by Dan Goldin (@post_trash_)
Over the years the list of “I never thought I’d get to see this band live” bands has grown smaller and smaller. Despite graduating high school in the early 2000s (and not having the greatest taste or underground knowledge as a teen), I’ve managed to see so many of the modern legends, the bands that helped to shape my personal tastes. I’ve been floored by many reunions, the ramshackle chaos and very real tension of Drive Like Jehu, the deviant perversions of The Jesus Lizard, the beauty and grace of Low, the hypnotic complexity of Blonde Redhead, the complete entertainment experience of Devo. This isn’t to take away from our current generation of bands (if you read Post-Trash, you know our heart lies in these modern times, forever finding the pearls in an oversaturated ocean). Some of the greatest shows I will ever see were marathon DIY bills, but there’s something to be said for watching a band whose output sits on a scale of “genre landmark” to “undeniable masterpiece”. It’s all part of a lifelong quest to engage with new music at every point of your life. Old(er) music is still new to many ears. Sometimes you are late to the party and sometimes that party ends. Sometimes you spend twenty years listening to a band that broke up twenty one years ago. So it goes. Thankfully, sometimes it starts up again, ten to fifteen to twenty years later. While the bucket list will never be complete, for a very long time my personal list has been topped by the “big two,” a pair of bands I missed in their prime and two bands that never seemed likely to reunite, Fugazi and Unwound.
For reasons we won’t get into here (because it’s not the point), we’re not holding our breath waiting for Fugazi. Unwound on the other hand…
During the lengthy Numero Group reissue campaign for Unwound that pulled together all their albums, b-sides, live recordings, and loose ends, the band stuck firmly to being broken up. It seemed as though “if not then, probably never,” but who ever knew Unwound to be the band to strike when the iron is hot. That’s not what Unwound are here for, and while I’m far from any definitive authority, I don’t believe it ever was. The band has always played with equal parts introspection, noise, and artistic fury, playing by their own set of rules. Fast forward to 2020 when the world tragically lost Vern Rumsey, Unwound bassist and an essential part of the trio’s framework. Surely that was the end of my hopes. An impossible ending… but then it happened. The dream of a lifetime, Unwound announced reunion shows, and then more reunion shows… and a few more to meet the demand. I jumped at those tickets like a puppy at a treat, followed by months of waiting, readying for the day it would finally happen.
Yesterday was that day. I saw Unwound live for the first time in my life. With expectations unreasonably high (the kind where it better be the best show ever or I’m walking away disappointed), the band laid waste to those lofty expectations, furiously locked in and sounding as though they never stepped away over two decades ago. The pacing between post-hardcore blueprints and expansive genre blurring experimentalism was meticulously crafted, with an atonal strength to segue from one moment of graceful dissonance to the next. Unwound’s core of Justin Trosper (an all time favorite guitarist) and Sara Lund (an all time favorite drummer) were joined by Jared Warren (gasp… an all time favorite bassist) and Scott Seckington (of Trosper’s Nocturnal Habits project). While Rumsey’s presence will forever be missed, Warren (KARP, Big Business) is a great choice for a fill-in, stepping into some particularly gargantuan shoes like a gentle giant and a master of his craft. Without getting too deep into the setlist (for those who want to be surprised by a band with a robust catalog of gems), the band wrought out a set of muscular and hypnotic tension, reaching heavily back to their earliest days and weaving into the expanses of their patient brilliance. Every melodic decision is felt. Every intricate rhythm is pounded into the room (cheese factor aside, I would love to see Sara Lund get a drum riser), locking into a transfixed attack, both abrasive, and well, stunning.
The audience at NYC’s Irving Plaza was a great mix of older and younger folks, everyone seeming equally thrilled to witness the return of Unwound. The return some people in attendance were, in theory, waiting their entire lives for. In my opinion, it was worth the wait. The band sound like a well-oiled machine, with energy pouring into wall of sound density. While I can’t make comparisons to sets of the past, it’s hard to imagine anyone being much better than they are currently. Unwound played to sonic perfection, oozing into tangled carnage and drifting back out just as easily. They wrap you around colossal grooves and stretch out in tests of patient reflection.
The music is ingrained in the audience and everyone was along for the ride. Unwound helped create the mold that a generation of music has taken inspiration from, a perfect unison of brain and brawn. I have no doubt it means a great deal to the band to see the audience’s reaction and support, but it means the world to much of the audience (myself included) to witness the might and magic of Unwound in person. Thank you Unwound for doing it. Thank you for the music and the continued passion that is ever apparent in watching you play it. Thank you. Thank you. I could never say it enough. I am ready for night two. Until 2091.
Your move Fugazi. Millions of happy people. $5 a plenty. A bucket list teetering on completion.
