the Stitches, the Reducers & Hit By A Semi

This show was originally supposed to take place at Mr. Lucky, but due to some kind of drama over there, a change of venue was made at the last minute. And, due to some zealous handiwork on the part of the Hit By A Semi's management, a new home was found for this punk circus at the same nice people's house, who were kind enough to invite in the wayward punks, at least into the backyard. It was very D.I.Y. The beer flowed like water. Kids jumped off the roof. It was an all-ages show, Chico style.
I won't lie to you. I completely missed Hit By A Semi. This being a spur of the moment, clutch cargo show review, replete with a change of venue at the last minute, I was lucky I made it out there at all. I'd already had two rounds of drinks at LaSalle's before I even discovered the show was going to be all the way across town. So we walked out there, stopping along the way for obligatory travel drinks at Joe's Bar.
My roommate Jason and I imagined we were on an exotic journey, not unlike Captain Willard in Apocalypse Now. The punk bands were Kurtz, the errant colonel gone mad in the jungle, while the Chico streets on a Saturday night was our Vietnam. We were errand boys sent by a grocery clerk to collect a bill.
The Reducers were finishing up their set when we arrived. We saw half of the last song. I assume it was the good half because kids were up front moshing and singing along. Maybe they knew the words or maybe they were just really excited. It was hard to tell. As abruptly as we entered, they were finished and what seemed like a very short time later The Stitches took the stage / porch.
The frontman for this band was wasted. Inebriation was the preferred condition for the evening. Everyone was wasted. I understood very little of the lyrics, but they were delivered with passion and with about as much fluidity as could be had in the guy's wrecked state. The band was loud, punk and very rocking. The mosh was fierce. Every once in awhile an uninvited guy from the audience would come up and help sing a song. I asked a kid next to me if I could have one of the beers he was holding in his half-full 12 pack.
"No man, I'm saving these for when the singer yells my name. I'm supposed to throw one of these cans as hard as I can at the guy, at his head." He replied.
I just nodded. It made perfect sense at the time. That's punk rock. When the guy makes the call you just throw the can as hard as you can at his head. I was excited I was going to see this spectacle, but unfortunately it never transpired. My guess was that the singer was way too drunk to remember his own name, let alone this nerdy kid's name. Too bad. I really wanted to see that.

– M. Cameron Newell – Photo by Sarah Fight

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