What’s the best band you’ve ever seen live?
I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. Music has always been my religion, but concerts are an entirely different animal. I don’t love large crowds, bright lights, or loud noises. I hate the stress that naturally accompanies searching for a half decent parking situation. It’s also rare that I have a spare couple hundred dollars to fork over to Ticket Master.
The idea of being in the same room with a band that means everything to me is appealing; I’ll give you that. The problem is, when you’ve climbed a mile into the stadium seats and end up watching them on a screen anyway, it’s the equivalent of driving a hundred miles and spending a small fortune to listen to a live album. I would rather enjoy the show from the comfort of my headphones, anywhere I choose.
It’s better for me when it’s an intimate setting where everyone is on the same page, when we can all enjoy our fandom together without competing. Is there anything better? Plus, who doesn’t love seeing white women do their awkward dance?
Lucky for me, I’ve experienced live shows from every angle. I have been onstage, backstage, selling merch, moshing, crowd surfing, working the door, sweating in basements, roaring along in arenas, and everything in between. The number of incredible artists I’ve seen is too long to list.
But who was the best?
It would be hard to argue against the two times I saw Paul McCartney. Or the time I had great seats for the heart-stopping, house-rocking, earth-quaking, booty-shaking E Street Band. Atlanta’s own Black Crowes are the band I’ve seen most, but I also saw Sturgill Simpson do a cover of “Purple Rain,” and once went to a New Years Eve concert at the Grand Ole Opry where the bill was Kacey Musgraves, Jason Isbell, and John Prine. Lord forgive me, I even saw Ghost at the Tivoli in Chattanooga before they blew up.
All things in equal measure, the best live performance I’ve ever seen was from the Aquabats.
…
The Review
The Aquabats
Charge!!
2005
There’s a reason we’re still talking about Charge!! 20 years after its release.
For years, the Aquabats made a career off their brand of punchy, irreverent, family-friendly entertainment. They were superheroes who had leapt off the screen of a Saturday morning cartoon and onto a stage near you. If you were lucky enough to grow up when I did, through the ‘90s and early 2000s, they provided the perfect soundtrack for your youth. They had songs about school lunch pizza days, pool parties and even two-headed cats. There were times they made me nostalgic for things that were barely starting to happen.
The early aughts were a lost weekend for the band. They were dropped from their label in 2000, beginning years of an indefinite hiatus. Several members moved on, and no one could say for sure if the battle was over. When they were eventually signed to Nitro Records in 2004, they had a new, scaled-down lineup and entered the studio for what everyone assumed would likely be the last album they ever made. Knowing this, they delivered the strongest release of their entire career.
Charge!! utilizes almost none of the ska DNA that shaped their early records. Their sense of humor was well intact, but the sound was something fresh and bold. It’s the closest the Aquabats ever came to making a straightforward, laser-focused, pissed-off rock record. Charge!! is a guitar-driven, hooky banger. It’s funny and self-referential, sure, but there’s also a noticeable edge that has no business working as well as it does.
From societal commentaries like “Fashion Zombies!” and “Plastic Lips!” to playful jabs like “Look At Me (I’m A Winner)!,” it’s clear that the band have something to say, and they’re leaving a smear of blood on the stage. What I find myself attracted to the most are the tracks that start driving and never let off the gas, like “Stuck In A Movie!” or “Meltdown!” Don’t worry, if you’re coming to the Aquabats for lighthearted escapism, you’ll be able to feast on “Nerd Alert!” and the genuinely hilarious “Hot Summer Nights (Won’t Last Forever)!”
Towards the end of the record, we find the most poignant, spellbinding, unexpectedly moving moment of perhaps the ‘Bats entire career with a song called “Waterslides!” It’s the only instance that houses and real traces of ska, and it’s expertly used. Every time I listen to it, even now, I well up with tears. It’s essentially a simple mediation on not taking life too seriously but approached so earnestly that it’s hard not to melt. They’ve never written anything like it before or since, and honestly, there’s no need. I never see anyone mention that track, which makes me wonder if the mass reviewing audience is missing their ears and hearts.
Charge!! was a critical darling that revived the career of the Aquabats. They followed it up with a long, successful touring campaign and their national television debut. Tides continued to turn in their favor when Aquabats front man the MC Bat Commander launched a children’s show called Yo Gabba Gabba! in 2007.
