Show Me the Body's World War Tour Hit Chicago Like a Ton Of Bricks

Show Me the Body’s World War Tour Hit Chicago Like a Ton Of Bricks

Thursday night left me with two takeaways. One, punks are extremely clever, and two, how do you sneak a dead rat into a gig?

New York’s Show Me the Body, consisting of Julian Cashwan Pratt [vocals, banjo], Harlan Steed [bass, synthesizer], and Jack McDermott [drums], played a sold-out show at the Metro on Thursday night, as part of their “World War Tour”. With them on the road is, TRiPPJONES, Scowl, Zulu, and Jesus Piece, all of whom complement Show Me The Body’s hardcore sludge punk and hip-hop crossover sound perfectly

Not only will every act on this roster change your life after seeing them, but it’s also such a wonderfully diverse lineup. Scowl is a female-fronted metal band; TRiPPJONES, Zulu, and Jesus Piece all feature members who are people of color. It’s a beautiful thing to see such diversity at one concert.

There was no barrier between the audience and the stage. As Show Me the Body began to slam through several of their tracks, such as “Out of Place” and “Food from Plate”, the crowd broke out into chaos in the blink of an eye.

I watched from the balcony as mosh pits broke out immediately. Fans climbed on stage only to run across it and jump back into the crowd. People would jump off the stage and land directly onto the hard concrete floor as audience members failed to catch them, only to get right back up and repeat the process.

While people shoved each other and clawed at the air like it was something they didn’t understand, other people had the flashlights on their phones turned on and pointed to the floor, looking for items lost in the madness. At one point, a single shoe lay in the middle of the circle pit.

As people in spiked leather jackets hugged each other, others were running on stage and diving into the crowd, and as people fell, others picked them up. One girl held up a bracelet somebody had lost, only for another girl on the other side of the venue to see it and reclaim it. You won’t find this kind of camaraderie from a punk concert anywhere else!

Bodies threw themselves at each other mercilessly with bruising force. The crowd tried to steal Pratt’s banjo at one point, and ultimately broke it. Punks were screaming their battered hearts out as they were pushed onstage by friendly strangers. As I stood on the balcony watching this, I wondered if this was how Roman emperors felt watching gladiators in the colosseum. I watched in horror and fascination as I realized there was nothing I could do to help these vicious souls in the pit.

In the middle of young fans acting insane, somebody threw a wallet onstage. So many people were losing items or returning lost goods, why would somebody throw a wallet on stage? That belongs to someone! Then I realized: anybody could lie and say it’s their wallet. Anyone could pick it up and take it for themselves. One person must’ve seen a wallet and knew that, if they threw it onto the stage, Metro staff would find it later and properly return it. In the midst of sweaty chaos and harsh brutality – punks are incredibly quick-witted.

Not even three songs into the set, somebody threw a dead rat on stage. One audience member, who had jumped off the stage at least 40 times already, climbed onstage, saw the dead rat, kicked it strategically out of the way, politely tapped a security guard to let them know of the situation, and then launched themselves offstage and into the mosh pit again. It was the most punk thing I’ve ever seen.

Show Me the Body never faltered. As they played, the Metro was their church and audience members were devout followers. They performed with an air of strictness and authority, as though they were here to preach the message of their noise. To worship, you had to completely lose yourself in the music – preferably in the pit.

Watching them perform and rile up the crowd was like watching something in between an extreme sport, a motivational speech, and a battle cry; a call to arms for those who are angry and want the world to make sense.

There was no buildup throughout the concert, no hint of when the madness was going to stop. Not until Pratt said, “thank you, we’re Show Me the Body” and then threw the microphone on the floor. Just as quickly as it started, it was suddenly all over.

The image of an empty stage, decorated with a busted banjo and a microphone on the floor, is a burning picture in my mind.