Despite the fact that Atlanta’s Microwave has graced my Spotify on no more than two occasions, I found their setlist familiar when they opened at Cat’s Cradle on Wednesday night. I nodded my head, hummed choruses and melodies, and felt a rush when the band started into one of my favorites (“Something Right”) from their most recent release, “Stovall.”
Though prior to Wednesday I may not have called myself a fan, last night marked the third time I’ve seen the Georgia quartet since August due simply to the bands that Microwave has opened for. But something clicked as I was singing along to their album’s title track on Wednesday — whether coincidence or cosmic intervention, something was telling me to give Microwave a shot, and I found my third exposure to be my favorite of the lot.
Minnesota’s Tiny Moving Parts followed and intensified the pace of the Cradle’s collective heartbeat. I first listened to the band on walk over, and was shocked to find that the frenetic, blitzing songs they produced came from only three members. Infinitely polite vocalist and guitarist Dylan Mattheisen thanked the crowd repeatedly for their attendance, a cordiality enthusiastically reciprocated by the crowd at the end of his band’s set.
Not to be outdone, Los Angeles’ post-hardcore outfit letlive. truly brought the house down. Frontman Jason Butler screamed, sang and scrambled across the Cradle, venturing to the elevated landing on two separate occasions (the second time to sing a brief ode to the silhouette of the late, great Lemmy Kilmister that hangs to the left of the stage) and tearing to shreds the shirt he wore across his tattooed torso.
Reminiscent of the politically-charged performances of bands such as Black Flag and Rage Against the Machine, but sounding more like the Red Hot Chili Peppers if they double dosed on punk but kept their soul and funk, letlive. released an all-out verbal assault on Carrboro. Butler railed against the systematic mistreatment of people of color and the LGBTQ community, a society that demands the world of women and gives them little in return. He also struck out against those from his past that have criticized him for leaving home in search of greener pastures and self-improvement.
Though the primal energy of Butler’s letlive. couldn’t be matched by Philadelphia’s The Wonder Years, the seasoned pop-punk troupe compensated with a dynamic, meticulously-curated stage presence and set list that elicited the greatest crowd reaction of the evening.
To be honest, I can’t recall if Wednesday was my fifth or sixth time seeing The Wonder Years live. When I started listening to the band, my pants were even tighter than they are now, I didn’t have a permit and I regularly referenced My Chemical Romance on my Tumblr. Though those days are less than six years behind me, I felt drastically older listening to frontman Dan Campbell sing “Washington Square Park” and “Came Out Swinging” on Wednesday than I had when I first saw them in Richmond four or five years ago.
But that's okay — I did get older, and so did my favorite band. Their age showed in sagging eyelids, infrequent stage jumps and perfectly practiced harmonies. Mine translated to a fierce repulsion to the mosh pits of my not-so-distant youth, an annoyance with having to stand for so long without a break and the effortless recognition of songs that have guided me through breakups, the deaths of relatives and the perilous navigation of young adulthood.
Transitioning into the set’s final act, Campbell relayed an anecdote about The Wonder Years’ first “show” in North Carolina. They were slated to play a skate park, but no one showed up. When the owner refused to pay the band, they accepted an evening of free skating as compensation.
Playing a selection of tracks belonging to four albums from their discography to a room full of fans who shouted the words back emphatically, it was clear The Wonder Years had come a long way from being paid in ollies and kickflips. From a fan who started following not too long after that, I can only say thanks for the ride.
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