthem by myself and finished with this:
Oh, and one thing is for sure: I will never get the opportunity see these guys for $15 in a small room again.
http://www.yearoftheshow.com/concertreviews/the-gaslight-athem-berbatis-pan-portland-or/
Right? Shows you what I know. But wait! It was $16 this time…so you know. Rocking Berbati’s pan again. That lovable, dirty dump. Hope it never changes.
Three opening acts. Seems excessive, but venues gotta get theirs. The boys took the stage around 10:30 or so. And, like before, brought it. I hate to refer to earlier reviews… but. Refer to earlier reviews. Same deal. White Tshirts on vocal/guitar and bass. Black stripes on Guitar. Black T on drums.
Show is juiced though. Clean as the promoters say. Sold the fuck out. Disinterested bouncer telling peeps no chance. So. Maybe THIS is the last time to see them for cheap in this kinda room? Let’s get real. It is.
After the second song finishes “Casanova Baby!”, you see a friend point to the pit and raise his eyebrows. Like hey, what did I find? Next second. Gone. Disappearing into the side that is rocking. You know it is the Under 21 side. Always is. Now. Evaluate. It isn’t a big pit. Not violent. But holding it down. And you have a choice, right?
If you are going to rock it, gotta own it. Wallet quickly moved to a safer place. Shit re-arranged. I’ve just entered my first pit in a decade.
Funny how old habits flood back. And other memories, never really resurface. The old school spacing is gone. People aren’t droppin’ to the floor in need of a pickup. No real crowd surfing. The lone practitioner of that dying art is ejected by security before the encore. You are essentially left with a war for space. No need to be sentimental. The bumping is now just a pogo or a lean. Whatever. You know? Fucking whatever. All good. Shit gets crazy sweaty and hot, but I don’t care. Because….I’m close. And my buddy is in a pit in his white collar work clothes. Gotta love shows.
Brian Fallon (vox/guitar) is center. Alex Rosamilia (guitar) is your left. Alex Levine (bass) is your right. Go right if you are into a show. Alex Levine will bop it around and is an easy on the eyes “illegal in six states” type for the women out there.
You want a set list? They played it. You can see already what this band is. Professional. Fun. In control. It is fun to see the differences from the April show. There really is no need to mic up backing vocals. And Fallon knows. Many choruses he fades away and lets the crowd just take it. And it is loud.
Crowd yelling shit. The usual. blahblahblah.
Fallon steps in.
“I can only hear one thing at a time, I am like a mailbox”
blahblahblah
“Shhhhhhh. I am talking about mailboxes here. I’m like a mailbox. Where’s my mailbox? I’m in Portland. And I’m like a Felix the Cat mailbox (making an open and closing motion with his hands) with my eyes going back and forth.”
“And what do I hear?”
And with a glance to his left at Alex who’s faded back on stage. Alex kinda shrugs. Plays the opening chords to “The Patient Ferris Wheel” and all’s good. Getting bashed around. Jumping up and down. So fun.
500-ish capacity venue. I’m keeping my ticket stub. You see people call the Gaslight Anthem derivative or bombastic. Whatever. Hate all they want. It is fucking fun. Can I get a witness, pretty baby?
