Reel Big Fish, The Starting Line & The Kicks

Although Reel Big Fish were the announced headliners for last Wednesday's new-school extravaganza at The Brick Works, for most of those in attendance, including myself, The Starting Line was the band to see. But while most of those eagerly awaiting the onstage appearance of The Starting Line were doing so in pleasant anticipation, my motivations were slightly more nefarious; I was a man scorned, in search of revenge. The Starting Line had dishonored me, a previously card-carrying fan, and would be forced to pay the price. For those unfamiliar with the situation, a brief recap is indeed in order: The week prior to the show, I, the long-time Starting Line enthusiast, had the opportunity to interview the band for the cover of this very publication. However, The members of the Starting Line proved to be very unpleasant individuals, insulting my manhood in ways that shall remain unmentioned in this report. Suffice it to say that I entered The Brick Works in a less than jubilant mood.
The evening's opening act, The Kicks, only served to augment my dour state. Playing an unenthused version of paint-by-numbers mid-tempo pop-punk, The Kicks seemed to draw little from the ever increasing crowd save apathetic stares and disinterested courtesy applause. During the majority of the set, I was to be found lurking in the shadowy regions of the side-stage area, awaiting a chance encounter with a member of The Starting Line, considering the savage insults that I could possibly direct at the band. Unfortunately, the opportunity never arose and The Kicks soon vacated the stage in favor of the night's de facto headliners, and my personal arch-enemies, The Starting Line.
It was here that my hate-filled resolve began to melt. The Starting Line, in particular frontman Ken Vasoli, emit an unavoidable air of wholesomeness and youthful exuberance. Starting off with "Given The Chance" off of their debut full-length, Say It Like You Mean It, the band immediately reminded me of why I had initially been a fan. Sticking mostly to material off of the aforementioned full-length, The Starting Line's emo-influenced new-school happiness was almost overwhelming. This sentiment seemed to be shared by the majority of the near-capacity crowd who greeted each successive song with increasing uproar and knew every lyric, both old and new. Granted, the crowd was mostly comprised of high school freshmen, but they were enthused nonetheless. And despite my previous oaths to inflict violent bodily harm to members of The Starting Line, I found myself swept up by the adolescent innocence of songs like "Cheek to Cheek" and "Leaving," the band's final number. As The Staring Line departed the stage, my feelings of disdain had been partially replaced by the satisfying giddiness that quality new-school provides.
As an oddly indie-looking Reel Big Fish (think plastic rimmed spectacles and Seattle-esque day-old beards) took the stage to the relative disinterest of a not unsubstantial portion of the audience, I was driven outside not by the ska-core stylings of these veterans of the third-wave, but rather a quest for closure in my now waning dispute with The Starting Line. Evidently my publicly-aired disgust with The Starting Line had been brought to their attention, and a member of the band was at that same moment simultaneously seeking me out. Guitarist Matt Watts acted as the band's ambassador, explaining that the whole thing had just been a big misunderstanding and offered full apologies from all involved. My resolve, already weakened by The Starting Line's unabashedly smiley stage presence, was now rendered obsolete by this unexpected olive branch. Hugs were exchanged, and all were now free to enjoy the remainder of Reel Big Fish's unspectacular, but mildly satisfying set. But despite the venerable and exceptionally professional members of Reel Big Fish's best efforts, and raw metal guitar solos, Wednesday night's show was undeniably owned by the youthful members of The Starting Line, who assured me that they will be returning to Chico in mere months. Justice was indeed served on this night, and nobody ended the evening unsatisfied in his or her own way; the multitudes of youthful attendees got their fill of new-school and ska-core, the bands played to a near-capacity and wildly enthusiastic audience, and a bitter reviewer got reminded of the pleasantries inherent in the genre known as new-school.
- Daniel Taylor
- Photos by Alyssa Starkey

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