Nearly overflowing onto the street, the line outside Grewal Hall stretched like a serpent, challenging our persistence and boredom. It was filled largely by late twenty-somethings — a weird mix of Gen Z and Millennials — earnestly waiting for the doors to open. The air smelled of fruity vapes, cigarettes and weed, typical for a pre-show queue. Inside the venue, the eclectic crowd dispersed into a space that looked like a rectangular, minimalist cafe, albeit one that charged $8 for a mediocre latte (they did have a surprisingly wonderful fountain Diet Coke, though). It was a mix of indie, alternative, emo and everything in between packed together; despite the style disparity, everyone was brimming with a giddy excitement.
The show opened with Harrison Gordon, an emo band out of Normal, Illinois, who brought the energy an opener needs in their efficient 30-minute set. The venue was bobbing, crowd-surfing and moshing as the titular member, Harrison Gordon, belted about being banned from Loves truck stop. Their gritty and melodic riffs, emo vocals and angsty lyrics fit beautifully into Grewal Hall’s hard edges, filling the venue with noise and twenty-something dread. At one point, the band told the pit to circle a concert-goer donning a yellow banana suit, because “he is your God.” The atmosphere was amiable, and the band felt like something you’d hear in the basement of a sweaty, vibrant co-op, with heads banging and swaying carelessly.
Following Harrison Gordon, emo band Ben Quad, from Oklahoma City, stole the audience’s attention. Ben Quad didn’t let a moment pass unfilled, keeping the crowd engaged with transition songs ranging from the Fortnite lobby music to the “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” theme as they retuned between tracks. They did it so often, the lead vocalist recommended that anyone who wants to write emo music only use standard tuning, so they won’t have to constantly toy with their instruments. Unsolicited advice aside, Ben Quad was absolutely shredding on every instrument, the type of tapping that would make Buckethead jealous. Their fun and energetic set perfectly prepared the crowd for Free Throw. My only qualm with their set was their teasing intro of “Never Meant” by American Football and subsequent abandonment of the rest of the song.
The crowd went bonkers when Free Throw took to the stage with a plume of inhalants. Afterward, Free Throw jumped into their first album, Those Days Are Gone, with an explosive rendition of “Such Luck,” that slowly built into the song’s apex, making the whole venue scream along. Free Throw worked through the album’s sequencing without missing a beat. “Two Beers In” felt like a religious experience, with everyone in the venue hoarsely moving to the music and yelling the lyrics: “Fuck everything about this.”
The atmosphere was electric, and each jangly, distorted riff added more energy to an already hyped room. At one point, members of the crowd held lighters (yes, actual lighters) above their heads for the band. Crowd surfing started in every part of the venue, ebbing and flowing like an ocean.
Between songs, the band thanked the crowd and let them know how much they appreciated Michigan for supporting them throughout their career. As the set continued, the raucous and visceral energy never dropped, dipping only briefly as members of the crowd attempted to get Free Throw to play “Free Bird” (they did not, nor did they play the other crowd request of “Bags” by Clairo). The band clearly felt the energy of the crowd, responding just as enthusiastically to lead singer, Cory Castro, stripping out of his shirt and riling the fans. Beer and water flew above the crowd, but neither could dampen the venue’s spirits. After the band finished playing Those Days Are Gone, they stepped off stage, but quickly returned to play an encore, including some of their other hits, with the addition of guest vocals by Nathan “Tades” Sanville, Michigan native and Hot Mulligan lead singer. Free Throw thanked the crowd and left the stage — for real this time.
Free Throw brought what everyone was asking for. The supporting acts got the ball rolling, and Free Throw capitalized on the manufactured euphoria. It was a cathartic and angsty emo show that liberated the crowd and allowed them to forget the world for two-and-a-half hours. As the lights turned on, we were returned to the minimalist chic styling of rectangular Grewal Hall at 224 and the real world.
Daily Arts Contributor Miles Anderson can be reached at milesand@umich.edu.
