This is NOT a Fugazi Concert...

...though it was a reunion of sorts. Ian Mackaye and Joe Lally rubbed shoulders off stage along with the likes of one Henry Rollins before Monday night's Fort Reno concert.

Met up with Butch and Gary pre-show at Paradiso, pounded down a few pints and a pie as a primer, then took a familiar route, climbing out of geetown via 34th to Wisconsin Avenue and up to the highest point in deecee, Tenleytown. Caught up with Donna and Jason almost immediately, locked up the bikes, took a few pix of the local punk luminaries milling about the park, then staked out a spot on the grass to the left of the stage. Not long after we settled in, Gwadzilla strolled up, Karate Monkey trundling along quietly at his side like a disciplined dog, and hung out with us a bit before slipping off to mingle and snap some pix of his own.

Joe Lally took the stage first. It was to be his final DC show, at least for a while, as he has plans to roll up his roots and move to Italy, apparently. I confess: I haven't heard any of Joe's music, and the concert was no place to really develop a taste. A heavy bassline dominated most of the songs (no surprise there), and it seemed like good shit, but who the hell knows without hearing it more than once? (Put your hand down, it was rhetorical.) I'll leave the review to Pitchfork and their ilk, whose rating system seems to match my own about as often as the local meteorologists' "forecasts" are in line with Lady Nature's machinations.

Next up were The Evens, whose music I am familiar with (alas, their latest disc, Get Evens, is jammed deep in the belly of my truck's CD player and has, to date, resisted all attempts to gently tease it out. Next up on the scene: needle-nose pliers and a couple of ham-fists). Good stuff—lyrics: political (as with Lally's bass-ridden tunes, no surprise there); instrumentation: less-is-more (hey, it's a duo!); vocals: largely toned down with occasional punkish outburts (redolent of..um...Ian's previous band).

A flawless performance before an appreciative crowd of all ages. In the middle, Mackaye made a cryptic reference to some nebulous event from a previous show (something about being sued for something he said last year that wasn't clear then) and tossed out a remonstration or two to potential hooligans in the crowd for some unauthorized porta-potty pytrotechnics that happened at this time last year and that resulted in the removal of said receptacles from the venue. Flanked by two makeshift living-room lamps whose stark appearance prompted in me a (no doubt) false association to "Furniture", The Evens ran through an impressive array of songs from both albums and managed to avoid the technological problems that interrupted last year's show.

A few pix (and yes, I asked Henry if he minded me taking the picture; he did not)...










More pix can be found here. I'm still adding to the set.

A Ban for All Ages...

Ian Mackaye testifying last month against a proposed all-age ban for some DC establishments. A clear case of policymakers attempting to blame the victim. It would be nice if this video went on a little longer to get Councilman Jim Graham's response, but alas.

Some background information can be found here.

Ian on Nike's rapacious and illegal appropriation of a certain Minor Threat cover image.

Market Walker...

One of the benefits of living in Arlington County—in addition to the continuing proliferation of bike lanes and the burgeoning bike culture in general—is the eternal possibility, however slight, of running into an icon of the local punk rock scene at, for example, the neighborhood Whole Foods Market. After all, the "Dischord House" is located in the Lyon Park area. And Inner Ear Studios, birthplace of such notable Fugazi offspring as "In On the Kill Taker," "Red Medicine," and "The Argument," to name a few, is located in the Shirlington area. And given that even legends of punk are occasionally compelled to venture out into the throng to shop for food, I guess the wonder is that I haven't run into him before.

My girl and I had just stopped to pick up something cold to drink after biking from Clarendon to Old Town, Alexandria, then on to Shirlington (where we were waylayed by some Belgians at Capitol City, while outside the heavens darkened and the skies opened up with another downpour), and finishing up back where we started. Grabbed a handcart, stepped inside, checked out the fresh produce, meandered a bit. Looked around.

Odd, but even from the back I recognized him immediately. The hat was the clincher. Nudging my girl like an excited schoolboy, and with a directional nod of my head, I said in a low voice, "Hey, that guy right there, that's Ian MacKaye of Fugazi. The guy in the hat." She looked at him, then at me, and said, "Are you sure?" All I said was, "Watch this." I walked up to him, mindful of the fact that overt idol worship, however benign, is generally considered an intrusion by the recipient, and casually hit him with what can only be described as the most banal of questions, to wit: "So, are you guys planning on getting back together?"

The ensuing conversation went something like this:

IM: "Who's that?" (Slight play-off. Sidelong glance.)

Me: (Nothing to lose.) "C'mon, man. Fugazi?"

IM: "Oh...yeah." (Damn. Recognized.) "Yeah, well, Fugazi is an open thing; I mean, we never broke up. We're just there. Doing some different stuff right now. It's an ongoing, open (extends arms slightly, congenially, palms up) kind of thing. Who knows?...oh, I'm (politely extends hand) Ian."

Me: (Shakes hand, introduces self.) "So, no plans to play Fort Reno any time soon, huh?"

IM: Well, yeah, we played a show there a few years back. And, uh, I'm playing there with Amy as The Evens on July 31st, so..."

Me: (Fuck. Saving face.) "Oh yeah, yeah, sweet. We'll be there."

Then out with the camera for an obligatory photo request—accompanied by an ameliorative apology and a thanks, which elicited a good-natured laugh. He popped off his hat, quickly struck a pose, and—voilà! The whole exchange lasted less than five minutes. Surreal.

We said goodby and left him to shop in peace, a quiet, pleasant, unassuming guy in shorts, a nondescript t-shirt, and skate shoes, no sign of the powerful hurricane that used to (and may yet again) explode on stage, steam rising from his shaven head like a displaced spirit in the cool of an autumn evening...

Regardless, I've got a good idea where I'll be at 7:15 p.m. on July 31st.

POSTSCRIPT: There's a humorous scene in Instrument—Jem Cohen's workmanlike documentary of compiled shows and interviews spanning the life of the band—that comes to mind just now. MacKaye is on stage and, dismayed, stops the show to point out a hooligan in the crowd who is apparently kicking the shit out of someone. He says something like, "Hey! You! Badass! I saw you man, I saw you outside, before the show...you were eating an ice cream cone! All happy and laughing like a little kid. Now you're in here beating on someone. You ice-cream-cone-eating-motherfucker!"