Column: Portion of a Whole Volume III: Katie’s Party Program

May 11 2012 // Posted by

Two weeks ago I got to see a band I have loved for a very long time, for the first time. There has always been something for me about the first time; an answering of questions if you will. An experience that while exhilarating, dabbles in fragility. REFUSED certainly left me bruised. They left me exhausted, out of breath and writhing for more. Refused reminded me of what it’s like to absolutely shake for something; to feel the pulse of music that could have been long forgotten, but was not. Refused was not fucking dead and we have long established that fact with months of cryptic messages and rumors culminating in official announcements and on-sale dates. But Refused wasn’t the only thing very much alive in that room. That room was brimming with old friends; people who came up in a scene together, went every separate way possibly known to man, and yet all came back together for a set of songs. There is something to be said about that. Call it a revelation, call it the musical equivalent of a group orgy, but looking back I’m only going to remember it as possibly the last time I may ever have an opportunity to feel the unspeakable excitement of once-in-a-lifetime.

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Several beers and perhaps a shot or two of Jameson brought me to the delightful confusion to spend the duration of Refused from deep within the middle of the general standing admission area of New York City’s Terminal 5, also known as the “mosh pit.” I use those terms loosely because in my aging state, I can’t earnestly admit to being a person who “moshes.” Oh but I was that night. My body could attest to that the very next day.

The thing about Refused, and maybe a lot of the bands that we love, is that we can spend the whole day or the whole week or our whole lives unsure of where we’re going. Our bosses may scream at us. Our boyfriends and girlfriends might scream at us. Our parents might scream at us. But when Refused screamed at us, it all made sense. “This is the pulse. This is the sound.” Yeah, that’s right. Fuck our bosses and fuck our unhealthy relationships and fuck being grownups; can we please just stand here in a room and throw our fists in the air for a while? I felt that way every day when I was a teenager. But now that I have bills and student loans and deadlines and a career, things get cloudy sometimes.

There have been a few “first times” over the course of my insane devotion to loud music that have had a profound impact. The first time I saw THE WEATHERTHANS, of course. The first time I saw GREEN DAY when I was twelve. The first time I saw NOFX and they played “The Decline” in its entirety. The time I saw BAD RELIGION and one of their kids gave me a guitar pick. The first time I saw CONVERGE and I had the flu so I fell asleep for the entire set. Oh, and the time I got to interview Fletcher Dragge in the dressing room above The Chance Theatre in Poughkeepsie and he made me a cup of coffee and talked to me about life and tragedy. The time I missed my prom to see what was left of AMERICAN NIGHTMARE. The first Revival Tour when this guy named Frank Turner blew everyone off the stage. Finally, the last time I got to see The Weakerthans and they played Left and Leaving from beginning to end and I thought my head and my heart were both going to explode at the same time. I don’t mean that as an exaggeration; I had a hard time catching my breath that night. Please, feel free to share yours.

Refused’s reunion was met with some criticism, as most things are these days. Whatever their motivation, whatever the reasoning behind it, it was a gift to me, as well to many other people. We don’t get to sit here and judge a person’s decisions, just as we jump up in defense when someone judges ours. There are a lot of unbelievable bands out there that won’t ever be able to sell out Terminal 5; I tip my hat to those bands and I’ll probably be at their shows too. That is the nature of this beast. Those bands also didn’t write The Shape of Punk to Come. They probably just exist because of it. No one gets to tell you what bands to love. You just find them and go for it.

Refused is coming back to town in July. I’ll see them again at least twice. It will most likely be an ocean of splendid joy. But it won’t be that night two weeks ago; it won’t be the first time. I’ll have to hold out for a full hologram rendition of Road to Ruin to feel that joy again. That’s apparently a thing now, right?