As we got off the metro at Tenleytown Station and began to move toward the escalators, it was apparent that the weather was no longer in our favor. Water was streaming (no...gushing) down the metal barrier in between the escalators, and as we ascended up toward the street, we could see and feel the downpour in full effect. The time was around 5:45, the date - August 7, 2000, the place - Washington D.C., the occasion - Fugazi.

To my left, a tall darkheaded kid in an Iggy Pop and the Stooges shirt and those thick birth control glasses (the standard army issue) looked over at us, rolled his eyes, and made a mad dash out into the rain. My friend Rick and I had been walking for eight hours in the 93 degree weather, sweating to death, and of course did not have the foresight to buy an umbrella. What? Rain? On the day of Fugazi? It wouldn't dare! So, discouraged and unprotected from the torrent, we started running down the street. We weren't sure where we were going, but we both voted it had to be "somewhere that sells coffee." What do you know, but God put a Starbucks right there by the metro. Soaking, we ran inside and up to the counter, where a dreadlocked kid brought us some coffee. Whoever it was back in the day that had the crazy idea to make a drink from beans (I mean who drinks beans, right?) gets mad props from me. We sipped our coffee and bemoaned the rotten luck that always seemed to follow us, our legs aching, and clothes sticking to us.

As we sat there contemplating wasting four hours of driving, eight hours of trekking across D.C., and like seven bucks on nasty street vendor hot dogs for a trip to D.C. to NOT see a Fugazi concert, the rain started to subside. Rasta-man at the counter gave us directions to the park (which took us all the way to the next metro stop but nowhere near the park) and we set off. It was still drizzling a bit, and water was dripping off the trees everywhere, but it seemed the show would go on. After more than an hour of walking the wrong way (despite my instincts - no one listens to me, I'm just a chick) we finally made it to the park. As we came up and over the hill, sliding through the mud and dodging cars along the way, we saw the great Fort Reno Park.

Basically, Fort Reno is a field (a hilly field) with a very big tree. The stage is about a 17x12 ft. flat wood surface about six inches thick, about four feet off the ground. No shelter, no big lighting rig, no ladders to climb around the top of the stage, just field, stage, sky. That's it. As we came over the first hill, there were several tables set up parallel to the sound control tent with political propaganda, flyers for local band performances, CDs, and other miscellaneous constructive, activist stuff. The crowd was very young, mostly under 25 I would say, and clean looking. Not much of the insta-punk crowd was represented, no jerks that you would see at a Metallica concert or Ozzfest trying to mosh their way over the little people to get to the front, just a very young, very politically charged crowd. Fans of music. Not fans of the radio or fans of MTV, but fans of talent with a message.

The opening band, The Vertebraes (or Vertebrates - I must confess I know nothing about them) was already on. Nothing remarkable to say about this three piece except that the guitarist was a chick with a beautiful white SG, and the drummer and bassist kept switching places, making for a very diverse sound. I wish I could listen to them again, more closely next time. While they warmed up the crowd, Rick and I had the chance to meet Ian and Guy. Very cool.

If you are a frequent concertgoer like I am, you're used to certain rules. The stage is usually separated from the crowd by some sort of barrier - fence, wall, large muscular guys with thick necks - and there is definitely a "backstage" area where the peons aren’t allowed. Not so with Fugazi. They had all their crap in like an ’88 Dodge Van and were all walking around, talking to kids, helping the other band keep their stuff straight, etc. We literally just walked up and said, “Hello Ian MacKaye, legend of punk rock, original straightedge kid, musical genius. How are you?” Well, okay, we didn’t say anything quite that nerdy, but we did chat with Ian for a few minutes on skating at the new Vans park in Potomac Mills. We’re supposed to meet up with him next month sometime. Guy was just as cool, and talked with Rick’s buddy Anthony from Norfolk about his band. He took Anthony’s CD and promised to give it a listen.

Alright, since this is a concert review, on to the freakin concert already. It started to get dark, and the rain was still trying to ruin everything. By this time the rain itself wasn’t so bad, but when you’re in an open field, the amount of lightning we were dealing with was a little disconcerting. The wind had also picked up considerably. The guys went on, after a lengthy discourse by some chick from a local radio station and a Fort Reno sponsor. The rain was a little painful since the wind was blowing so hard, and I knew it was not helping Fugazi to sound any better. Their stage guys were trying their best to cover the back of their amps and the big speakers with garbage bags, and putting everything available from coolers to shoes on top to hold them down. I was a little nervous about all the water that was dripping off Guy’s black Rickenbacker and Ian’s trashed out SG. Electrocution was a frightening possibility.

The show was close to perfect. We heard many well-known Fugazi classics as well as some rockin’ new ear candy. Joe surprised the crowd when he took the mic on Recap Modotti. Evidently bass is not his only gift. Ian changed up the lyrics a bit during Bad Mouth and his vocals on Bed for the Scraping made us realize how much a live performance can change a song for the better. Guy’s unheard-of vocal diversity was clearly evident in his performances of Turnover and Forensic Scene, and when he belted out - You make yourself so beautiful, and now I feel like I’m going to set myself on fire – at the beginning of Margin Walker, the crowd started their own little sing-along. The real Fugazi fans emerged when the band busted out the number you’ll only hear live, Furniture. They jammed out several new instrumentals and had the crowd rockin’ the whole time. Brendan kept a constantly changing beat, making for a veritable wall of sound that ran one song right into the next.

The rain and lightning, while putting the crowd a little on edge, didn’t seem to phase Fugazi. The stage was really wet, and Guy slipped and fell at one point, but played it off really well by just wailing on his guitar while laying on the stage. During Keep Your Eyes Open, Ian and Guy were getting each other all riled up by jumping around the stage. On one particularly high, spinning jump, Guy got smacked right in the face with the headstock of Ian’s guitar. Ouch! No blood though. Ian gave a lengthy little sermon on the August 1 arrests at the Republican National Convention, and encouraged the crowd to not stand silently. He is so all about revolution.

Around 9:15 or so, we knew what was coming. When the band went off, we were bound and determined to get our encore, and after being cheered back onto the stage, they played a good chunk of the End Hits album. Ian’s raw but sweet voice on No Surprise and Closed Captioned went right into us. Just about the time we were all mellowed out, Fugazi ripped apart the ultimate jam, Arpeggiator. The positive, almost electric reaction of the crowd could be felt as well as heard. The stark contrast from the loud intro to F/D with Ian singing -son of a gun and knife and bomb - to Guy’s a cappella ending of - we always sell what we can’t own - left us stunned. They left us, soaking wet and dazed, but at least not fried by the lightning. This was a truly priceless concert experience, and thanks to Fugazi’s commitment to the kids, the cost was just that.

The guys deserve way more recognition than they get, and although I’m glad they haven’t sold out to corporate radio (I don’t think I’d listen to them if they did), sometimes I wish more kids knew about bands like Fugazi. I don’t approve of the dumbing down of America’s youth, who are being trained that just because bands like Godsmack and Limp Bizkit get played on the radio and MTV, they deserve credence as a talented group of musicians. They don’t make ‘em like they used to anymore. Fugazi can whip you into a frenzy, get you ready to take on the political world by storm, make you love someone, confuse you, lift your spirits with one song, and send them crashing down with the next. Never has there been such complete diversity in a band – from music to message, I’ll be rockin’ out to Fugazi for as long as I can.

Thanks a bunch to Amber Nussbaum