Deconstruction Tour
Capdown, Boy Sets Fire, Catch 22, Avail, Bouncing Souls, Sick Of It All, Snuff, Lagwagon, Pennywise
Manchester Apollo
27/05/2001

review by Ruth

After trying their best to shoehorn their way into getting permanent residency at the University Student Union this year, Capdown don't seem to notice that their audience has got a little bigger this time. Jake stomps his way across the front of the stage with his wide-open hairy monkey grin to gibbon dance at the audience. Their blend of seething hardcore and two tone saxophone ska are just what the kids at the front need to set them off.

But if you thought that Capdown could be hardcore, then fuck me, how heavy are Boy Sets Fire? It's like Disturbed meets the emo sentiment of Hundred Reasons, but with the same sense of melody as New Found Glory. The lead singer throws himself across the stage, stunned and stumbling, drunk on the music. I've got the feeling that if I wasn't hanging onto to this barrier, I'd probably be doing the same.

Catch 22, in the meantime, embody the same sense of community as Less Than Jake, but without the silly costumes and Mr Skull, and with a better grasp of reality. The saxophonist looks like Cormac Battle after he's eaten all the pies, but that apart there was something missing which I didn't like… or maybe it was just the dodgy noodles I had for lunch?

With the exception of the aforementioned Mr Skull, "Dancers" in bands haven't exactly reflected well on bands in the past. Take for example the phenomenon of Bez from Happy Mondays; ugly twatface monkey-boy drugged-up dancer = ugly twatface monkey-boy drugged-up shite music. However, Avail intend to turn the tables on that score. Their punk rock assault (think of a SOIA/Pennywise lovechild with more uplifting vibes) is matched by the ever-present Beau-Beau, the complete antithesis of yer average go-go dancer. A red-blooded male and with a beard you could lose a badger in, he alternates between racing around like a demented stage invader, taking the piss out of lead singer Tim Barry or playing air guitar with a foam finger. Later he dons a red helmet as Barry instructs the audience to form a giant circle pit, looking like a contestant on Hell's Angels Fun House. As long as they don't bring in Pat Sharpe onstage, then it's all good.

Next a skinny awkward gimp in a two tone suit leaps onstage and starts leading the audience in impromptu bouts of clapping. Possibly the most uncoordinated lead singer since before Jarvis Cocker acquired sex appeal (apparently), but what Greg Attonito lacks in dancing skills he more than makes up more in music. A voice like Ben from Grebo as a Las Vegas showman, it's bouncy and shouty like Ramones with "proper" songs (nope, I refuse to use the words G**** D**,). "In case you didn't realise," he yells halfway through, "Bouncing Souls are here tonight." He's not just talking about what's happening onstage.

Kings of hardcore Sick Of It All should be used to misfortune so far, after having been shafted or shifted by pretty near every label in existence (OK, so I'm exaggerating), so they're hardly going to let a broken kick pedal stop them from being one of the bands, if the not the band of the evening. Not content with starting an old skool wall of death on the floor of the Apollo, 'Disco Sucks: Fuck Everything' starts a moshpit that stretches all the way to the sound desk. It's hard to believe they didn't even manage to sell out the MDH last time they were here in December.

Holding up the more established end of the Brit-punk camp this evening is Snuff. A quintessentially English group (It's quite touching hearing blokes in their late thirties discussing having breakfast with their Grandparents.), this is the original ska punk ROCK with a sly twist, and it's a tribute to their endurance if nothing else that they can still hold their own. Let's face it; few bands could get rousing cheers to a cover of the Match Of The Day theme tune or indeed get over a thousand people to sing "We're all arseholes…".

The only danger is that the success of their more quirky numbers may overshadow their less tongue-in-cheek songs; As we round up for the big finale tonight, Lagwagon (or 'Hot Mayo' as they now seem to be called) take to the stage with hula music, ginger jock hats and beach balls bouncing to and fro across the crowd. But after Blink 182 was scratched from the wish-list, it's up to Lagwagon, to bring a more mature touch to proceedings with their own brand of emo sunshine punk.
"I feel like we should be playing showtunes in this place," grins Joey Cape. Well, that's that out the window then.
"We have this setlist here," starts Pennywise singer Jim Lindberg , holding up the offending piece of paper "but we're just going to play whatever you want," and crumples it in his hand. The headliners have spoken, and from here on out, it's a fan's dream. Fitting in perfectly into their role at the top of the bill tonight, Pennywise have got that special capacity to unify without compromising their music to fulfil this; there's the infectious bass and drum pounding of 'My Own Country', Jim screaming at the front like a demented Satanic Walmart employee, while Fletcher throws his guitar around, shedding his cap and hair bobbles as he goes. There's the punk rock angst anthem of 'Alien', which gets And I'm not even going to mention the roar that goes up for 'BKG Hymn'.

Unlike Fred Durst, who claims that his "generation" are half his age, they aren't going to deny the age gap between them and their audience; at one point Fletcher asks the audience who hates their parents, before admitting that he now gets on much better with them. But at the same time, they're not going to let that get in the way of putting on a great show for the kids. 'Perfect People' is dedicated to all the freaks, including Westlife, 5ive, and the Backstreet Boys. For 'Stand By Me' they enlist the help of two audience members, who are then rewarded by a trip backstage. And all through the night Fletcher yells at those in the circle to come down and join the pit, telling them that he's not going to let Security stop them.

Pennywise have never hidden the past - the giant sign lowers from the rafters to mourn the suicide of former Pennywise bassist Jason Thirsk five years ago. But it's there more as a celebration of life than a dwelling on death. Joey Ramone is remembered with a burst of 'Blitzkreig Bop', while Jason is saved the honour of the final number. And as the stage fills up with invaders, and the whole venue resonates with a thousand voices, you know that it doesn't mean that they'll deny their future or future fans either.