Full Disclosure: This author — charged with reviewing a rock show — sat down to write, and an hour later, realized he had successfully smashed out a 900-word diatribe about Hillary and Donald that included nary a word pertaining to the three fine combos who performed at said rock show.
This election is very distracting and it is fucking up my judgement.
If the small army of hyperkinetic partakers in Wednesday’s sold-out demonstration at the Sinclair — the first of a two-night stand for California’s Joyce Manor, Massachusetts’ own the Hotelier, and New York State’s Crying — share my preoccupation, they did a bofo job of masking it. Touring in support of their pretty okay fourth full-length Cody, Joyce Manor are four guys who provoke an enthusiasm akin to Dude Ranch-era Blink 182 or, perhaps, what I imagine pre-Dookie Green Day shows must’ve been like.
Prior iterations of Joyce Manor’s peppy, half-clever slackerdom have gone through all the same motions a million times over, but that’s forgivable, maybe even crucial, in the big scheme of things. It’s not as if any 5 Seconds of Summer or One Direction super fans will be converted into proactive appreciators of underground music because their elder siblings told them to listen to, I dunno, Death Grips or anything along those lines.
Pop-punk! Just like Hillary Clinton — it’s nothing new or interesting in of itself, but we’d all be pretty fucked without it!
Crying picked the worst band name I’ve ever heard, but perhaps they did so intentionally? It’s as if the trio placed a massive obstacle in front of themselves, just so they could look cool pole vaulting over it with their debut long-player Beyond the Fleeting Gales. Much has already been made of their set’s first number “Revive”, a latter-day answer to boldly optimistic arena rock anthems of yore, plenty suitable for the training montage in basically every sports movie. As a whole, Beyond dispatches the Atari-pop trappings of Crying’s earlier work in favor of a soaring, more overtly-technical approach. It’s a wild improvement, but the band playing Wednesday didn’t seem to have grown into the enormity of their new material quite yet.
Stage presence isn’t everything. KISS will continue touring until Gene Simmons dies, so you can always go see KISS if swagger is your end-all-be-all. My only legitimate gripe to register with Crying is their failure to include the luminous, heyday Smashing Pumpkins-worthy banger “Premonitory Dream” in the setlist.
Something like two-thirds into the Hotelier’s turn, feedback and faux-incidental guitar noise swelled and rolled outward and at least one listener experienced a smidgen of momentary synesthesia. I don’t know if they extended the breakdown of “Sun” longer than it plays on their 2016 Boston Music Awards-nominated album Goodness, but it felt that way, and the song — a thing of goddamn majesty all on its own — became a place to get lost and wander around in for a few minutes.
The rest of the Hotelier’s songs — some of which shall also be performed at the BMAs, as was announced yesterday — were also pretty awesome! They are four seriously tall, or at least taller than average (right?), seriously greasy dudes who yell and sing, frequently in unison. I did not expect them to appear so greasy, but there y’go.
I think they were the greasiest people at the show, which says more about Joyce Manor fans — overall an unusually well-kempt lot — than The Hotelier. Has apathy toward personal hygiene become a thing of the past? Is cleanliness the future of punk rock? Let’s hope not. I don’t feel comfortable in any crowd where hardly anyone looks homeless.
Follow Barry Thompson on Twitter @barelytomson.