I’m looking at this tour anthology now from the standpoint of both the punter and the performer. I actually played on the Warped Tour a few years ago. It was a big deal for my band, and though we were pretty out of place stylistically, we still looked forward to playing for thousands of people who had never seen us.
The Warped Tour looks to be an event summarizing what is “punk“ now-at least emo, pop-punk (pop-ular), and ‘core. A fresh, new generation of teenagers will become punk rockers this year, and in three years time maybe 8% of them won’t have sold their Jocks In Flight cds in favor of whatever is shiny, new, and rebellious right then.
I’d hate to suggest that the entire value and meaning of what punk ever was expired in the 1980’s. That was before grunge, alschmernative, Spock Rock, the indie-fixation, or even McSka arose from the rear tank of the toilet, and people started to look pissed off, sweaty, and either defiant, or comically perplexed on MTV. I’ve been informing the community of this harsh truth since the early nineties. Meanwhile, record labels like Epitaph and Fat Wreck commenced to circle, swoop, and cash in. The sound I had loved for years was diluted by impersonation and apathy.
Punk rock being chic and hip is a contradiction. Read that sentence again.
Still, Warped vets NOFX and Lagwagon are quite capable, and continue holding their own (maybe that’s why they’re always on this particular expedition). I think Lagwagon’s rhythm section is almost too good, but I do wish NOFX’s Fat Mikem would eventually locate a new accent to sing in. Jerry Lewis is contemplating legal action as we speak.
Autopilot Off, Ozma, The Movielife, The Used, Mi6, One Man Army, and Thursday were noteworthy for some having authentic songwriting skills. It was also quite nice to hear from The Damned and Dag Nasty (does that observation render me Old School now?). Madcap, Throwdown, Vendetta Red, and The Briggs all inspired me to have a nice lie-down with the curtains shut, and a bandana over my eyes like Mike Muir. The Worst of Disc(s)
award goes to the Sloppy Meateaters, who in three words were oppressively formulaic shite. Could their moniker have been an indication of danger ahead? I would have enjoyed their Face-to-Face-ish whoa-ohs much, much better had they instead been resuscitated from vinyl, and manipulated by a turntablist.
This double disc set has plenty of outstanding moments, but I won’t be putting this into any time capsules, unless there is already one packed with 200 episodes of The Jerry Springer Show on VHS, Beer-Nuts, a six pack of Coors Lite, some smokes, a Rancid “hoody“, 8 oz. of tanning lotion, an NRA bumper sticker, flip-flops, a Nascar photo-book, chewing tobacco, the pink slip to one of those aircraft carrier sized pick-up trucks, The Collected Works of Rambo, and a tattoo or piercing gun. This album was DMP (Destruction Made Profitable), and only very moderately appealing.
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