The Interrupters
1 2 3, FOUR FIVE, 6 7 8, NINE TEN, 11 12!
The classic Sesame Street vignette 12 and Pinball keeps running through my head to the beat of the ska / punk song being performed on the stage in front of me.
A couple hours prior, Todd and I bundled up for one of the first really chilly nights of fall and took a Lyft from Jersey to the Fillmore in Philly. As we walked into the standing room venue I noticed we were surrounded by blue haired, mohawked, head to toe black and plaid, chain adorned, pierced wherever they could be pierced, punk rockers.
Even though I have my fair share of facial piercings, I gave Todd a tap, “I don’t think we’re cool enough to be here.”
He laughed, “You’re probably right”
We grabbed a couple beers from the bar and made our way into the main room, dark and filled with the music of the first opening band. We looked for a spot to enjoy the show, and happily landed somewhere far enough away from the mosh pit to simply watch the show and not for windmills to dodge.
After both opening bands, the venue became dim. As the large black banner with white & red lettering was revealed on the back wall, stage hands moved quickly, heads down, to arrange the main act’s instruments. In the time it took us to grab another beer and chitty chat about whatever happened the day before, four band mates walked on stage. Three young men, wearing matching suit jackets, skinny ties and clam digger slacks, positioned themselves behind the work of the stage hands. Preemptive scales rang out from their instruments, evoking a cheer from the crowd after each note and drum beat.
The lead singer skipped and hopped around the the three musicians, like a hype man for her friends. Much like the fans gathered to see her, she was dressed in head to toe black. Pulled up hair was fashioned into a bun, with a folded handkerchief wrapped around her head and tied in a small knot behind pinned back bangs - a la Rosie The Riveter. Her high top Chuck Taylors immediately summoned forth a flash of jealousy from me; my feet are far too fat to wear them, and they’re just so fucking cool.
With a little fluff of her leather jacket she jumped atop the nearest speaker box. Leaning into the crowd, she embraced an outreached hand. As the mic rose to her mouth, I could see her back arch with a deep breath in preparation of the inaugural lyrics. Even from the distance of my retired position, I could tell she was looking right into the eyes of the owner of that hand. On the beat, the words of a song sung, I’m sure, an immeasurable number of times, explode from her and the crowd alike.
This is a good time to tell you, I am not familiar with The Interrupters.
Well, “minimal to none” would best describe my familiarity. I know their genre, my boyfriend adores them, and my recent Come to Jesus moment about my lameness amongst their fan base. That pretty much sums it up.
My descent into my suboptimal social status was only kept at bay by noticing that many of the people around me seemed to be my age or older. Almost half had children in tow, holding their parents’ tattooed hands, adorned with necklaces of noise canceling headphones whose muffs almost eclipsed their sweet little heads.
Inside the main hall, with growing eardrums properly protected, young bodies were grabbed under their armpits and swept up onto their fathers’ shoulders, insuring not only that they had the best seats in the house, but also that during the show we would get to see their small index and pinky fingers rise in the classic “Rock On” sign, acting as an antenna for the swell of love being projected at the stage.
Within two songs I can see why so many parents have chosen to bring their children to this Wednesday night concert. That swell of love is simply a mirror of the band in front of us.
The Interrupters are kinda...wholesome. Like punk rock muppets. Well, if Grover got a little jaded, a septum piercing, and skanked from Near to Far… But still, muppets!
The songs, I later found out, Aimee (lead singer) and Kevin (lead guitarist) write together, and embrace a lot of very Sesame Street values:
Believe in yourself
Don’t judge others
Love your family
Be a good friend
Create friendship and community
AND DAMN THE MAN!!
PUNK ROCK muppets.
The instant I have my muppet revelation I see Aimee grab a black fedora signed in silver pen by the band and set it loosely atop her head (I feel you girl, I know that hair took a while to do, can’t mess that shit up). Much to the chagrin of the guards, she walks herself right off the front of the stage and into the audience.
One of the aforementioned shouldered children is the reason she’s making the large men hold back an over enthusiastic crowd. Aimee walks right to a blonde haired girl near the front. I watch this child’s hands come up to her mouth and shoulders scrunch up with, what I have no doubt, was a squeal of delight. I can’t see the little girls’ face, but I can see the mirth in Aimee’s as the two belt out a few bars of the song together. After taking a moment to connect with a couple of surrounding fans, Aimee grabs the hat and transfers it onto the girl’s towhead. With a little hug to close out the moment, she trots back on stage to continue on.
So wholesome.
I need to confess, punk/ska isn't really my thing. No judgement. We all find the stuff we like and the others, we let go of. But I’ll tell you what, the humans who make up The Interrupters are now my thing.
This quadruplet of musicians, Jesse, Justin, Kevin & Aimee, are leaders who actively created a space of “Do no harm But Take No Shit” as they stopped the entire show when a fight broke out. It was stated very clearly, by multiple members of the band, that kind of behavior was not acceptable and not what they were about. I watched them generate an environment parents felt safe to bring their young children into, wanting this message instilled in impressionable little hearts so they could grow from a strong foundation of love, respect, self expression, and raging against the dying of the light.
After the show we walked outside to catch our Lyft home. Waiting at the corner I let my head rest on Todd’s shoulder. With each exhale, I watched my breath turn to steam and swirl until its temperature equalized with the evening air. Purposely letting go of a couple deep breaths for a bigger show, I found myself hoping that we all find our own punk rock muppets to pass on to the next generation. The world needs more of them.