A quick whistle stop tour over the Internet allows you to pull together the general ethos of White Fang. As punk as punk really comes, it’s thrown at you directly through the foggy haze of drugs and has its tongue so firmly in its own cheek in everything it does. It is music that is not necessarily to be taken seriously but allows for a whole lot of fun throughout, that is arguably all it really stands for but of course, to have this fun it makes a few demands of the audience too. It is DIY punk music straight from Portland, Oregon and after recently relocating to Los Angeles, they have become tied into the Burger Records ethos. I was intrigued to see how they would get on at Green Door Store tonight, it was a Sunday after all and would they be able to pull a crowd that fits the music or would it fall slightly on deaf ears?

The show was initially put back slightly, largely due to the fact that not a single soul asides from myself and the sound man was present. As White Fang approached the stage, there was an obvious sense of apprehension, where was it going to go and where would people come from? Bodies began to filter through the looming curtain as they began to venture into their set but the issue with this music is that it demands an intensity within the crowd to really take off and have the desired effect. As front man Ricky experimented with his t-shirt in various ways, it’s clear they are a band that pour energy into their live shows – impersonating various sexual acts with all members, lunging around and acting out the lyrics in a mock fashion.

You couldn’t help but feel a little sympathetic for the band onstage, songs such as ‘4-Track Mind’ that would generally cause a stir within crowds just seemed to simmer slightly and when the music is taken objectively, it is music that really requires an interaction with a crowd as it is fairly basic three chord punk with little melody. The punk ethos is so prevalent within the music, it’s a colourful blend of drunken hedonism emulated through the minds of stoners, the chaps onstage are completely and utterly off the rail, from the interactions with one another to the music itself and the lyrical content. It is music that, if performed live at a party would take off sensationally, when performed to a very empty Green Door Store, it falls flat on its face unfortunately. The white-trash irony that is lamented throughout the entire set, from the likes of ‘Wrecked’, ‘Pissing In The Driveway’ and ‘Bong Rip’ all detail the sort of music that is currently so embedded within the West Coast punk scene. It is music that so heavily details an American youth lifestyle, it is perhaps a little unorthodox to British culture. Bud Light does not really exist here and pot smoking is more often that not, something that outlines a minority as a drug of choice.

Nevertheless, as the set carried on, it consistently veered on the edge of tragedy, never quite falling completely off the track. The group onstage were taking it in turns to come down to the cobbled floor and dance to their counterparts onstage, in particular ‘Chairman Of The Bored’ lead for Ricky to throw himself around, trying valiantly to pull audience members in. Ricky bent and twisted his t-shirt over and around his head, wearing it as a headband, cape and mask at various different intervals, the drummer put back a tidy amount of tequila and the guitarist managed to get a microphone stuffed down his jeans. The effort from the group onstage to engage with the audience was admirable, their effort and work for the best part of an hour lead for them to be interesting to watch, albeit a slightly chaotic set. Had it been a busier night, perhaps not a Sunday, it may have really taken off as a show and it’s a shame the music instead just swam around a tired looking room.
Tom Churchill

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