Mike Park/Sundowner/The King Blues
Bar Monsta
25 February, 2008

If you thought that punk in 2008 was all about a band called Gallows, you’d be right only in terms of mainstream press coverage. In terms of scenes, in terms of music, in terms of the ethic, even, for a better idea of what punk is all about towards the end of this decade, you could do worse than look towards this gig.

Mike Park – founder of Asian Man Records, the California label which released the first few records by Alkaline Trio and which is still today run out of his parents’ garage – and Chris McCaughan of Chicago group The Lawrence Arms are travelling across the UK and Europe by train, just a suitcase, guitar and each other for company, crashing on floors wherever and whenever they can.

Their sets are both acoustic, one man and his back catalogue. Tonight, Bar Monsta is packed out with Alkaline Trio t-shirts and tattoos, clinging to the words of both men. McCaughan plays a variety of songs from his solo project Sundowner and, of course, some Lawrence Arms, bittersweet and battered, booze-fuelled emotional catharsis. Brickwall Views especially is jaw-dropping, its stripped down state emphasising the sense of sadness that courses through each line. My Boatless Booze Cruise – originally written by the other Lawrence Arm, Brendan Kelly, is equally touching and has the whole crowd singing along in tribute to the absent singer.

The King Blues make an unannounced appearance soon after, having been listed as only ‘Special Guests’ on the flyers and posters. Setting up in the middle of the room with the crowd forming a circle around them, their Clash-inspired songs are catchy, but not entirely convincing – the music is fine, sentiment seems a little affected and forced at times, the politics too simplified, too black and white.

Mike Park, on the other hand, knows exactly what he’s singing about. He covers Billy Bragg’s A New England two songs in and, as a reference point, it explains well the stance of his own songs – an effortless blend of the personal and political that draws on his ethnic roots and his experiences, problems, aspirations, worries and political and existential dilemmas as an Asian American. And while they may not sound like it, his songs are rooted deep in the ethos, sentiment and passion of the original DC hardcore scene – at one point he even has the crowd surround him as closely as possible to emulate the live photos that so typified that scene. It may be some twenty years later, but it doesn’t feel like it. The spirit of punk is well and truly alive right here, right now – and Gallows aren’t anywhere to be seen.

Mischa Pearlman