LIVE WIRE: Warping the minds of today's youth.

(That's not actually Saosin's Cove Reber up there. It's a mannequin we borrowed from Old Navy. © 2009 Benjamin Luk.)

Going to Warped Tour is a rite of passage for some. I still remember my first time, not that long ago in 2004, flailing along to Flogging Molly and returning home covered in the sweat and spit of strangers. Just think: five years from now, some of the munchkins who attended Warped '09 will look back on it fondly as their first concert festival experience. Others might, I dunno, start a music blog or something and find themselves interviewing Alexisonfire.

With so many stages on the go at one time, you'd think picking which band you want to see would be tough titty. Having never heard of 60% of these bands however (coincidentally, the same 60% that all sound the same), finding Saosin at the Hurley Stage was an easy choice and a sensible opener to the rest of the festival. At first, the crowd seemed sleepy, which is ironic because it wasn't until their closer "Sleepers" that the crowd started waking up and moving about. "We'll be back real soon," Reber yelled at the end of their set, "but only for this girl who literally has not smiled since we started." I couldn't see the girl in question, but I like to think that managed to elicit a smirk.

(Mike Hranica of The Devil Wears Prada getting in touch with his inner chimp.)

From there, it was on to Westbound Train. Vancouver tries and tries but let's face it; we don't have a ska scene. That being said, we have a killer audience for it. When I found Westbound at the Hurley.com stage, they were halfway through a cover of "Stand By Me" and plugging their show at The Railway Club that same night. (People tell me the queue went out the front door and wrapped around the block.) We'd be hard-pressed to name another band at Warped '09 that seemed quite so gleeful, especially when you consider how dark some of their lyrics are. As I was leaving, Obi Fernandez was shimmying across the stage, Luke Penella was rockin' a mad sax solo and they'd just gotten the crowd on their side with "Come and Get It". Whatever it was, I wanted it too.

Meanwhile, at the Main Stage, The Devil Wears Prada was busy assaulting the eardrums of the emocore. High energy as fuck, you begin to wonder what psych ward they found Mike Hranica in or whether or not they just found a gorilla, shaved it, got it hooked on meth and body art, then dragged him onstage. Chest pounding, flailing and growling are all staples of the genre and though I wish I could tell you what songs they played, I honestly couldn't make out a single word of Hranica's death screams. I pity the fool that crosses this Ohioan band in a dark alley, though perhaps the simple fact that these guys are from Ohio kinda takes the piss out of that statement.

(Forever the Sickest Kids choose their hairstyles based on which dogs they own. Too bad they own such lame dogs.)

Now to pull a complete 180° and join Forever the Sickest Kids at the Hurley.com stage. To be clear, not even Warped's management could piece together why this Texan powerpop band had suddenly decided to coordinate wardrobes so they'd all look like coked-up Build-A-Bear employees. Myself, I couldn't piece together why their audience was so large. Years ago, Simple Plan was the odd one out at Warped for their radio-friendly quasi-music. This year, it's FTSK. Honestly, they're like the Teletubbies grew up and became jailbait magnets. Unbelievable.

Senses Fail saved me from the bubblegummery by serving up a strong helping of straight-up New Jersey rock. Though guitarist Heath Saraceno was demonstrating some very impressive riffage, like Saosin, the band seemed distant and disconnected from the crowd. I get it; it's tough maintaining stage presence when you're touring North America for months playing only half-hour sets, but if you're not interesting to watch, then there's only a hundred or so other bands to see. To be clear, Senses Fail is a very competent and talented band. It just so happens that they're unremarkable as well.

(Click on this Senses Fail shot to enlarge it. You'll notice the word "CARE" tattooed on Buddy Nielsen's left hand. What are the chances his right hand says "MEDI"?)

Bad Religion back on the Main Stage whet my appetite for some classic punk when they opened their set with "Do What You Want". As one of the smartest men in punk, it's amazing how Greg Graffin can still rile up a crowd one day, then lecture at UCLA the next. New Bad Religion material reads like nihilist philosophy and yet, fans catch on and know all the words to songs like "Requiem For Dissent", though there's a good chance many of them have no idea what it means. Careful, Greg; your Ph.D. is showing. In any case, the audience sang along with the old favourites, moshed to the new, and Bad Religion gets to put another notch in the amp.

On the other side of Thunderbird Stadium, Rev. Peyton's Big Damn Band were enjoying "Two Bottles of Wine" with their fans and setting washboards aflame in a Hendrix-esque finale. Looking every iota like swamptown hicks, their blues-oriented hillbilly rock was fresh and a welcome change in the face of Warped's usual screamo offerings. The Reverend himself also has exceptional taste in guitars. Not just anyone can pull off a vintage National Resonator.

