The Bronx at the HiFi

By Robin O’Brien

…supported by themselves as Mariachi el Bronx, Numbers Radio and Dr El Suavo
The audio of the gig

I was concerned about seeing the Bronx in the Hifi’s terraced room. At gigs there I always find myself perched on the edge of a step, balancing drinks when people push past. Given the Bronx’s ability to whip their audience into a leaping frenzy I foresaw carnage and broken legs; potentially mine. 

DJ and apparent MC, Dr El Suavo – dressed in black tie with white neck scarf and a Mexican wrestling mask didn’t ease my concern so much as give me something to focus my irritation upon, prattling on like a pompous arse between the uninspired songs he played.

Mariachi el Bronx was an intriguing unknown. My understanding of it was that the Bronx were giving life to their love of traditional mariachi music which seemed to have great potential for being an embarrassing wank or a lifeless pisstake.

The band appeared in Mexican outfits, lacking only the charro hats. Singer Matt Caughthran walked on with a Corona in hand and Mariachi el Bronx launched into it. It was absolutely mariachi, and the band was clearly enjoying it. The crowd was too.

The music was quiet enough that talking punters would have disrupted the sound, but the Bronx’s people engaged. Song titles like Cell Mates, Litigation and My Brother the Gun hint at the subject matter of the songs. Matt Caughthran expressed longing and hurt in a voice remarkably untainted by years of larynx-shredding screaming in front of a hardcore punk band. His unfailing grin at performing in front a crowd contrasted with the coolness of the rest of the group, particularly sunglassed drummer Jorma Vik.

As an experiment or as a genuine band, it worked. A crowd that came to see a hardcore punk band were swaying along to a Mariachi band with a female guitarron player.

As soon as they finished there was a mass exodus. I joined it – so the next act, Numbers Radio, remain a mystery to me. At $26 for three beers poured into plastic cups too small for them, so the last 30mls or so is poured out, not many wanted to lay down their cash to charge up in the venue.

The room refilled in time to hear Dr El Suavo describe the fans down the front as dickheads and then the Bronx made their way out gripping beers and looking like they’d been drinking steadily for the hour since we last saw them.

They tore straight in and were unidentifiable from their earlier guise. Caughthran was screaming, Jorma Vik was brutalising his drumkit and Brad Magers looked like a bass player with a collection of Lynyrd Skynyrd records rather than the moustachioed mariachi trumpeter he had been earlier.

The Bronx exuded total joy in the music and the event. They created a sense of community with the fans who braved the pit. My apprehension about the venue’s many stairs proved unfounded, the flat area in front of the stage was the perfect size for the surging pit the band whipped up. Caughthran exhorted his people to “go crazy” and “retarded” and they responded with leaping, crowd surfing and a few stage invasions that were greeted with pleasure by the band – microphones were shared.

When the crowd’s energy waned after a sloppy middle section from the band, who seemed too pissed to maintain their focus, Caughthran leapt down to join the crowd in the pit to push things along. The hands-on approach squeezed more energy from the crowd, much to the dismay of the two bouncers defending the stage. Caughthran praised them for their work but explained that “these are our good, close friends here and we want to get close to eachother.” How many bands who’ve moved beyond their loungerooms give an audience a blank cheque like that?

The crowd didn’t abuse it, just fed off the blitz of noise. Caughthran summed it up when he told the bouncers they were great, the band they were greater and the crowd that they were the greatest.

The set was just over an hour and included most of the highlights from the band’s three albums, with They Will Us All (Without Mercy) and White Tar the standouts.

That a hardcore punk band from LA could be so life affirming is remarkable – it was pure, total rocknroll. The crowd left smiling.