Mclusky Setlist

Fuck This Band (Snippet)
Lightsabre Cocksucking Blues
Without MSG I Am Nothing
Collagen Rock
What We’ve Learned
Unpopular Parts of a Pig
Whiteliberalonwhiteliberalaction
No New Wave No Fun
Chekhov’s Guns
As a Dad
She Will Only Bring You Happiness
Icarus Smicarus
Kafka-Esque Novelist Franz Kafka
Alan Is a Cowboy Killer
The World Loves Us and Is Our Bitch
The Battle of Los Angelsea
Rice Is Nice
People Person
Chases
I Know Computer
That Man Will Not Hang
Whoyouknow
To Hell With Good Intentions

Remaining Tour Dates

04 Apr — Metro Chicago, Chicago, IL
06 Apr — The Mod Club, Toronto, ON
08 Apr — Paradise Rock Club (presented by Citizens), Boston, MA
09 Apr — Warsaw, Brooklyn, NY
10 Apr — Underground Arts, Philadelphia, PA

Before Mclusky played a single note, a roadie walked out and quietly addressed the people in front of me with a warning: the monitor at the front of the stage could not be touched, leaned on, or disturbed in any way — or Mclusky would never tour again. The front row agreed. The monitor stayed put. The show went on. This is probably how it goes every night.

Mclusky — the Welsh post-punk trio who dissolved in 2005, reformed in 2014, and have now returned under the Ipecac banner — are exactly as good as you remember them. And they know it. And they’re going to tell you about it. Frontman Andy Falkous (Falco) is one of rock’s great smart-asses: the band reminded us that, no matter what’s happening in the world right now, Eric Clapton and Morrissey are both, every morning, a day closer to death. Falco issued formal clapping and singing instructions before “She Will Only Bring You Happiness,” (“clap on the beat — this is not a Mars Volta show”) and clarified their stance on encores (“no”) while audience members were still shouting requests. “We already played that one,” Falco noted, “plus it’s shit live, and I love this band — I’m in this band.” Fine Line’s acoustics swallowed some of Mclusky’s banter, which is a shame, because that attitude is Mclusky. These are lyrics that say confusing things in a conversational register over ripping rock, and in a room where you can’t quite parse every word, the juxtaposition hits a little softer than it should.

What worked: the songs themselves, particularly the deep Mclusky Do Dallas vein that made up the bulk of the set. The crowd — younger than expected, a fair number of folks who looked like they’d come straight from work, old noise-metal guys in Unsane and Shellac shirts — hooted along with most of it. Falco’s vintage Devo shirt earned the observation: “we knew the man had taste.” It felt like a revival in the best sense: not a band going through motions, but one genuinely having a good time revisiting a catalog that has inspired many bands after them, but with a voice all their own.

Pile, opening the first night of their tour, were something else. The Boston four-piece also play driving hard rock that resists reassuring structure — pleasantly chaotic, peppered with sweeter, slower breaks that arrive when you least expect them. Their guitarist went into the crowd. A Mclusky fan, in disbelief, yelled: “This is the WARM-UP band? RESPECT.” Pile closed with a song about Stephen Miller that opened with solidarity for the Twin Cities and escalated from there. Most bands say something about Minneapolis’s place in the history of resistance (and Mclusky seemingly winked at it, a bit), but Pile earned a roar of approval with their indictment of everything from Miller to ICE to American imperialism broadly.

Mclusky are a guaranteed good time. Pile were the surprise. Both are reasons to catch this tour before it wraps up.