From Fucked Up's legendary 12 Hour Show at the Rogan store in New York City - Ezra Koenig of Vampire Weekend joins FU for brainbursting covers of "Someone's Gonna Die" by Blitz and "Parents" by the Descendents.
Twelve angry hours
What's it like to spend all day playing live with some of the biggest names in punk, hardcore and indie music? Jamie Thomson joined Moby and J Mascis on stage in a beer-soaked marathon gig to find out
https://www.theguardian.com/music/2008/nov/14/fucked-up-bowery-gig
Fri 14 Nov 2008
"This is either going to be the best or the dumbest thing we have ever done," announces Fucked Up's frontman, "Pink Eyes" - real name Damian Abraham - as the autumnal lunchtime light streams in through the windows of the Rogan Gallery in New York's Lower East Side. His band are moments away from embarking on a 12-hour-long free gig, which will see the Toronto hardcore crew joined on stage by an array of guest musicians, including Moby, Dinosaur Jr's J Mascis, and Vampire Weekend's Ezra Koenig. The guests aren't limited to the famous and acclaimed, though. To keep things democratic, anyone who fancies wandering up, grabbing an instrument and joining in can do so. And that group, for better or worse, includes me.
Fucked Up, as their name would suggest, are not a band whose career follows Simon Cowell's rules for success. For seven years they have been a case study in how not to become successful rock group. Having a name that can't even be mentioned before the watershed is a start. (MTV has twice invited them on to the channel to perform, referring to them as "Effed Up", and has regretted both invitations following the damage to the studio caused by band and audience alike.) They have baffled their fans by swapping their early two-minute hardcore punk blasts for 15-minute prog workouts, and announcing collaborations that stretch credibility, such as a Christmas single featuring the likes of Nelly Furtado. Sometimes the announcements stretch credibility because, well, they're untrue - as when they said R&B star Akon would be joining the 12-hour show (they are accomplished and prolific liars). Despite this, the Fucked Up juggernaut ploughs on. Their latest album, The Chemistry of Common Life, has seen them transcend the insular hardcore scene and become a force in wider indie music - making them unlikely NME cover stars in the process.
One hour in, by 3pm, the hulking, topless figure of Abraham is shiny with sweat. "This is starting to seem like a really stupid idea," he grunts, as another tune is crossed off their 35-song setlist. "But stick around, we've got some special guests coming up. No, really - some cool people will be here later to join us on stage!" The crowd, who have been queueing round the block since well before the 2pm opening time, don't look as though they're going anywhere soon - not least because there is an inexhaustible supply of beer on hand. "Hell, son. If I have a few more of these," exclaims a elderly black man, pointing to his can of Colt 45 with a demeanour that suggests he is a Bowery local rather than a fan of the band, "I might get up there and sing a few songs my own damn self." He doesn't - but it would have been in keeping with the spirit of the occasion if he had. Thankfully, watching the more amateurish noodlings of audience participants jamming with a skeleton crew of Fucked Up is not mandatory, so retiring outside for a spell is the most sensible option, and one taken by most of the band.
By 5pm, Fucked Up proper are back in full flow, and an exuberant audience, lubricated by the free booze and joined by a new shift of attendees, are thrashing around the gallery. So much so that no one notices the diminutive figure of Moby passing through the crowd and placing himself stage right. He picks up a guitar and asks the rest of the band: "You guys know Wonderbread, right?" before blasting out the opening chords to a song he wrote with his old punk band, the Vatican Commandos, long before he moved into soundtracking car adverts. A quarter of a century melts away in an instant, as the crowd's response verges on something approaching mass hysteria. Covers of the Ramones' Blitzkrieg Bop and Wire's 12XU are ripped through; then the punk turned coffee-table dance music composer melts back into the crowd as stealthily as he arrived. As cameos go, it's a pretty classy one.
By dusk, the building is straining to hold the crowd, and there just as many people outside snaking down the Bowery, queueing to get in. Those inside get the unlikely experience of hearing Vampire Weekend's Ezra Koenig chant "Oi! Oi! Oi!" for a cover of a song by the UK skinhead band Blitz. The hardcore kids immediately accept him as one of their own. New York's ultra-cool indie fraternity, meanwhile, look on in bemusement, biding their time until the hipper-than-hip Vivian Girls make their appearance - a performance that nearly doesn't happen. Concerned about the crush, the NYPD arrive to close down the show and order everyone outside until order can be restored. With the police instigating a strict one-in, one-out policy, we file back inside to receive a history lesson from New York hardcore legend John Joseph of the Cro-Mags. "A year ago, this would have been happening across the road," he says, referring to CBGB, the venue that was the original home of New York punk - now an upscale clothes store.
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