Photos by Ava London
After sitting in two hours of mind-numbing, soul-crushing rush hour traffic, as I finally pulled into Anaheim Gardenwalk’s bustling parking garage opportunity costs were on my mind: would witnessing a performance from the renowned pop punk act Joyce Manor draw me out of my stupor, or would my stubborn funk persist against the band’s set?
Rushing into the House of Blues at half past seven, I found myself brazenly shoving my way through a testosterone laden, though surprisingly polite crowd. Reaching the photo pit the instant house lights were raised, I hardly had time to arm myself with my camera before Toys That Kill, a San Pedro based punk band, launched into a surprisingly melodious yet unsurprisingly high energy set. With vocals traversing the liminal space between a whine and a shout, Toys That Kill were at once emblematic of the surf-ey late ‘70s California punk scene and the yearning pioneers of ‘90s midwest emo. Following the punk tradition, Toys That Kill embraced simplicity with catchy guitar riffs and straightforward lyrics, making it easy for someone like myself, unfamiliar with the band, to sway in time. From the veritable nosebleeds of the standing area, I could already make out the anticipatory wavering preceding violent moshing, though for the moment it seemed the crowd had generally resigned itself to a self-contained ebb and flow.
If Toys That Kill was a brook, babbling along admirably yet unhurriedly, Algernon Cadwallader was a river whose lifeforce manifested in an earnest, unrelenting flow. For all that Toys That Kill was disruptive, Algernon Cadwallader was lethargic though by no means defeated in mannerisms. Rather, Algernon Cadwallader’s textbook midwest set was rapturous in all of its screamy vocals, twinkly fingerpicked guitar, and syncopated drumming. Without exaggeration, lead vocalist Peter Helmis’ vocals were what I imagine to be a midwest archetype; emotionally charged and bitter, Helmios’ plaintive wailing absolutely made Algernon Cadwallader’s set for me. And while in the midwest style, Algernon Cadwallader’s songs would regularly diverge into stop/start, complexly configured instrumental breaks, the vast majority of their set was sufficiently agreeable as to facilitate early mosh pits. My cognitive tide was quickly being turned, and as Algernon Cadwallader exited the stage some light self reflection revealed my sour mood to be mostly reversed.
It took about 30 seconds for Joyce Manor to factory reset my brain. While naturally, I had been excited to hear “Catalina Fight Song,” “NBTSA,” the list goes on, what I had not anticipated was a stage presence so gargantuan and for lack of better word, professional, from frontman Barry Johnson, guitarist Chase Knobbe, and bassist/backing vocalist Matt Ebert. In retrospect, the tour’s name, “Celebrating 10 Years Of Never Hungover Again” should have been an indicator as to the quality of performance I could expect, and yet still, I found my expectations surpassed.
Hailing from Torrance, California, Johnson’s songwriting oscillates between earnest reminiscence and harrowing introspection, often citing coastal imagery characteristic of a southern California coming of age. Watching Joyce Manor onstage though, it was not necessarily relatable lyricism that left me so profoundly engrossed. Rather it was the tightness of the performance, which I perceived as dichotomous to Johnson’s constant engagement with the crowd, that delighted me. For all their hundreds of thousands of listeners and night show appearances, not to mention over a decade of performance experience, Joyce Manor came across as entirely human; accessible in a way being onstage typically forfeits. Part of this perception I attribute to songs played impressively on-the-fly, per the request of audience members. Combined with the band’s cheeky, between-song ad-libs, the characteristics I came to associate with Joyce Manor’s members were adjacent to those which I would expect from a local act: personable, affable, down-to-earth. And yet not once did I feel the level of performance jeopardized on a technical level. Sonically, I identified no flaws, which ultimately resulted in my complete and total immersion into the Joyce Manor universe.
From the recesses of the House of Blues, I was not remotely surprised to see more floundering extremities than heads, temporarily obscuring my view of the stage during “Catalina Fight Song.” With an unmistakable guitar lick signaling the start of the characteristically short, rowdy song, the crowd used the entirety of their allotted minute and four seconds to shove and crowd surf, hence the arms and legs peppering my field of vision. I could not blame the crowd though; “Catalina Fight Song” was an invigorating head rush, and the perfect canvas for Johnson’s agitated rasps.
A manifestation of Joyce Manor’s eclectic mix of sonic inspirations, NBTSA (Never Be the Same Again) abated from the intensity of punk-leaning tracks, feeling characteristically more indie rock with restrained vocals and even rhythms. Still, the song was played with a speed and intensity distinct from the recorded version, the wavering crowd easily synchronizing their movements with the rhythmic thudding of a drum.
“Constant Nothing” was perhaps the most blatant manifestation of Joyce Manor’s punk roots. Heavy guitar riffs and howled defiant lyrics foregrounded brisk, unrelenting instrumentation. Bearing a similar title, “Constant Headache” proved dichotomous to the rhythmic choices made in “Constant Nothing,” with a measured tempo yet all of the expected gruffness. When Johnson’s guitar made itself known at the song’s climax, the effect was visceral, denying the crowd the option to stand still; they were evidently happy to comply.
Joyce Manor’s encore, an unorthodox four songs, was further rendered anomalous by a composition dominated by audience requests. The closing two songs, “Five Beer Plan” and “Housewarming Party” were both plucked from the crowd, though a cursory investigation into prior setlists revealed these songs to be popular choices. The former was a slow-moving, screamy track until it wasn’t, launching into vociferousness; the latter was a tight, acoustic portrayal of suburban angst.
I exited the House of Blues with the memory of my horrendous commute veritably wiped. In its place was a lingering contentment I could feel pulling my lips almost unconsciously into a slight smile; on my mind was the complete and total satisfaction Joyce Manor, Algernon Cadwallader and Toys That Kill had birthed. The bands were perfect, the crowd was a picture of total engagement, leaving absolutely nothing to be desired. I can always identify a great show by the artist’s level of disruption into my listening habits in the subsequent days after the show; safe to say Joyce Manor left their mark.
