The fact is, as the Philadelphia crowd lumbered into Kung Fu Necktie on September 21, 2014, located in the rising Fishtown entertainment district, they were grumpy. Although it was humid, it was not particularly warm. The energy of summer fun had worn off and it was a Sunday night. The next day, people had school or jobs to attended, meaning that before Hardskin/Kicker show kicked off, people were a little sluggish.

Opening act Ruffed Up started the show with some energetic, three chord punk. As influenced by the early English smashes as well as the early new York scene, the band slugged through about seven numbers that were rooted in classic 1—2—3—4 rocking, but has flashes of gruff—punk and even some Oi. It being their second or third show, the band made small talk about their new—ness in between their songs. The band has some growing to do, but their initial energy is promising.

Next, Oakland's Kicker took the stage to show off their new tunes. As they gained momentum with their opening song, the instrumental "Kick off," their frontman, the world famous Pete the Roadie, stomped through the audience, jostling the audience, revving himself up, and getting that wild look in his eye. By the time he took the stage, Pete was in fine form, spitting out lyrics in his wonderfully thick, wonderfully tar—and—glass, English accent.

The band blasted through some new numbers, such as the rocking new "You can't take me anywhere." A self—referential number, Pete cut out hilarious lyrics about how he can be a menace on the road while the band smashed out hard hitting, UK82 influenced punk. In fine form the whole night, Pete alternated between compemmentign the audience and baiting them with lines like, "This song isa bout being punk and old… which you lot don't know bout because you all look mighty young to me!" At one point he either threw change at the audience, or had change thrown at him, during the famed "got any change man?" line of the band's sweet and sour take on crusties, "Crusty Island." The reasons Pete is so iconic are that he is as energetic as he is witty as he is genuine— which is a great deal.

As with their best tunes, Kicker exhibited what makes them so special. On one hand, the band is saluting everything that's great about punk rock— aggressive energy, snappy riffs, and edged lyrics. But on the other hand, the band is also winking at itself, acknowledging the silliness of actually being in a punk band, as well as the lasting damage of 35+ years of rocking out.

Interestingly, while the band's earliest material leaned off the work of the UK Subs and GBH, the newer songs are growing in complexity. Guitarist Mauz (of Dystopia) and bassist Dave Ed (of Neurosis) are bona—fide avant—garde—metal champions, so they've taken to injecting more twisting, spidery lines into the new songs. Then, just as they build up tension, drummer Toby (of Filth) will snap down on his drums and hurl the band forward via their classic punk slashing. For his part, Toby tends to start songs with the precise style of Robo before halfway through a song, speeding up and growing wilder, making songs explode at the end in the great tradition of both early rock and roll and early punk rock. Mauz was continually vibrating around the stage, shaking like a diode, so juiced up by the music that he, at times, he seemed to lose control of his own body. Dave Ed, who always looks so menacing at Neurosis shows, standing just a few feet back from Steve Von Til and Scott Kelley with a scowl on his face, exhibited a different personality entirely. In lieu of brooding, Dave as something of a more loose cannon than usual. At time, he was like Mauz, rocking out as if the music was a revival meeting. At others, usually when he developed Kicker's newer, stranger pieces, Dave was so focused on the music, that his face twisted into sometimes silly, sometimes grim expressions. At one point, I'm pretty sure he unconsciously borrowed a few looks from David Lee Roth. The fact is, Kicker is growing with their new material, but keeping both the solid rumble, and the authentic sprit, which makes them so unique. That's the way to do it.

With the crowd warmed up, legendary Oi band Hard Skin took the stage, cracking into the jokes right away. Almost as much as a standup routine as a rock show, Hard Skin started talking about how much they hated the Eagles, before revealing that they were unaware that in Philadelphia, the eagles were anything more than a terrible 70's soft rock band.

Once they got to work, it became clear why they've lasted decades why so many more serious Oi bands have folded. Hard Skin at once celebrates Oi music and culture— brotherhood, honesty, hard work— as well as pokes fun at it. The music itself is unimpeachable, and really, is some of the very best Oi punk there is. It becomes elevated above its contemporaries as the band shows both reference for, and takes the piss out of, the genre.

The band dedicated "Who's that boy?" to "Philadelphia's expansive gay—crusty scene." I'm pretty sure they had a song that was anti—cop and another tat was pro—cop. Between each song, the band developed a sort of standup routine, claiming that they were "Embarrassed at having sold so many copies of the new records," and that by there mere virtue of owning the new record, one will immediately become more attractive.

The band flipped between their classics and newer songs, highlighting that the newest material is just as strong as the earliest stuff, and really, this is a band that appreciates the classic form as well as the ability to cut down the classic form. Really, that's what punk is all about.

Random notes:
—If you buy a tour 7—inch from Hard Skin, they will stamp it with the day and city that you bought it at, at the show. That's pretty cool.
—Philadelphia's own Mischief Brew was in attendance and a little birdie told me that the band has some really cool things in the works. Exciting!
—Along those lines, after the gig, Pete the Roadie, by mere virtue of being himself, was working his charm on Janine of Witch Hunt, wife of MB's Shawn StClair. I laughed as poor Shawn's face became overcast with despair and defeat. "I can't compete with that," he mumbled to himself. "I'm out of my league here."