Punk gets back to politics

With the prospect of an Obama victory becoming an increasingly likely possibility, one worries about the state of the politically charged, protest-punk band's muse. None more so, perhaps, than those punching the air Sunday night at the newly rock rejuvenated Wilbur Theatre. Although judging from the spitting fury Against Me! unleashed in front of a packed, all-ages crowd, they likely have ample stores of indignation, not to mention pop hooks, to carry them over through the hard times to come.

The black-clad, four-piece band, all ink and attitude, wasted little time before blasting into one of its unmistakable agitprop-pop singalongs, setting the crowd aflame with a roiling energy that didn't abate over the course of an hour-plus set. Speeding through concise, populist-power anthems, many drawn from the band's most recent release, "New Wave," the band seemed to feed off the energy of the people. And the proles were more than game, giving as good as they got, reaching toward the stage and squealing in delight from the far reaches of the mezzanine.

Frontman Tom Gabel's gravel-throated barking and chunky power-chord chops evinced a muscular fury; although it was tempered somewhat by the playful gang vocals his band, and the audience, supplied in many of the call-and-response numbers like "White People for Peace." The collective sincerity of the masses giving voice to Gabel's lyrics "Protest songs in a response to military aggression!/ Protest songs to try and stop the soldier's gun!" was almost enough to melt a cynic's heart. Joe Strummer would have been proud at any rate.

That song may well have served as the band's thesis for the night. Other highlights, including the contemplative "Stop," had the room pogoing and clapping along in time to its one-two-one-two marching bounce like they didn't have a care in the world.

In a set that alternated between blistering energy and white-hot explosiveness, some of the sound was muted by the towering ceiling of the stately theater; certainly this is the stuff of dingy basements and claustrophobic clubs. But the only sound that really mattered was the one beating in the heart of every audience members. Call it hope. Or something like it.

The ubiquitous Ted Leo stabbed his way through a set of sharp pop with his crack band, the Pharmacists. One part economical, hook-driven set, and one part shredding-guitar clinic, Leo and company riled the kids with his highly hummable discontent.