Brokencyde @ Club Soda

After seeing Brokencyde at Club Soda on June 6^th, I feel that it is absolutely okay, if not necessary, to confess to you readers the retrospectively utterly embarrassing musical taste I had in the early days of my youth. I am now completely comfortable divulging this once uber-confidential information, and this is because all of my past sins against good taste combined (and this does include my prepubescent lust for cheesy macho men, namely John Travolta and Ricky Martin) do not even come close to the embarrassment 13 year old Quebecois girls will feel 6 months from now for attending a Brokencyde concert. In honour of my misguided, neon hair-dyed sisters, it’s now time to officially flush my street cred (which I have been working hard towards since I was 14) down the toilet.  

Okay, I know I said I was completely comfortable with this assassination of personal character, but I just want you to keep in mind that right now, as I type this paragraph, I’m 20 years old. So, time- and era-wise these spurts of fandom totally make sense, not that I feel the need to justify anything… Whatever. It begins: Between the ages of 12 and 13, I think I saw Simple Plan three or four times. And yes, there is a Simple Plan t-shirt hidden away in my parent’s house somewhere that I sincerely wish they’d burn. In addition to this, there is also a t-shirt autographed by the band I wish they’d destroy. And, sweet Jesus, there is also video evidence of this fandom that has been broadcast on national television, probably more than once (I will give you no clues as to how to find it, cause it’s waaaay too embarrassing). During this same tender and impressionable era, I became a fan of Avril Lavigne and, yes, wore a tie to school and a shitload of eye liner. This look was the first time I battled with the term “punk”; was it “punk” to label yourself as such, or was it infinitely more hardcore to deny it? For example, in Grade 8 gym class Jeff Richardson asked me if I was a “punk bitch” and although I said no, what I really thought was “I am so fucking punk. Clearly, I wear a tie to school every day so why should you even have to ask.” Up until later in my 13^th year on this earth, the “punk” bands I had seen consisted of groups like Treble Charger, Serial Joe, Sum 41 and Gob. Of course, the bubblegum pop phase that occurred just before my life as a super alternative preteen was just as bad, but doesn’t seem as embarrassing to me now; there were the Spice Girls and Backstreet Boys, but I believe loving those two groups was kind of a given for girls my age. I saw both Britney Spears and Christina Aguilara touring for their first albums and probably loved it… I think you get the picture.  

Enough about me (before I embarrass myself any further), let’s talk Brokencyde. I’m not sure about the rest of North America, but during my time spent in Ottawa as a high school student (biographically post pop punk, this the primarily Nirvana, Pixies, Sonic Youth era of my musical development) we always made fun of the ‘scene kids’ who hung out in front of the downtown Shopper’s Drugmart. You may have used other labels, but I’m sure you have encountered this subculture many times in your own hometown; these were the kids who swore by Manic Panic to tint their shaggy, asymmetrical haircuts, wore tight black skinny jeans and, essentially, all looked female though most of them were dudes. They listened to screamo bands with morbid band names and adorned their wrists with those infamous jelly ‘sex bracelets’. Either way, I figured that the ‘scene kid scene’ had died out around 2007, epitomized by a final monologue reading as follows:  

“I had just turned 15 and realized my time had finally come. No longer was I a child, but existed between a boy and a man. All I wanted was to live carefree, full of joy, and then my pathetic mother and father refused to let me be myself, forcing me to wear dress pants to my grandmother’s 75^th birthday celebration at the cost of my dignity. I also missed the only all-ages show AFI played in Ottawa and I know for a fact they’re going to be on indefinite hiatus after this tour. My motto is live fast, die beautiful and that’s what I shall do. I dedicate this suicide note to the only friend who was always there for me, one silver razor’s blade, and with this companion I shall form the most delightful strawberry gashes upon my young and pure wrists, ending my term in this awful and unjust world. See you in Hell!”  

As evidenced by last week’s performance, Brokencyde has brought back the ‘scene kid scene’ with a vengeance, but a wholly different agenda and attitude. While the uniform remains, the message has changed from “kill me” to “ONE, TWO, SUCK MY DICK!” While I’m not trying to be ridiculously crude with this review, it’s almost impossible not to be. Brokencyde’s “screamo crunk” catalogue has two primary focuses: getting “fucked” and “getting fucked up”. In their live performances, this is even more obvious; at least once, lead singer (not to be confused with a lead screamer called Se7en) Mikl asked the 12 to 17 year old audience “WHO HERE WANTS TO FUCK SE7EN TONIGHT???” Though I am a woman of few and questionable morals, I must say my mouth was gaping for the majority of Brokencyde’s performance.  

