A sold-out Hi-Fi Bar was segregated clearly into two parts for Millencolin’s Sidewave: the circle-pitting, shirtless punk rockers front-and-centre; and those who’d thoroughly enjoyed their teen years, but now listen to Bright Eyes and probably have kids all watching sensibly from the balcony above. But every single one of them was there for a bit of classic Swedish skate punk.
I clawed my way forward on the balcony to watch the legendary Vandals supporting set. While generally against bands that like to sing about diarrhoea, watching a group that had formed over 30 years ago to inspire the sarcastic pop-punkers of our own generation was something special. Guitarist and somewhat attention-hogger Warren Fitzgerald was all over the stage, both shredding those power chords and literally rolling around. I was sold after his downright impressive knee-slide-while-catching-his-guitar-midair and busting into a classic solo. While the jokes (and the music for that matter) were fairly simple, low-brow and extremely dated, the band’s genuine passion for having fun was contagious and endearing. There’s something about a terribly-played punk cover of Queen’s Don’t Stop Me Now going for ten minutes that you can’t help but admire.
At this point, the very tame audience went nuts when Millencolin finally graced the stage after a painfully long change over. The drum rolling intro of No Cigar transported every single person back ten years and directly into Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2 immediately. While the crowd were happy, Millencolin themselves were ecstatic. Supposedly the first small club show in two years, the Swedes threw themselves into the music with the energy of budding badarse teenagers. The set was a bit sloppy; sticks dropped and there was possibly the worst on stage banter I’ve ever had to listen to, but nonetheless as Millencolin-y as you can get, the buck wild bottom half of the crowd went berserk. The classics were exactly that: classic, and you couldn’t help but get into the new tracks just from the band’s sheer enthusiasm. While the set was a bit hit-and-miss, not exactly tight and cringey between songs, it was impossible not to drown in nostalgia for songs that were blasted into my angsty head on repeat for years. Leaving with a big grin, I decided pop-punk is still detrimental to the health of growing young man.
BY JAKE MCGOVERN
Loved: Every power chord.
Hated: Cringe-worthy Nordic banter.
Drank: Fireball Whiskey.
