Where were you on October 10, 2015, the day Titus Andronicus conquered the world? Perhaps you were out with friends, or maybe in a library studying? It would be easy to have been caught up in the happenings of another Saturday night, but in a tiny stage just west of the Capitol Square, beneath the dimming lights and swinging amplifiers of The Frequency, Titus Andronicus usurped the title of “greatest band in the world.”
That title’s entirely subjective, but I’m hard-pressed to find a more worthy heir. In the span of 90 or so minutes, New Jersey’s Shakespearian punks burned through brawny fist-raisers and ragged hip-shakers, twisting through classic rock’s eased swagger and punk’s righteous edge with an eye for fluid progression. Songs never felt out of place; every guitar solo, piano volley and bellowed growl was as precise as it was wild.
But I might be getting ahead of myself. I’ve only been a fan of Titus Andronicus for about a year now, spurred by a friend who knew how much I loved other Jersey rock alumni. I was immediately taken in by The Monitor, Titus Andronicus’ second album set somewhere between the height of the Civil War and Bruce Springsteen’s Born to Run. From there, The Replacements-like symbiosis that bounced between rock ’n’ roll purism, punk’s vitality and something more adventurous felt like a perfect fit in my musical world of a lost flannel heartland.
Yet, there’s no way I was alone in the claustrophobic pit of The Frequency. As Titus Andronicus’ songs rang through the club, the sold-out crowd sang along to nearly every word. Fists were raised across the crowd when singer Patrick Stickles led the penultimate “You’ll always be a loser” chants at the end of “No Future Part Three: Escape from No Future” with fire in his eyes and a finger and a thumb slapped across his forehead.
A mosh pit exploded in the center of the stage when “No Future” turned to “Titus Andronicus,” the battle cry at the center of Titus Andronicus’s first album. Towards the back, where I had set up shop, those less interested in the pit were still screaming the lyrics back at Stickles and gang.
Then there were the mandatory new songs, the excerpts from Titus Andronicus’s self-described “transformative odyssey,” The Most Lamentable Tragedy. It was a fact that Stickles was quick to joke about, “I hope you don’t mind if we play a few songs off the new album,” Stickles teased. “Who would’ve expected that?”
Those new songs were played with just as much fury as the peeled paint and loose strings of Titus Andronicus’ guitars thrashed and the drums erupted. “No Future Part IV: No Future Triumphant” and its cycling riffs pumped the air with gusto, followed by the Celtic thunder of “Stranded” and the bluesy swagger of “Lonely Boy.”
Titus Andronicus inherited another talent from The Replacements, one that was readily apparent in between the fan favorites and sing-alongs: spontaneity. What do you do when your baseball team loses and you’ve already played the “loser song?” Stickles’ answer was apparently to turn “Meet the Mets” into a rock and roll sing-along. How do you show love to the great state of Wisconsin? Toss out Milwaukee’s own “Blister in the Sun,” the Violent Femmes’ omnipresent acoustic rocker.
Titus Andronicus wasn’t alone that night. They shared the stage with Baked, a New York troupe of dream pop punks who, ironically, prefer their food fried according to their singer. They washed the crowd with feedback, a trick the second opener Spider Bags followed with. “Kids love the echo,” their singer laughed during the soundcheck before ripping into a set of Placemats punk with a Sonic Youth spin.
Baked warmed the crowd over, and Spider Bags swooned with that rocker’s croon, but it was pretty obvious who the stars of that night were. Spider Bags’ singer Dan McGee said it best himself, before spinning up another feedback-led jam session. “Titus Andronicus,” he said, drenched in sweat as the rest of his band looked on. “The best f------ band out there.”