Andrew Jackson Jihad: Certified Drunk Bro Repellent

Phillip Morgan ’18 / Emertainment Monthly Staff Writer

Having attended punk-centric shows for several years now, I’m accustomed to encountering some drunk bros in the pit. We’ve all seen this species of showgoer. They’re the tall dudes who insist on blocking a shorter person’s view of the band in order to maintain their spot in the pit, the people more concerned with protecting their cheap beer than not crashing into another person, the ones shoving people into the barricades, the ones harassing the band at every break, and of course, the ones crowdsurfing and stage diving when no one is prepared. That all probably seems incredibly irritating and possibly dangerous, but while there’s still a pretty heated debate raging about proper etiquette at punk shows, the people who are hell-bent on having fun at everyone else’s expense are few and far between. Most people at punk shows are kind souls who enjoy the rowdy atmosphere of the pit but also know how to respect the space they’re in.

And then there are shows where the drunk bros congregate en masse.

More than any other show I’ve been to since moving to Boston, this show was plagued by large dudes with cheap beer in denim jackets abusing the freedom of the mosh pit. Naturally, there were large dudes crowdsurfing without warning, along with the first three rows of people routinely getting mashed into the barricade or shoved to the side to make room for the ever-expanding moshpit, and those were the least obnoxious parts. The festivities began in pretty standard fashion, with six guys who kept insisting Chumped frontwoman Anika Pyle “take it off” after she took off her sweater mid-set, but some brave souls dared to venture from the herd and showcase their own unique brand of drunken lunacy. One guy thought it would be hilarious if he yelled the alleged likes and interests of Jeff Rosenstock during his set in order to get his attention, which left me seriously doubting that anyone needed clarification on whether Jeff was a fan of Dance Dance Revolution in order to enjoy his music. But the most absurd confrontation erupted when a man whose appearance I can only describe as “Patriots fan meets Danny DeVito” attempted to have a conversation with The Smith Street Band frontman Will Wagner about rugby for no apparent reason. Whether he was actually a rugby fan or just making assumptions about the Australians performing never quite got through his drunk-speak, but his repeated attempts to discreetly touch every girl in a five-foot radius for the remainder of the band’s set did not inspire confidence. Fortunately for all involved, he gave up on both endeavors after their set ended and disappeared, never to be seen again…

…until the second or third song into Andrew Jackson Jihad’s set, during which I heard a nauseatingly familiar voice attempting to form the words “Bring back The Smith Street Band” followed by an empty can of beer almost hitting frontman Sean Bonnette in the face. I can only assume the High Council of Drunk Bros agreed with the sentiment, because a few more cans were let fly soon after. However, instead of simply ignoring the vile gestures like the previous three acts, Bonnette opted for a more direct approach, abandoning lyrics mid-song to yell, “What is this, Florida? Stop throwing beers, man.” The projectile beer cans ceased, but the pit raged on with quite a few more crowd-surfers than before, until Bonnette decided to ask them to stop too, responding to initial pushback with, “We’d appreciate if you guys would stop crowdsurfing and stuff because it’s no fun for anyone but the person doing it. It’s no fun getting kicked in the head while someone uses you and all your friends as a boogie board.”

Now, before you freak out about Sean Bonnette’s dictating the moshpit, know that moshing continued as usual and there were a few dissenters here and there, most notably one guy who crowd-surfed his way onto the stage with the hopes of getting a selfie with the band. Security did not share his dream. But with the drunken outbursts out of the picture, the Phoenix, AZ quintet went on to play one of the most heart-wrenching sets I’ve ever seen, even if it was more restrained than a typical AJJ show due to the nature of The Royale. Sure, Bonnette never did get the chance to dive into the crowd with a bouquet of flowers in his mouth, but that doesn’t make the band any less engaging. From the way Bonnette has fun with stressing the dark humor in his own lyrics, to the way he actually pretended to be Morrissey while singing “I Wanna Rock Out in My Dreams,” to the fun little screen behind the band showing their logo in space, Andrew Jackson Jihad always strives to make the most out of their live performance, and the results are as hilarious as they are exhilarating.

Since drummer Deacon Batchelor, guitarist/keyboardist Preston Bryant, and electric cellist Mark Glick didn’t join the band until their 2011 album Knife Man, most of their set these days is focused around their more recent material. But, for those yearning for the days of yore when insane punk shows could be brought to a wistful lull by Sean Bonnette’s voice backed by Ben Gallaty and an upright bass, they’ve put together full-band versions of old favorites like “People II: The Reckoning,” and hearing formerly skeletal folk tunes with a punk edge go full folk/punk is pretty refreshing. Regardless of context, however, Bonnette and his lyrics are always in the spotlight. Unless bombarded by projectile beer cans, he belts out every line like his life depends upon it, and while his distinctly trembling voice may not hit every note, the entire audience is right there with him. I struggle to recall a show where the audience was so bent on singing along to the last syllable, especially with refrains like, “So if I see a penny on the ground / I’ll leave it alone or fucking flip it / I’m a straight, white male in America / I’ve got all the luck I need,” (“American Tune”) or “Open up your murder eyes / and see the ugly world that spat you out.” (“Temple Grandin”).

Sadly, for all their energy and playfully dark sense of humor, Andrew Jackson Jihad doesn’t seem to be fully comfortable in a semi-large venue setting yet. Having seen them at smaller venues before, it’s clear tell they’re much more comfortable in an environment where they can directly interact with the audience (i.e. when they came to Atlanta last summer and Bonnette jumped into the mosh pit with a bouquet of flowers in his mouth). There’s no question they have incredible showmanship live, particularly when they started messing with their own background screen or when Bonnette indulged in his own warped parodies of famous rock singers, but there’s a distant feeling in larger venues like The Royale that Andrew Jackson Jihad simply isn’t built for, and it’s a shame that it inhibits them from going as crazy as I imagine they’d like to during their shows. However, given the onslaught of drunk bro hijinks leading up to their set, I think everyone involved needed at least a little break from the insane. In spite of the less than stellar circumstances, Andrew Jackson Jihad still delivered an amazing performance, and no amount of drunk bros will ever steer me away from their folk-punk frenzy.