By Brian Turk
By Drew AIles
By Taylor Boylston
By Bree Davies
By Emerald O'Brien
By Gina Tron
By Jon Solomon
That was the first time that the Gainesville, Florida-based act had been to the Mile High City. And that night has become such urban legend that it's still making the rounds in insular gossip circles -- mostly because of what happened afterward. The group -- which didn't even get a chance to set up its equipment before the police intervened -- had supposedly agreed to make up for the disrupted set later that night at another semi-remote location. The kids came by, but Against Me! never showed.
"I don't think anyone ever asked us," says frontman/guitarist Tom Gabel. "I remember the cops showed up and we had all of our gear inside. We were made to wait outside, just like everyone else. It was a huge, massive ordeal getting our gear out, and once we did, we left and we drove. But I'm assuming that we had a show booked the next day, and Denver to anywhere is a long drive, so there's no way we would have committed to another show."
Gabel laughs a bit as he attempts to account for his band's alleged disappearance that night. He's used to being on the defensive, constantly having to answer to ill-spun rumors that depict him and his bandmates -- guitarist James Bowman, bassist Andrew Seward and drummer Warren Oakes -- as nothing more than egomaniacal punk fakers. Against Me!, which started as Gabel's acoustic solo project and has since evolved into a solid four-piece, has had to deal with an inordinate amount of absurd scene politics, which has provoked fair-weather fans into acts of Fatal Attraction-level bizarreness.
Not too long after the Denver show, the act switched from indie label No Idea to slightly bigger indie label Fat Wreck Chords. It was a move that much of Against Me!'s underground following felt was a capitalist copout for mainstream exposure. Bill Florio, a columnist for Maximum Rock'n'Roll, ceaselessly railed against the decision in the widely distributed zine and even advocated for readers to sabotage Against Me! sets. "He was saying that they should come to the shows and pour bleach on our T-shirts and merch," Gabel says, "just this insane ranting and raving in his columns, saying that we were the fucking devil."
But the worst of the fan backlash came from kids who went so far as trying to physically intimidate the group.
"It was so fucked up," Gabel remembers. "We played at a Polish-American hall in Long Island; it was us and the Lawrence Arms and Communiqué. Three bands, the show was eight dollars, I think, and a seventeen-year-old girl put on the show, just a fan of the band who contacted us. By no means was it like a huge corporate rock club or anything like that, and, you know, we had played Long Island a bunch of times before.
"All these people who we thought were our friends came out to the show," he goes on, "and I remember in the middle of the show, a couple of the people were standing up front, and they were physically trying to stop me from playing. They were putting their hands on my guitar, and at first I was like, 'Oh, you guys are joking. What's this?' And then I realized that they were really trying to stop me from playing. And there was this one dude -- Frank was his name -- and while we were playing, he'd gone out and slashed our tires. They weren't even trying to hide it that they did it. They were just like, 'Yeah, we fucking slashed your tires, you fucking sellouts.'"
If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, then impassioned acts of violence against a band that you once loved probably come in a close second. Such backward adoration, as baffling as it may be, must have a basis in something. and for Against Me!, it seems to lie in three words: Reinventing Axl Rose.
The 2002 debut full-length was eleven songs of folk-punk charm that politico-rockers hailed as perfect smash-the-state anthems. For Gabel, who grew up on military bases and in staunch Republican neighborhoods, it was a musical outlet for his strong political views, which had been ruminating since he first discovered punk rock in his teens. Songs such as "The Politics of Starving" and the fan favorite sing-along "Baby, I'm an Anarchist!" embraced youthful cynicism and reverberated with the kind of honesty that cannot be mocked.
But as Gabel and his bandmates matured, so did their musicianship. Each subsequent album shifted not just in sound, but in lyrical themes, moving out of aggressive politics and into more personal subjects. And although the Florida boys remained steadfast in their anarchist beliefs, longtime fans felt more and more alienated with each release, resulting in constant censure of the act's musical and business-minded decisions.