Bronx provides eventful hour of primal scream therapy
Near the end of the Bronx's brief but intense hourlong performance at the Middle East Downstairs Thursday night, singer Matt Caughthran made a deal with the crowd. He promised he would scream until he couldn't anymore and that the band would play until they dropped, if the audience would offer a commensurate effort. The fans didn't need to be told twice as the front of the floor erupted with bodies surfing, fists pumping, and voices raised in a communal bark.
It was impressive that the LA-based hardcore punk band was able to squeeze out a single additional drop of sweat as Caughthran and company operated in full-tilt boogie mode from the first barrage of manic riffs. The group displayed one setting: fast, loud, angry, and dirty.
Although the band has been talking up its mariachi incarnation El Bronx, with a full-blown mariachi album slated for release sometime this year, beyond its intro music, it didn't unleash that side of its personality at the Middle East. Instead the Bronx stayed in the scream 'n' slash zone, setting aside nuance in favor of raw sonic assault as Caughthran - who jumped in and out of the crowd without missing a note - flayed his vocal cords in service of songs that lyrically careered from introspective to enraged.
Tunes like "Around the Horn," "Past Lives," and "Six Days a Week" sped by like scenery outside a train window on the back of the band's sludgy-sounding yet nimbly played heart-attack rhythms and overcaffeinated licks.
Caughthran was a dervish while singing but a genial grinner between songs - admitting he had too much love for his fans to let the LA-Boston sports rivalries affect his performance - and profusely thanking all the openers: Fake Problems, Trash Talk, and Clouds. As promised, the band wrung itself out by set's end - as did the crowd.
As cathartic and heartfelt as the Bronx's primal scream therapy was, the main undercard band, Riverboat Gamblers, offered a broader range of dynamics without sacrificing firepower in a highly enjoyable 45-minute set, after which some members of the audience departed. The Texas rockers switched up tempos, let the melodies bleed through a bit more, and wild and woolly frontman Mike Wiebe proved unadulterated punk ferocity can be conveyed while rocking an argyle sweater vest. 