(Greg Graffin of Bad Religion demonstrating what he'd like to do to anyone he ever caught plagiarizing a paper. © 2009 Shannon Mackay.)

"This song's about my relationship with Satan and it's awesome!" were the first spoken words I heard out of Tomas Kalnoky's mouth at Streetlight Manifesto. Before I'd even had time to scratch the note into my battered Moleskine, the band was already well into "Down, Down, Down to Mephisto's Cafe", a jovial dynamic tune that, at its core, is actually about a man wrestling with religion. Ska's smart like that; you go to a show and dance your ass off, then start wondering about the lyrics on the bus ride home. Easily one of the best ska acts in North America, even the heavens seemed to admire their tenacity. Somewhere in the fog of pot smoke, the sun broke through the clouds as Streetlight tooted its final horn and Kalnoky yelled, "If you don't have our music yet, it's free on the internet! Steal the shit out of it!"

Back on the Main Stage: "What's the difference between Boy Scouts and Jews?" NOFX has the answer: "Boy Scouts actually come home after camp." Offended already? Try half an hour more of that. After a while, the music took a backseat to the ethnic comedy and the crowd began to play along. The band asked their audience if they'd rather have 60% Asians in their population or 60% Mexicans. The audience chose Asians. Anyway.

(It's not a perspective thing. Dallas Green, lower left, really is that short in real life.)

Taking a detour from the Main Stage to catch Meg & Dia based on hype alone, I found a cutesy girl band performing the kind of pop that makes you want to buy American Eagle hoodies and dot your lowercase I's with dumb little hearts. Inoffensive and sweet, but nothing to write home about.

And it was here that Alexisonfire took the Main Stage and melted my fucking face off. Having met George Pettit and Chris Steele earlier for an interview (to go up sometime next week), it was that much more urgent when George rushed to the front of the stage, working the crowd. The next 40 minutes were a blur. "Accidents" started blaring out of the speakers and Dallas says, "I don't feel like singing." As a result, the audience sang all of Dallas' parts while George growled into the mic. Massive balloons drift onstage and in something like a UFC bear hug, George pops them and makes confetti rain down on the photo pit. Dallas charges back and forth between his amp and his mic like a bull in a china shop and George stage dives into the front row to cheers and screams. In the thick of the mosh pit, shirtless punks charge each other, slowing down only to pump their fists during the chorus of "Young Cardinals". We scream ourselves hoarse and at the end of it all, we're thanked for our love. Apparently, for the US leg of their tour, Alexisonfire only play the Hurley Stage. It's only because of their massive fan following in Canada that they play the Main Stage in Vancouver.

(I'm not sure where 3OH!3 got those shirts, but I have a feeling there's a couple in Malibu wondering where their suitcase went. © 2009 Shannon Mackay.)

Now, what can I say about 3OH!3 that hasn't been said before? Well, first off, I love these guys and I'll be the first to admit that as far as guilty pleasures go, that's kind of embarrassing. But that won't stop me from making fun of them. Their main selling point seems to be that they've taken douchebaggery and turned it into an art form. And yet, their wholly unique white-boy synthpop crunk-rock seems to have captured the imaginations of the 14-19 age group, though I'm really not sure how they've gotten away with it. Maybe it's the jokeyness of their lyrics, maybe it's that they don't take themselves too seriously; either way, they've gotten huge recently and I don't know how, so ask your kids. Sean and Nathaniel rapped their way through as much of Want as they had time for, making their way through "Punkbitch", "Chokechain", "Richman" and (predictably) closing on "Don't Trust Me". I may or may not have dance battled a scene kid. The scene kid may or may not have won.

As I left Thunderbird Stadium with my crew and cameras in tow, Gallows was busy kicking the shit out of their fans on the Hurley Stage. Desperately clinging to the last vestiges of hard rock integrity still left at Warped, the audience they drew was like a miniature riot. As we pass the tour buses, a roadie leans out the window and hands us a freezie. Not much hard rock left here, I'm afraid. Still a hell of a time though.

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Join us next week for our chat with George Pettit and Chris Steele of Alexisonfire! We sit down with the boys and pick their brain on corpses, Singapore, YouTube and Warped. Bookmark the crap out of us.

Also, wondering why the photo quality seems to be lacking today? It's 'cuz the pictures are too damn small! Go back and click 'em all to see them in high-resolution glory. All photos © 2009 ThatRockBlog.com.