Unrest Eggs +/-

Until recently I had lived my entire life in the cozy confines of suburban Maryland, about as blue a state as you can get. Well, those four years in the riot-haven that is College Park weren’t so cozy, but hey, it was college—it’s not supposed to be cozy.

Anyway, when a new job took me to Arlington, Virginia and I decided to pack up and move there as well, it was a decision that was greeted derisively. My friends asked if I planned to start chewing tobacco. My parents were borderline horrified. And within the first couple days of my move, I was greeted by an article in the Washington Post talking about how some folks in the area walk into their local Starbucks packing heat—what’s more, this is perfectly legal in Virginia.

Still, I maintained that Arlington wasn’t all that bad. After all, Unrest and Teenbeat Records originated in Arlington, so how bad could it be? While the Washington-area music scene is often singularly identified with Minor Threat, Fugazi, and Dischord Records, it’s certainly not the only game in town.

Teenbeat, founded by Unrest’s Mark Robinson, was built on the same strict DIY ethic as Ian Mackaye’s Dischord, and offered just as much in the way of memorable music. Granted, the most “memorable music” came from Unrest, but you could say that about the years themselves, 1990-1993, when Unrest peaked. Perhaps it was because the band broke up right as the alternative boom was really gaining steam, trickling down from the Nirvanas and Smashing Pumpkins of the world to the Pavements and Sebadohs, but Unrest never really got the recognition it deserved.

But you’d never know that from being inside Washington’s Black Cat. A host of Teenbeat alums, including Unrest, staged reunions alongside the label’s current roster.

This certainly wasn’t a show to be missed. And it wasn’t. Not even the threat of a winter storm (if you live near D.C. you know that nothing shuts the city down like the possibility of a snowflake or two) kept the crowd away. The scene at the show—which was sold out in advance, a rarity at the Black Cat—was joyous. This is not something you find yourself saying in relation to the Black Cat all that often.

There were hugs aplenty given out to friends and acquaintances past. The entire evening was a trip down memory lane, with nearly every person ubiquitous enough to earn a nickname back in the day reemerging. Why, there’s Ultimate Scenester Leigh, who I’m pretty sure flew in. And there’s Every Show Soulmate, the guy who was once at 12 consecutive shows that I attended. Ah, of course, Balding Beardy Glasses Guy, although to be fair, that nickname could have been given to a number of people here tonight.

There were also plenty of members of the current D.C. music community in the house as well:

Preppy guy that used to be in Barcelona—check. Greasy guy from Metropolitan—check. Smilin’ Dan Searing from the Saturday People and Castaway Stones—check. Archie from Velocity Girl—check.

And, of course, from Weird War/Scene Creamers/The Make-Up/Nation of Ulysses, there’s everyone’s favorite Castro-loving astrologist, Ian Svenonius.

But as much as the evening was about remembering the good times, the majority of the crowd was there for one reason, and that was to see Unrest. Sure, five other bands played, and they were (for the most part) enjoyable.

Eggs proved that good indie rock could in fact heavily feature both trombone and bongos. +/- sounded like they might have fit in a bit better at a Touch & Go showcase, with their soft/loud dynamic complemented by electronic beats, but even so they brought a welcome bit of aggression to the evening.

Still, it was all about the main attraction.

There probably isn’t a more jaded, been-there, done-that crew than that of the aging hipster community of D.C., but that all went out the window when Unrest hit the stage about 15 minutes before midnight.

Mark Robinson, the only one in the group who has been performing regularly over the past decade, looked comfortable up on the stage, donning a pair of aviator sunglasses that made for an interesting outfit when combined with his track-suit jacket and curly, receding mini-fro. Bassist Bridget Cross and drummer Phil Krauth looked a bit less at ease, but they loosened up when the group launched into its opening number, “Suki”, also the opener on their indie-rock pantheon album Imperial f.f.r.r.

The second the first note was played, camera phones and digital cameras were thrust into the air from all over the crowd, a scene more reminiscent of a—oh, I don’t know, how about—Gavin McGraw show than those that usually transpire at the Black Cat.

“Suki” is a great representation of the Unrest sound, a sound that to this day remains one of the most unique in the annals of indie rock. It’s extremely rhythmic, with almost every element contributing to driving the sound forward. Krauth and Cross provide the foundation with their sterling work, and Robinson just adds to it with his guitar. There aren’t really too many hooks to speak of; his manically strummed playing style—of which only early-Wedding Present can serve as a comparison—is just as percussive as anything else. And vocally, it’s all about the cadence with which he delivers the lines. That’s why he can get away with repeating the word “kicking” a few dozen times (or just blurt out random numbers, as he’s wont to do) and it still works. But when he does need to come in with that vocal hook, Robinson can deliver. And when he hit that first high note on “Suki”, it was a thing of beauty. On the quiet next number, “Imperial”, where the high notes are the highlight of the song, Robinson—by now sans shades—hit each one.

After a strong performance of “I Do Believe You Are Blushing” which capped the opening trio of Imperial, the band paused for its first break. After the initial post-song applause died down, the Black Cat become eerily quiet. What had been a rather jovial crowd all night was now almost completely hushed. It’s safe to say that there was a bit of shock and awe going on. Yes, we were actually seeing Unrest. We were the lucky ones. This wasn’t like that Pixies reunion tour, which took them everywhere from Slovenia to Saskatoon. This was one night only.

After a somewhat somber middle of the set, the highlight of which was the bouncy, Krauth-sung “West Coast Love Affair”, you could tell that the group was ready to turn it up a notch, and they did, launching into “Make Out Club”, from their 1993 swansong Perfect Teeth. It takes a special song to serve as the inspiration for a proto-Friendster online indie dating service—or maybe it doesn’t. In any case, it does take a special song to get the entire Black Cat shimmying, and that’s what happened.

D.C. crowds are notorious for their stoicism, but there were arms a-flailing and rumps a-shaking. “Cath Carroll”, another standout from Perfect Teeth, soon followed, and although Robinson’s guitar lacked the distorted punch of the recorded version, it still inspired plenty of glee. And then… it was over. The band gave its thanks and walked off stage.

But we knew they’d be back, and they were. The Cross-sung “June” was pleasant, but Bridget didn’t have a good vocal mix the entire night. And while she also missed a note or two, the ones she hit still left quite an impression. After a rousing version of “Cherry Cream On”—which features one of the best parts of any Unrest song, when the band comes to complete stop and is led into the next verse by Krauth’s machine-gun drumming—the band seemed to be getting its second wind.

After more than a decade of not playing together, there was some rust to be sure, although not as much as you’d think, but now they were really cooking. But that was it. This time the goodbyes were for real, and the house music coming up signaled that it really was over. Twelve songs? 50 minutes? That’s all? That’s what we waited a dozen years for?

Yes, it was. And, save the length of the set, it’s pretty safe to say that not a single person in the club would have changed a thing.