Fucked Up – Live in Vancouver (Aug. 15th, 2014)

Despite living on the opposite end of the country and never haven actually seen the video of the performance, Fucked Up‘s legendary appearance on MTV Canada back in 2007 is a story I’ve heard so often I feel I have seen it. Chaos, destruction, blood and manic fans tearing it apart to the raspy growl of Damian “Pink Eyes” Abraham .  It’s a tale that has become nearly folklore, akin to Fear‘s legendary Halloween Saturday Night Life appearance in 1981.

Stories of Fucked Up shows have been passed on through excited anecdotes and frenzied memories for years and Friday night’s early evening show at Vancouver’s Fortune Sound Club saw Abraham and the rest of the Toronto ambitious hardcore band add yet another tale to the ever growing list.

Opening the evening was California’s Tijuana Panthers – an odd choice for the main support on a Fucked Up tour but one that sufficiently loosened up the crowd as they slowly entered the club. The Panthers were a weird amalgamation of  The Stokes meeting The Beach Boys, dashed with a touch of rockabilly and a added layer of fuzz . Energetic, toe-tapping, indie grunge with all three members alternating vocal duties, the band were somewhat out of place but no one seemed to mind.

At a bright and early 915, the venue was busier, the excitement palpable as a soothing keyboard harmony floated through the speakers, causing the chatter to cease and all eyes turned towards the stage. This was it. The moment the stories foretold. The six piece hit the stage. The bass drum pummelled the senses and Fucked Up exploded into their set.

And here, in the smaller venue where the stage is no higher than the knees of the people in the front row, Fucked Up put on a set worthy to be talked about.

Their musicianship was tight – angular and experimental, pushing the boundaries of what hardcore is. Searing guitar lines that sound harmonious, a delicate keyboard adding layers to the sound, thunderous drumming leading the rhythm section – all fronted by the manic front man known as Pink Eyes.

Balding and bearded, he bellows into the microphone as often as he hands it to the crowd to sing. We’re not here to watch a band, we’re here to help make music together.

The stage dives break out. He holds purses for anyone who doesn’t want to risk losing it when crowd surfing. He pats his shirtless, hairy, and slightly overweight belly – reminding everyone in the audience knows that everyone is beautiful and fuck anyone who says otherwise before breaking into I Hate Summer.

He praises the city’s easy access to weed and gladly takes a few hits when a pipe is handed to him from the crowd. He crowd surfs himself, walks through the crowd and climbs a top a small wall to sit and talk and thank the people who are out actually doing good things in the world instead of just standing in a room singing into a microphone. He wanders through the audience, dragging the microphone cord between everyone and performs an entire song in the back on top of the bar – the audience diligently holding the cord up and out of danger.

By the time they got to the second last song of the night – The Other Shoe – he states “If you wanna sing along, it’s really easy – all you need to say is We’re Dying on the Inside” and every voice in the crowd sung with him. Police, Queen of Hearts, Paper the House, for a little over an hour Fucked Up tore the place apart – giving all those in attendance new ammunition for excited anecdotes for years to come.