“We’re 43” was one of the first things singer Jordan Blilie said when the Blood Brothers took the stage at the Black Lodge on Tuesday night for a “secret,” all ages, $5-at-the-door show announced on Instagram only a day earlier.
Despite the quip suggesting the band had aged, they then tore into “Set Fire to the Face on Fire,” off their 2006 album Young Machetes, and co-vocalist Johnny Whitney immediately became one with the crowd, riding the sea of people. Fans packed in tight to the 120-capacity room, with everyone singing and screaming along—it was as warmly chaotic as when the Blood Brothers played similar DIY spaces decades ago. “I’m tied to a seagull’s back / Yeah fire, fire, fire!” Whitney screamed as Blilie held his ground, lurking the stage with his version of the same firey energy.
Tuesday night’s show was the Blood Brothers’ first show in Seattle in a decade, and fans started lining up as early as 11 am for a rare chance to see the band as they were back in the day. By the early afternoon, a stream of people wrapped around the block. The line was full of warm vibes—people held spots for each other throughout the afternoon if someone had to take a break, and others ordered pizza for everyone. Friends all around.
Like many late-’90s hardcore bands in the past few years, the Blood Brothers reunited on a wave of late-millennial nostalgia and younger generations discovering their music for the first time. For me, a 43-year-old dad, it brought back being 19 and taking a Greyhound from NYC to Columbus, Ohio, to see them at the More Than Music Fest in 2002. Whitney was stage-diving and sweaty as all hell within 30 seconds of the first note—almost no separation between the band and their fans. On Tuesday, it could have been the same time.
The Blood Brothers formed in Seattle in the late ’90s when Whitney, Blilie, Morgan Henderson, Mark Gajadhar, and Cody Votolato were in high school—Blilie and Whitney have been friends since the first day of 7th grade. They played small shows at legendary Seattle spots like the Velvet Elvis, the Old Redmond Firehouse, RCKNDY, and the Paradox before going off on their first tour in 2000 when Votolato—a year younger than the rest of the band—graduated from high school.
When I first saw them, I didn’t know what to do with their screechy, sassy blend of punk, hardcore, and even dance. I kinda just stood there, whoa’d by a sound I hadn’t experienced before. Even though I’d seen plenty of bands who were just as loud, it took me a minute to get it, but they soon became one of my favorite bands. It was a sound that would soon bridge kids across music scenes—from DIY punk to arena-nü-metal—and ultimately got the band signed to a major label with a record produced by Ross Robinson. They even performed on Jimmy Kimmel Live! but were never invited back because they didn’t give in to pressure to play the more “radio-friendly” song. (Iconic.).
What has always been so endearing about the Blood Brothers is that, while their music and stage presence are so loud, heavy, and wild, and the pit is just as crazy, their shows never felt unsafe. People dance and slam into each other, but unlike many hardcore and metal shows, you never feel like some douchebag is going to throw a roundhouse or that you’ll be pummelled by a Wall of Death. Everyone feels like a friend, always ready to pick you up if you hit the floor. And the balance of men, women, boys, girls, and nonbinary people is, and always has been, there. Tuesday was no exception.
As Blilie and Whitney screamed their dada-ist off-kilter words, the rest of the band was consistently cool. Henderson hypnotically played bass and sometimes keyboards. There’s a laid-backness to his vibe, similar to his calm when playing for Fleet Foxes. And Mark Gajadhar continued to pound the drums, the backbone of all the wild. Guitarist Cody Votolato mostly stayed toward the back of the stage, strumming mathy, frenetic riffs, but he occasionally found himself on the floor and in the crowd.
The Blood Brothers’ nearly 30-song set covered all ends of their discography. At one point, someone shouted “Doctor Doctor,” one of the best songs off of their first album, This Adultery Is Ripe, to which Blilie responded, “You only get one old song. Just kidding—half this set is old songs,” before shortly jumping into “Jennifer” and the song’s most memorable line, just in time for Halloween: “You don’t need a doctor baby, you need a mortician.”
In a recent interview with Stereogum, Blilie described “training” for the reunion shows. He and the rest of the band felt like if they were going to reunite, beyond playing tight, well-rehearsed sets, it was also their responsibility to keep the same hardcore energy alive. As 43-year-olds with full-time jobs—many of whom are also dads—whether they’d live up to this promise was a gamble, but they brought it with fire, fire, fire.