Four years later, in 2011, the band had finished another new record and were going on tour to support its release. No one knew it yet, but they were also on the verge of finally getting their own television show. I would learn about all of this when I traveled to Atlanta to meet them one afternoon.
…
The Tale
I interviewed the Aquabats for my first-ever cover story.
This wasn’t my first time meeting the band. I had seen them live before, and they always blew me away. They wore superhero costumes, had commercial breaks for fake products, fought monsters, and were so tight that one more turn would have stripped the screw. I even had the pleasure of the MC Bat Commander teasing me for my cadet helmet from the stage.
On this day, in the early winter of 2011, I was driving from my apartment in Athens to the Masquerade in Atlanta to hang out with the band courtesy of AMP Magazine. I was so nervous that, even though I had been to that venue dozens of times, I got lost and asked for directions in rusty Spanish at a parts store. When I finally arrived, I walked up to the group shooting what would become the cover photo.
They had won the reader poll contest determining who would be on our next cover. Some folks in the comments were angry about the victory, but I can admit to you now, I had voted for them myself. The Aquabats felt like a gift, and I wanted to share them with the world. Since they were coming to Atlanta anyway on their Hi-Five Soup! tour, I begged and pleaded with our editor, Lisa Root, to assign them to me. It wasn’t just my first cover story; it was my first time getting to interview a band in person.
The brown grass crunched under my bulky boots as I made my approach. They had teleported from the album cover and were standing under the gray clouds in front of me, making goofy jokes and posing in stances ready for action. I was wearing a blue flannel shirt and a furry Russian hat I bought from Walmart on a dare, looking simultaneously like I didn’t belong and couldn’t have been more at home.
Normally these situations don’t allow for a moment to take in your surroundings and appreciate them in real time. As the band were finishing up and meeting for a huddle, however, I looked around and took a moment to ground myself back in reality. Sometimes all it takes is feeling your toes against the fabric of your socks to remind you that you’re a person, and whatever might be happening is indeed reality.
Countless weekends of my teenage years had been spent at the Masquerade. There was a period in high school where it felt like I was always in Atlanta, which, for us, it might as well have been Manhattan. I remember the industrial look of the jet-black building, the terrible parking, and the bouncers who wouldn’t let you re-enter once you left, no matter what. The venue was broken into three parts: a downstairs stage called Hell, an upstairs stage called Heaven, and a side bar stage called Purgatory. Most of the evenings I spent at the Masquerade had been in Hell, but this one was taking place in Heaven.
I remember feeling particularly grown-up that afternoon, although I was only three years out of high school. My face wore a patchy beard, there was a hand-me-down bed waiting to rest my aching bones back in my small apartment, and I was in Atlanta representing a magazine. Is there anything that can make you feel more adult when you’re barely in your 20s? After all, it wasn’t long ago when I was mumbling through shaky-voiced interviews over the phone in my Dad’s kitchen. Now I was writing a cover story for a magazine you could buy in a store.
When the time came to talk to the band, they invited me to step out of the cold and onto the warmth of their tour bus.
Being invited backstage or onto the bus is a tippy top dream for anyone who spends all day in class daydreaming about their rock ‘n’ roll fantasies. I would like to say I was no stranger to the experience, but the truth is that the closest I had ever been was walking through the retired tour bus of ‘80s country-rock band Alabama parked inside the walls of the Alabama Music Hall of Fame in Tuscumbia. Even then, the most memorable part had been on the drive home when I mentioned to my brother that I didn’t know Helen Keller was from Tuscumbia, and he quickly retorted “Well, neither did she.”
It’s been 14 years since the Aquabats invited me onto their bus on that bitingly cold day in the early winter of 2011. When something like that happens, you force yourself to memorize every tiny detail so you can paint a better picture for your friends later. Whether we like it or not, time has a way of washing it all away to make room for the shows we’re binging or the inside jokes we always need at the ready for an opportune moment. The little I do remember is mostly flashes, memories of memories. I can recall clearly that I was surprised by how tidy and sleek the bus looked, more so than I expected from a punk band. The guys were out of costume and referring to each other by their real names, which made me feel like I was peeking through the keyhole of a locked door.
The interview itself went exceedingly well. I even got a scoop that they were in the early stages of developing what would become The Aquabats! Super Show! There was one moment where I felt like I irritated them by asking about the edgier tone of Charge!! in comparison with the return to form of sorts with Hi-Five Soup! Looking back, I don’t think they were as annoyed with me specifically as they were simply tired of talking about it. Following up a classic is an intimidating process, and having the next release constantly compared against it must be frustrating. Still, they handled it with grace and charm.
