by Josh Gross
Here's what I liked about Hudson Falcons' set for Punk Mondays at Liquid on April 15.
It wasn't just the balls-out rock and roll. It wasn't just the warp-speed beats reminiscent of Let's Go era Rancid. It wasn't just the medley of Buddy Holly and Jerry Lee Lewis songs that closed out the night. It wasn't just the "support the union and fuck the scabs," shout-outs in blood-red Idaho. It wasn't just the the thick Jersey accent or that frontman Mark Linskey's metric for remembering his first Boise gig was that it was when Ray Charles died.
It was that he looked like someone's lame dad, complete with spectacles and a bandanna. He tucked his T-shirt into his mom jeans, for shit's sake. And I'm pretty sure that he was wearing orthopedic shoes. Linskey quite literally looked as if he'd strolled out from the dish pit in the kitchen to pick up a guitar and blow the roof off the place during his smoke break.
Punk rock is as much fashion as it is music, something which is wildly exhausting. The level of inside baseball knowledge and time spent on one's hair or the rips in their jeans is absurd, turning music that was supposed to be about accessibility into an unapproachable, alien artifact. And Hudson Falcons turns that completely on its head by dropping the B.S. and just plain rocking.
It's fast. It's loud. It could be anybody on stage, even your dad. But more than any of that, it was honest. And that is what has always made rock and roll great.
As Linskey put it: "Boise and Jersey City don't have too much in fucking common, as anyone who's been there can tell you. But good people are good people no matter where you go. Sometimes you just have to look a little harder for them."