PHOTOS: CANCER BATS AT THE TROC IN PHILADELPHIA, PA, FEBRUARY 3, 2010
Monday, March 1st, 2010 at 3:00pm by Diana Lee Zadlo
Walking into the Trocadero February 3rd for the “The Economy Sucks, Let’s Party” tour made me feel like a 12 year old all over again. This tour included Anti-Flag, Aiden, Cancer Bats, and Star Fucking Hipsters. There were youngins in the bathroom with technicolor hair sneaking cigarettes, kids with sky-high mohawks and Bad Religion shirts, couples who didn’t look old enough to know what sex is rockin’ back and forth holding each other. Barf.
The only band I’m going to talk about is Cancer Bats, who were definitely the highlight, and only highlight, of this tour line up. Heavy drums, lots of wah-wah and pinch harmonics, and unbelievable stage presence. They didn’t really seem to fit the bill, but their upcoming Canadian tour with Billy Talent, Alexisonfire, and Against Me! may be a better fit. The crowd loved the Beastie Boys cover (“Sabotage”), and closing their set with “Hail Destroyer” left a good taste in the pop-punk loving audience’s mouths. Don’t even get me started about the girls Star Fucking Hipsters snuck in who were bragging about using the tragedy in Haiti to not pay for the show, or the pentagram banners Aiden used as part of their stage set up…
Enjoy some images of the CB kids. Sorry there aren’t any images of the drummer!




Thanks to longtime MS supporter and 
Hardcore, once a vibrant and often violent mouthpiece for socio-political and econo-cultural outrage, has become endearingly nostalgic for the bad ol’ days, where suffering and disenchantment birthed a sound and an unlikely community. Some revisionists–including those who were there, oddly enough–romanticize the 1980s, though warts-and-all accounts like Steven Blush’s American Hardcore: A Tribal History and Henry Rollins’ stark road diaries serve as reminders of the struggle and duress that bands had to operate under. How nice it must be now for groups like Agnostic Front and Killing Time to perform in the 21st century, relatively free from the heavy hand of law enforcement, accommodated by legitimate venues, and adored by people who were hardly born when they produced their unassailable classics. And yet, it must be downright bizarre to play protest songs in ever-gentrifying, hipster-ized Brooklyn. Still, after spending two nights under the dizzying influence of NYHC, such points seem almost irrelevant. Almost.



