New Years Eve is the worst holiday.
It’s an amateur night filled with too many people, barf around every corner and dumb heels on your feet that you convinced yourself to wear but now your feet are on fire. It feels more like a welcome party to hell rather than to the New Year.
There are the exceptions—like the house party my high school friend Shelby threw when her parents were out of town for NYE in 2009-2010. The rest were all busts.
Until now. (Sorry Shelby. I haven’t seen you since that night but your house party has been demoted.)
Rough Trade’s party never started to suck. With Plastic Picnic, Thick and Diarrhea Planet on the bill I blissfully sailed into the New Year wearing a shimmery pantsuit, carried by hundreds of sweaty hands. It was beautiful.
The night began with a flask of tequila and a bottle of champagne—and that was before I even got to the show. Once I got to Rough Trade there was no time for chitchat. Thick was onstage and I had to go.
Thick is notorious for their love of Blink-182 and the gang of girls that flock to their live shows and rip the pit apart. Lucky me, I’ve been welcomed into this gang with open arms—open arms that picked me up, tossed me around and carried me through the air.
Thick’s pop-punk sound is melodic and mean. Singing about the annoyance of mansplaining and the torture of bleeding from your vagina, these girls make not giving a fuck fun. I instantly found myself crowd surfing and enjoying a nice warm beer shower.
I can’t even remember a pause between sets. When Diarrhea Planet took the stage, the crowd was throbbing for more action. Midnight hit, everyone kissed and the band thrusted into their first song like a stampede of bulls.
It took only one or two notes to start the moshing and crowd surfing. There was no build up in the set or single person who started the chaos—it was instant. It was like a flash flood of rock ‘n’ roll beats and metal riffs that turned the crowd into a whirlpool of bodies.
This wasn’t your everyday wild rock show though.
Everyone was dressed in sparkles. There wasn’t an amateur in sight. The Drummer Ian Bush stole the spotlight for “You Wreck Me” by Tom Petty, and guitarist Evan Bird took the lead mic for their covers of “Burning Down The House” by Talking Heads and “Shoot To Thrill” by AC/DC before climbing to the balcony to shower the crowd in champagne.
The crowd formed an ocean of hands to catch fellow audience members and band members alike. At least two out of the band’s four guitarists dove into the crowd. And even though guitarist Jordan Smith had to sit while he played due to a sprained ankle, you could still feel the energy and excitement oozing out of him.
I left the show with several mystery bruises and a pair of ruined boots (expect a bill from me, boys), but it was worth it. And I count myself lucky. Instead of getting dropped on my head and returning to work with a concussion, I’ve got some black and blue hips and a fried brain.
If we were all able to survive this absolutely chaotic show, then we might have a chance in 2018.