As the interview was nearing its end, the MC Bat Commander (I refuse to call him by his Christian name) started cracking jokes with me. It was clear by the melody of conversation that I would soon need to wrap things up and make my polite exit, but there were still a couple hours before curtain, and I was trying my best to marinate in the experience as long as possible. For all I knew, it would be my last time ever experiencing anything like this, and I owed it to my teenage self to squeeze all the juice I could from it.
“Hey man, would you like a sandwich?” the Commander asked.
“Oh, honestly, yeah, I would love a sandwich,” I said.
“We don’t have any sandwiches, how about a bag of chips?” he asked.
“Sure, I could go for a bag of chips,” I said.
“We don’t have any chips … want a Coke?” he asked, with a sly smile.
“Sure,” I said with a laugh, “I would love a Coke.”
“We’re fresh out of Cokes I think,” he said, “What about a Diet Coke?”
They actually did have a Diet Coke in their fridge, and I cracked it open as I said my goodbyes and stepped back onto the curb. Later that night the Aquabats blew the studs out of the walls with their performance, and their manager reluctantly allowed me to hurry backstage and say goodbye before ushering me back out. The buzz of that experience carried me all the way back home.
I’ll always remember that as the day my rock journalism career started in earnest.
…
The Aftermath
A couple years later, I found myself assigned to interview the MC Bat Commander again, this time for LA Weekly.
Even though I was now living on the same coast as the band, we hadn’t been able to work out another in-person meeting. I tried to wedge an interview into a show they were playing at the Henry Fonda Theater in Hollywood but had only succeeding in frustrating their management and getting an unexpected bear hug from Kepi Ghoulie. Pound for pound, it was one of my better nights in Los Angeles County.
Once again, I found myself recording a conversation with a well-known musician from the comfort of my sun-soaked bedroom. I was still using my makeshift iPod microphone recorder, still awkwardly saying “Right on,” out of nervousness after every answer, still leaning with my back against my bed and pages of loose-leaf notes at my feet. The only difference was that now I was paying $700 a month for the privilege of having this small room and a single mattress.
Out of all the interviews I’ve ever done, that one was my favorite.
Speaking with the Commander has always been a highlight. He’s funny, cordial, and at least makes it seem like he enjoys the conversation. Most musicians are bored by the process, or worse, try to hit you with a manifested indifference. When someone goes out of their way to have fun with you, especially when you’re a nobody in the industry, it tends to leave an impression.
This was at a time in the band’s career where the focus was mainly on The Aquabats! Super Show!, which was just starting to find its audience on the HUB Network. The band of crime fighters always destined for a television show had finally found themselves with one, and it was hard not to love them for that. We discussed the process of making the show and the journey it took to get there, everything you would expect, but as things were wrapping up, I took a chance on something I had always wondered but never felt right asking.
“You guys came up in Orange County in the ’90s,” I began, “Which means you were always on the bill with bands like No Doubt, Sublime, and Reel Big Fish. It feels like, when the summer of ska happened in ’97, everyone else had a meteoric rise, but you guys were left behind. What happened?”
There was a beat, and in that moment, I was worried that I had truly overstepped. Journalists are supposed to ask the tough questions, sometimes even specifically to elicit a heated response, but I wasn’t interested in headline fodder. The best interviews are natural conversations, and this is where I felt the conversation had organically led. After a moment, the Commander let out a long sigh, and then proceeded to tell me his unfiltered and vulnerable truth for the next hour and a half.
I never printed a word of it.
One of the biggest life lessons I learned from the Aquabats was the spiritual serenity of their silliness. Punk rock in general taught me to use my joy to irritate authority, but I never got the feeling that the ‘Bats were doing it out of rebellion, irony, or sarcasm. Never once have I suspected them of winking at their audience. They seem to do what they love because they genuinely love doing it, with any profit simply being a cherry on top. I don’t know them intimately; they wouldn’t recognize me if our paths crossed today, but I still feel safe making that declaration.
Is there anything better than making eye contact with a friend during an earnest situation and no longer being able to keep a straight face? There’s a measurable benefit to taking a step back, a deep breath and finding the humor in any situation. Why be serious and morose when being goofy spends the same? Farts are funny, and anyone who disagrees isn’t someone I want on my team anyway.
The world has enough serious people taking themselves seriously. Why can’t the rest of us be silly bastards together?