Let’s start at the beginning. It’s about 9 pm as my boyfriend and I approach Club Soda, wondering what the hell kind of individual would shell out, well, any money at all to see a band like Brokencyde (note that we are under the impression this is an 18+ show, cause Google told us so). Our question is answered moments later when we see a huge and incredibly underage crowd outside the venue smoking cigarettes and squealing with excitement. We go inside to find whoever was taking care of the guest list had already left, so we were both let in without questioning. I make a quick stop at the bathroom before the band’s set starts, only to discover the door won’t open. I automatically assume what any reasonable adult (relatively speaking) would in this situation: “HOLY SHIT 14 YEAR OLDS HAVE LOCKED THEMSELVES IN THE BATHROOM TO DO COKE! IS THERE ANYTHING GOOD LEFT IN THIS WORLD?!” Two seconds later I realize I’m a fucking idiot and the door is only coincidently jammed as I manage to open it on my second attempt with a bit more force. The kids inside are simply exchanging hairstyling tips. This is when I come to the conclusion I would be the worst parent ever. As I result, I finish my business and grab a beer.  

All of the open alcohol (realistically about 4 bottles of Molson Ex and a covert water bottle or two of Peach Schnapps stolen from parent’s liquor cabinets) in the room could not get me drunk enough to cope elegantly with the madness that would ensue onstage in three minutes' time. I thought I could be an effective passive observer, a mature reporter just doing her job. Instead, I often found myself doubled over with laughter, rudely pointing to audience members and spewing more expletives than an angry Christian Bale.

The second the lights go down the crowd squeals and screams like they’re about to see a Justin Timberlake/Justin Bieber collaboration project. The band takes the stage, and the first thing I notice is that nameless band member # 3 is kind of fat. This is the group’s only quasi-redeeming factor in the world of teenybopperdom. The group’s stage presence is incredibly odd mixing boy band posturing, white boy hip hop hand gestures and a fondness for public crotch fondling inappropriate for anyone over the age of 2. They appropriately perform their contemporary classic “Sex Toyz” in which they discuss their appreciation for women with musings on how ladies “make my pee pee hard”. These renaissance men seemed to be on a quest to ‘get ass’, constantly asking their young audience to “…shake your asses, sexy ladies! Where the sexy ladies at?” to fully understand how awful the group’s music blows both on and off stage (side note: I suspect there was some lip-synching going on during the performance), you have to take a listen to the music for yourself. Here’s a short list of essential Brokencyde listening for your aural pleasure taken directly from Sunday night’s set:

1. “40 oz”: while the boys stuck to drinking water on stage, this little ditty expresses their super cool love of alcohol and weed. They reminded the audience of this passion by never shutting the fuck up about getting intoxicated and asking the kiddies “Do you guys like to drink?! Do you like to smoke weed?!” Of course, they all scream in agreement even though they can’t budget a five piece on their measly $10 a week allowance.
2. “Freaxxx”: a crowd favourite. The fans, filling less than half the venue, jump and dance along to the song that they somehow know all the words to; they even have the screaming queues down pat.
3. “Pop it”: more requests for ass popping and shaking.
4. “Bootycall”: Even more requests for ass shaking and getting nasty.
5. “Sexy Bitch”: a cover of that David Guetta (apparently) song. You know, “I’m tryin’ to find the words to describe this girl without being disrespectful”. An unintentionally ironic song choice, as this statement totally negates everything Brokencyde has stood for since their formation in 2006.

This review is getting really long, so I’m going to finish it off. Listen to some Brokencyde and look forward to a follow-up article in the very near future. I’m not kidding. I am formulating a more in depth investigation of the group and some of the troubling behaviours I witnessed at the show. For now, I’ll sum it up in terms their core audience will understand and appreciate: Brokencyde’s June 6^th performance at Club Soda was a bigger travesty than George W. Bush’s 8 year presidential stint. It was awful, it was entertaining, it was overwhelmingly concerning and I hope I never have stand through something like that again.