This was my sojourn. Fugazi scheduled two outdoor concerts for the summer of two thousand, both free, both in Washington D.C. A free show was my only chance, I figured, to catch the band in action, since they will not charge more than around eight dollars for a ticket. Coupled with the band’s popularity, this made it almost impossible to get tickets. So this free concert was my chance and it became my sojourn. Seven hours by car, missing two days of work, gasoline, food, turnpike expenses.
I met a friend in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. We drove to the outskirts of Washington and took the metro to a steamy capitol, moist with opportunity but poised with stormy disappointment. Fort Reno was a guardian to Washington during the Civil War, overseeing three roads that led to the city from the north, so it was a fitting place to oversee my entrance to Fugazi. Arriving several hours early to inspect, we were greeted by a rickety wooden stage suited more for a two-man play than a squirming rock band. But it was no mirage, which only excited my already monumental anticipation.
After spending several hours in cool sanctuaries around town, we returned to seek a decent spot, at which point the weather god sent a sucker punch. The rain started gently, but looming was a powerful thunderhead. It was a spectacular show: we were drenched in rain and doubt that the show would actually happen. But the solitary cloud sped along and left us to pursue the music. The rain had scared many away, but upon our return the park was bustling. Two more giant cells taunted us along the skyline, they were determined to keep me from seeing Fugazi.
The Vertebrates, the opening band, began their set despite the oncoming doom. Several concertgoers told me that the band was not very good, but honestly I thought they were fairly decent, but I could have been daydreaming the entire time. After all, however, what band would look spectacular stood next to Fugazi? By the time they had finished we were all in danger of being electrocuted, but the rain had yet to arrive.
Guy, Ian, Brendan, and Joe mounted the stage and brought with them an aura that extended into the crowd. A man who runs a political organization in the area began to give a speech, but I was so intoxicated by the atmosphere that his message failed to dent my attention. He went on and on and on and on and on and I noticed that my fists were clenched, let them play let them play. Brendan began to tap out a background beat while he was still speaking and I almost erupted with frustration. He finally went away, we were all treated to the normal: “We’re Fugazi, from Washington D.C.”
And they ripped on. Guy angled-guitar-slinging, Ian striking with voice, Joe calmly accepting the groove and pounding away, Brendan furiously leading onward, dinner bell and all. Five songs in the rain came, slanted. The lights shining on Guy’s face revealed the wetness; the wind nipped at his hair. It was like an ethereal production from Hollywood: The intelligent rocker emotes while the surrounding elements match his anger and beauty. They were the fiercest storm clouds I had seen in a while (quite a compliment from a tornadic state). But the band dueled the sky and it actually seemed like perhaps Fugazi were the god of weather. As “Turnover” hit a crescendo, a brilliant burst of lightning tickled the dark sky like tournament brackets. It was one of those perfect moments that seem to stand still for several seconds. And after that, it all went away, the clouds did not bother us again.
They blessed our ears with “Public Witness Program,” “Bad Mouth,” “Smallpox Champion”…God, they played everything, or so it seemed. The signatures were there: Guy beserked, Ian gave us a piece of opinion on the world (namely how frightening the arrests over merely protesting are), but most of all they functioned as a go-with-the-flow band. I know they never go by a play list, that they decide what to play on the spot, but it was such an amazing thing to see in motion. All the cliched well-oiled machine metaphors do not do their performance merit. What I saw was a presentation of the entire being of the band, the culmination of each member’s mood and emotional state, all added and spliced with the end result being their impromptu show. I have touted Doug Martsch as the best guitarist I have seen, but Fugazi are by far the best at working together, no contest.
And they played new songs! I was half-expecting the band to announce that this would have been their final show. But the new songs silenced the “End Hits” rumors; at least I hope they do.
They thought they had finished, but we demanded more. And their encore was such a perfect ending: Tingling performances of “No Surprise,” “Close Captioned,” and “Arpeggiator.” (all from “End Hits”…hmmm) It was an exclamation point to a sentence already seeping with exclamation.
For hours upon hours afterward, I smiled. It was all worth it. Fugazi lived up to their live reputation. I cannot fully convey the magic that flowed at Fort Reno; it almost felt like I was watching independent rock history, a seminal experience. But at the same time it felt like I was watching the bud of an even greater band. Several times Brendan was so pained with continuing his torrid drumming that it looked like he could die, but they surged forward, growing stronger with every passing second. I guess that could sum up the band’s existence. And I, passing the same seconds, grew stronger by having experienced them.