First, watch this:
Now, read this:
Fucked Up, Akimbo, Police Teeth
(Neumos) Probably from a misguided sense of political loyalty, Fucked Up call themselves a hardcore band. But with their flutes, bongos, and nine-minute songs, they're too dynamic and inventive to hide their light under a bushel of genre clichés: Fucked Up are sui generis. Damian Abraham, a hairy mountain of a man, sings in a booze-and-broken-glass growl, but the Toronto band's instrumentation is melodic and droning, sometimes recalling Hüsker Dü, Pixies, and even the rhythm-and-drone rock of My Bloody Valentine. Hidden World, their 23rd release—and first full-length record; they've since released another—was a tribute to painter Henry Darger, who might be Fucked Up's spirit animal. Like Darger, Fucked Up are madly prolific, both pretty and dark, and pack their work with esoteric symbolism that troubles some listeners. (They have paid homage to the doomed, virtuous left of the Spanish Civil War, but have also been accused of neofascist sympathies.) More than anything, Fucked Up are surprising, which is more than you can say about most hardcore bands. Or most bands in general. BRENDAN KILEY
Finally, ask yourself, "Do I want to witness that kind of badass awesomeness LIVE?"
If you answered yes (and of course you did, because why wouldn't you?) then send an e-mail to freetickets@thestranger.com and you'll be entered to win to tickets to Fucked Up's show at Neumo's on Thursday Wednesday. It's all-ages (on the balcony, the floor's 21+), so enter away, children! I'm sure your parents would be stoked.
Oh yeah, and put Fucked Up in the subject line.
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