It took exactly three seconds for the band to prove me wrong. The bass came in first, dark and deliberate, followed by the sharp crack of drums locking into a tight, nervous groove. Then the guitar noise erupted, and suddenly the room transformed. I turned around and saw that what had been a nearly empty floor was now packed with people dancing to the first song, "Ether," as if they’d been summoned by that opening volley of sound. From there, the band launched into Entertainment! in full, to the delight of a crowd that had grown almost miraculously in the heat and haze. The setlist may have been predictable, but that’s the point: this sequence of songs doesn’t need surprises. It just needs to be played, loud, tight, alive.
Ted Leo had the unenviable task of stepping into Andy Gill’s place, and he did so with precision and conviction. Not a mere clone of his predecessor, he was channeling him, capturing the spirit of that angular, deconstructed playing with every jagged riff, every squeal of feedback, every tightly coiled lead. Gail Greenwood was a show unto herself, exuding joy and rock ’n’ roll charisma while locking into a tight, manic groove with Hugo Burnham, who was nothing short of heroic. Crutch or not, he never wavered from that white-hot, four-on-the-floor beat: funky, punky, urgent. Jon King was a manic, jittery force of nature, the ultimate post-punk frontman: cerebral, explosive, and fully present, whether pounding a microwave with a baseball bat in a display of agitprop theater or shouting postmodern, situationist slogans. Whatever the moment, he remained unwaveringly committed to the message.
And the message is why we’re all here: those anti-capitalist, anti-consumerist, defiantly rebellious songs feel even more vital today. That’s why Gang of Four had to return: because these times need them. And that’s also why they now must implode: because these times don't deserve them.
