Mclusky at The Sinclair, 3/8/24
The Cardiff-based post-hardcore band Mclusky is one among the many long-defunct “alternative rock” groups from the 90s and early 2000s who have reunited in more recent years. At present, however, the band sports a slightly different lineup from its heyday. The only member constant across Mclusky’s reign from 1996 to 2005 and the reunion lineup from 2014 to the present has been the frontman Andrew Falkous, also known as “Falco” by fans.
The lineup that played at the Sinclair on March 8th featured Falco on vocals and guitar, Jack Egglestone on drums–who has collaborated extensively with Falco since 2003 in Mclusky and the Future of the Left–and Damien Sayell on vocals and bass, a member of Mclusky since its 2014 revamp. Despite every indication that Mclusky is Andrew Falkous’s band with everyone else just playing in it, it certainly did not feel like one man’s band. From the audience, it felt just as natural for Sayell to announce a song and banter with the audience as it did for Falco. Egglestone was perhaps more isolated from the audience and the rest of the band, sitting at a drum set literally behind a wall (a plexiglass barrier was set up around the drum kit, apparently to mitigate Falkous’ hearing loss; Falkous wore bulky noise canceling headphones for the entirety of the show).
Just before the band came on stage, a woman came up behind me and asked me to move over (I’m not a short person) so she could see the stage. She had slid all the way up to the front; no 73-inch tall girl was going to get between her and Andrew Falkous. “Listen man, I got a babysitter for tonight…scooch.” This helped me understand something about the audience that night: the floor of the Sinclair was filled with people who had been waiting to see Mclusky live for the 20 years since they had last toured North America. I felt newly situated as I began to hype myself up for taking photos. I was just some kid who liked post-hardcore in a sea of people who had histories with this band longer than my lifespan, many in various stages of balding. However, this certainly did not stop a pit that nearly knocked me over several times from forming.
The night was full of exceptional musicianship, exhilarating performance, and a wit that one might come to expect from Mclusky. The band opened their set with “Fuck This Band,” off their iconic 2002 release, Mclusky Do Dallas.
“Fuck this band cos’ they swear too much,”
The self-aware irony so clear in this song seems to characterize so much of Mclusky’s approach to communing with the world. It’s in their lyrics, in their sound, and in how the band interacts with the audience. A few songs into the show, Falco introduced “Day of the Deadringers” with a wry dedication to a certain group of people: “This one’s for all the babysitters.” The woman who had earlier berated me for standing in the way nudged me, “Hey! I’ve got one of those!” They have no issue with poking fun at themselves and their music, at their stereotypically 40-year-old audience of Mclusky dedicants, and at the “great wall of Egglestone.”
The night spanned across the band’s discography, ranging from the gentle melodies of songs like “Fuck this Band,” with lyrics sung sweetly and dryly in unison with the dissonant chorus of the audience, to the furiously belted “Lightsabre Cocksucking Blues” and (also shouted in unison by those in the audience not moshing), to the distorted teasing and playful melodies of “Collagen Rock” and “Day of the Deadringers” and the more insidious riffs of “Without Msg I Am Nothing.” Damien’s furious, crunching, distorted, front-of-mind bass guitar and Falco’ frustrated, dissonant, and screaming electric guitar ranted and waned only to come back in an instant in a rapidly ascending and staggering whirl or rough and biting feedback.
“This next song is a blueprint for pop-punk, but a cautionary tale,” Falco announced maybe 40 minutes into the show, preluding 2004’s “She Will Only Bring You Happiness.” “Note to self, be erect by half-past ten…” the song opens, sung above an uncharacteristically melancholy guitar melody. It took only moments for the crowd to be shouting with Falco.
“All the sea was coal,”
“Coal! Coal!”
There’s something magical when it feels like everybody around you agrees that each and every song played by a band is a “fan favorite.” Even the two new songs (new to the public, at least) that Mclusky played wrought reactions practically indistinguishable from songs released 20 years ago, known and loved like heirlooms.
“Our old singer is a sex criminal…”
As the show drew on and the stronghold of photographers at the front of the floor–all pressed right up against the stage–grew tired and gradually gave way wholly to the drunks and the die-hards, the self-abandoning fans and the mosh freaks, Damien and Falco talked with the audience. It felt to me that the band was simultaneously separate from the audience and deeply melding into it. They weren’t singing to the audience, they were singing with the audience—they weren’t talking to the audience, they were conversing with the audience.
When Falco mentioned that they had only two songs left planned for the night, audience members shouted out suggestions for what they wanted to hear them play. Promptly, about 5 minutes passed as Damien, Falco, and Jack talked with each other and the audience. Damien requested a drink, and ended up taking the suggestion of the person who eventually brought him a glass of scotch, “No Covers.”
“Right, you guys love a B-side, don’t you.”
What followed was a moment of Damien and Falco trying to remember how the song started—“No, no; you start this one.” After a single verse, Falco cut the band off and admitted that he had, indeed, completely forgotten what he was supposed to play on guitar.
Three more songs and two more drinks: by the end of the night, Damien had not one, but three drinks sitting on the mixer to his right on stage. When the band walked off stage, they left behind their powered, screaming amps.
