Black Flag’s two-sets-one-night-show left Astoria pub inflated with a serious post-mosh heat. It exploded right away, the moment the band took the stage. No wonder they had no warming-up act, what could it add to a flowing lava?
The first vision of the band’s new appearance unexpectedly brought tears to my eyes, so many things colliding at once: the lyrics that accompanied so many youths, now presented by the youth, again, the tunes Greg Ginn created, and brought back to life this easily, their world-famous logo in the back, the honest madness in Max Zanelly’s eyes, and just the knowledge of the collective’s grandeur, I guess.
What’s interesting about Black Flag through all these years is that, whoever their lineup is, you recognize Black Flag anyway. You get what you came for ANYWAY. The time has shown the Black Flag’s material to be primary in their history. For many bands with a cult status, this is not the case, unfortunately.
As mentioned, the concert had two parts with an intermission in between, during which the band was immediately available to the crowd, chatting and recharging just to Rise Above minutes later. The format meant one thing for sure: enough time to hear all the band’s hits, and so it happened. With My War biting as painfully as nothing else, the show was also rich with lengthy instrumental interludes, showcasing the might of the new bassist, David Rodriguez, and drummer Bryce Weston. And also the collective’s cohesion (yes, despite the ‘contrast’ many media use as a euphemism in their ageism-charged texts!).
For all non-skeptical and non-biased listeners, it’s easy to read what Ginn meant when he said, ‘they’re just the best people to do it, music-wise,’ commenting on picking the new band members.
One of the latest interviews with Greg Ginn, where he explains his choice of bandmates and plants a seed of hope about the new material with the current members.
Aware of the, I’d say, unorganized media campaign against the aforementioned regrouping, I was involuntarily prepared for those ‘jarring’ pictures of the band, too. However, I saw none of that. And I’ve never read anything more disgusting, ageism-wise, than the NYT’s notorious interview, which many media later quoted. That ‘journalist’ might have written ‘Don’t age or don’t play punk!’ just as well. I’ll be eagerly waiting for his piece on whether we should also forbid the 60+ audience from entering heavy concerts.
That night in Vancouver, Greg Ginn was in his element, deftly extracting the sounds he once created, timely supporting the melodies with his back-vocals, and totally sharing the energy he’s familiar with like no one else.
The energy was unique, too: concentrated and yet so intimate. Sounding so loud in the cozy Astoria, the Black Flag’s lyrics served as a shelter from a storm. Something so sharp and fair amidst the contemporary uncertainty all over the world.
Maybe it’s too early to say, but there might be something bigger in what Greg Ginn did than it seems now. Unpacking a can to see its contents transform back to raw again. In front of our eyes.
At the end of the show, Max Zanelly, smiling and relaxed, seemed ready to depart for another Canadian city right away and was especially excited about the upcoming show in Hong Kong. Having witnessed her commitment just now, and knowing that it’s just been a year since the four played together, I sincerely wonder what might blossom under the name of Black Flag a bit later.