Redbush sort of Irish-goodbyed the world while on top of the damn thing.
And it was a proper goodbye indeed, laddies.
On Nov 4th, Redbush performed their last set of wholesome, good-natured, hardcore punk rock music as though they were bound for Armageddon the next morning. With the grim reaper skanking his carcass off in the crowd, the band gave the world a proper Irish goodbye (ish) and tilted the axis at Moonlight Lounge in an emotional celebration of human growth through death.
Celebrating death on stage for the world to witness can be overpowering for most, and musicians do it daily. Not many of the mouth-breathing masses will undergo the superhuman phenom of bringing music to life in the public eye only to kill it one day on stage, often without warning. Good songwriters are quite intimate with murderous instincts.
Redbush celebrated their departure by giving vitality to the moment of now as stagnation creates certain death, and the great ones know the signs all too well from the dried blood stains on the brick wall of repeated experience; a masculine birthright into total acceptance.
JD, Jeremy, Jesse, and Greg unleashed a torrent of emotional ass-whoopins on the crowd while sacrificing their vanity to the rock gods; the ones responsible for summoning devoted fans to experience Redbush’s super-human application of booming baritone harmonies, gritty riffs, wacky antics, and the brotherly understanding that their music will never die as it now lives through those fortunate sumbitches who showed up to witness the love.
Gentlemen, a proper ripper indeed.
How do I tell the world they missed experiencing someone else’s pain on stage, through live music, pain shared by everyone there, and give life to their far more beautiful display of growth, through imperative death?
I dunno man.
But I sure am gonna miss those Redbush shows and I was damn proud to catch their lasssssst one.
Much love.
Stringer