• Paul Israel

Saturday night's Undertow/Unbroken Northwest reunion show at El Corazon was not only a celebration of Undertow and the impact the band had on the hardcore scene in the ’90s (and beyond, really), but it was also, in a way, a celebration of Brian Redman's life, the local musician who died last week in a tragic scooter accident. Redman played in Trial, 3 Inches of Blood, and Left With Nothing, and the music he helped make impacted just about everyone in that room in one way or another. They were taking donations for his family at the door, and nearly every band on the bill took a moment to say kind words about Redman and the audience cheered and applauded each time, proving he will be missed, but never forgotten.

For weeks leading up the show, there were rumors that there was going to be a very special guest jumping on the bill—those rumors proved true after Strain's set. Before Unbroken played, Converge, who were played earlier that night at the WaMu Theater with Mastadon, took the stage. They praised Undertow for being one of the reasons they're where they are today, and burned through a set of about eight mostly older songs.

When I saw Unbroken in Chicago earlier this year, it was the first time I had ever seen the band and only the second time the band had played since breaking up in the mid ’90s. The first time they reunited, it was to play a benefit show for their former guitar player, Eric Allen, who committed suicide a few years after the band broke up. Chicago's performance was charged with emotion and passion and impossible to top. So on Saturday, they had more fun with it. They were clearly playing one more time for Undertow, who wouldn't have wanted to reunite without Unbroken being a part of it, and they put forth an honest effort. But it felt pretty obvious that they wanted their last show to be in Chicago.

The highlight of the night was, as it should've been, Undertow. Undertow's music may be a frenzied, pissed off tantrum (and they played it so fucking well!) but singer John Pettibone was surprisingly jolly all night. In fact, everyone in the band was having a good time—occasionally exchanging grins and funny faces as they played. As kids jumped on stage and ran in front of Pettibone to stage dive, he splashed them with the contents of his water bottle and giggle to himself the same way an old man would when turning on the sprinkler in his front yard just as the neighbor kid ran over to fetch an overthrown baseball. He called out old friends from the audience and thanked them for being there—at the show and in his life. He dedicated songs to both Brian Redman and Eric Allen, and he credited Undertow and Unbroken for being the only bands at the time who seemed to understand what hardcore was about and were smart enough to "know when to fucking break up."

The energy in the room was so positive (despite the half-dozen or so angry dudes security had to drag from the venue throughout the night), and only once did things threaten to get ugly: in the middle of one of Undertow's songs, three security guards formed a small circle at the edge of the pit. While flashing their flashlights down to the ground, they yelled for people to move aside. The pit was ugly. I've never seen so many bodies piling on top of bodies at El Corazon—feet were connecting with faces, heads were smashing into heads, arms were tangling with arms and bending in directions arms probably shouldn't bend—and by the looks of things, something went horribly wrong. Pettibone saw the mass of security from the stage and stopped the band from finishing the song to make sure everyone was okay.

"What's going on?" he yelled into the mic from the stage. The band and crowd were silent—for a second, everyone looked over, worried that a broken face or busted leg or unconscious body was about to be lifted out of the crowd. There was a little more scuffle, a few more seconds of silence, and then one of the guards yelled "He lost his glasses!"

"GLASSES!?!?" Pettibone shouted with disbelief. They retrieved the lost spectacles from the ground, then he laughed, everyone cheered, and the music started up again. And right before they played their lost song, Pettibone promised "This is it. This is the last song." And of course everyone, went back to going fucking crazy.

Some friends have set up a memorial fund for Brian Redman's family. Click here for more information.

Photo by Paul Israel, from the Stranger's Flickr Pool. You can see many more amazing shots from the show here.