Scranton, PA – 03 Sept, 2023
Jesus H Christ, whats with the goddamned punk music on the Lord’s Day?
And on the third day, they rose again in fulfillment of the set times. Now I realize some groups want you to keep holy the sabbath, so for those of us in attendance on the Sunday portion of Camp Punksylvania, we all went to church. Before the day was even scheduled to start, members of the Riot Squad Media team were put in a position where they had to forgive those who trespassed against them when campers awoke to find the parking and vendor areas overrun by the Pennsatucky dirt merchants at the Scranton Flea Market.
The staff jumped into action, people taking jobs none of them expected as videographers stood sentry and sound guys set up “do not cross” tape to keep the peddlers from accidentally finding themselves in the pit. This could have been the team’s “why hast thou forsaken me?” moment, finding themselves looking for help that wasn’t going to come but instead these volunteers and their trinity of leadership faced and resolved the situation head on, without playing victim. Nobody would have blamed them for claiming martyrdom, but Riot Squad knew there wasn’t time to waste in the garden of Gethsemane. I barely had the time to joke about finding a VHS copy of American Pie and a well-used penis pump at one of the tables with the dude at the Say-10 Records tent before the army of volunteers figured out a way to move forward. It was impressive and all involved should be proud of the grace, maturity and intelligence upon which they handled an extremely uncomfortable situation.
The surprise squatters got the hint that there was no room at this inn when the first act of the day, The Mostly Dead, opened up the high holy day festivities. With killer rock and roll blaring from the speakers, the marketplace dwindled. Some stragglers tried to disrupt the sermon by reflecting light from their pedo-vans directly into the eyes of the performers, the band turned their cheeks and let their hymnals drown out the unrepentant. Freeze MF followed up on the main stage with an aural beatdown of biblical proportions. If the folks in Scranton planned on sleeping in, the Philly four-piece woke them right the fuck up and got them dancing and slamming with their brutal bops.
The trio of acts on the Main Stage before opening the Sampler Stage was rounded out by Avenues. If the parking lot set-up, blistering heat and this skate-punk quartet gave off strong Warped Tour vibes. It felt like 1998 again and I was ready to see what kind of dancing I could do in these orthopedic vans (at least until I remembered that my advanced age no longer allows such movements). Disappointment hit hard when I found that 3 of the 4 members of Warn The Duke were unable to play due to COVID. I’d been looking forward to these guys, and didn’t think an acoustic set would be as fun, but I enjoyed the shit out of it! Dan McCool may have been handed lemons for this set, but by the time he was covering Social Distortion everyone in that tent had been feeling refreshed with the lemonade he created. The fucking legends, Doc Rotten, took the Main Stage next and proved why they have remained such a fixture for so long. Nothing could get in the way of their punk rock sermons, turning water to wine performing a six-string guitar part on 5 strings when one broke.
ASMR returned following a killer day 2 performance to tear down the Sampler Stage with their exciting and in-your-face brand of punk. Vocalist Phoenix and the rest of ASMR took to the stage in their Sunday best to lead a Babel-esque chorus through bombastic tracks, calling out for the toppling of old gods, preparing to tear down every wall interfering with our ability to live and love freely. A band of feral raccoons in the form of Carbomb Parade commandeered the Main Stage next, though the singer, Rev. Nicky Bullets wasn’t really on the stage. Instead he took his pulpit and roamed and growled his way throughout the gathered congregation baptizing the overheated mass with his jug of holy water.
Prodigal son, Dan McCool, returned to the Sampler Stage next, as the one-man Warn The Duke brought about another stirring acoustic set, this time culminating in the cover of “Nothing Compares 2 U,” written by Prince but perfected by friend of this church Sinead O’Connor. Meanwhile on the mainstage, the unholy resurrection of young campers drowned an hour east of here. The Jasons, took to the stage and, like the counselors who let them drown, the hockey-mask adorned quartet reminded campers of the dangers (and more importantly the good time) that comes part and parcel with sex, drugs and rock and roll. Taking the audience to hell in a handbasket, the slasher punks shredded through our ears and souls. To paraphrase frontman Jason V, thank you Anti Flag for getting canceled so we could hear The Jasons instead.
The What Nows?! brought an acoustic set to the Sampler Stage. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a ska act perform acoustically without removing their brass section, but a muted trumpet in the tent created a gorgeous sound, especially on the campfire version of “Broken Down” (from the Comp Punksylvania album).
Back on the main stage was one of the bands I was most stoked on this weekend, Fat Heaven. Since I first heard Trash Life when I was preparing to interview Fat Heaven this summer, I was immediately impressed. The aggressive pop-punk felt tailored to my life in a car (long work commutes, not homelessness). In a live setting though, the Brooklyn trio proved themselves strengthened in a live setting. Their energy on the stage blazed through the crowd, like the burning bush, and earned themselves a flock of disciples. Another barn-burning performance followed immediately as Brandon Richie returned to the Sampler Stage. As they had on day 2, the artist performed with divine speed and enigmatic energy. The band announced they will be known as Pusch going forward, but whatever name they go by, you should be putting your ears to their speakers and letting the spirit fill your soul.
Continuing the sermon on the Pocono mount, three-piece upstarts Froggy dominated the stage. Don’t let the trio’s sprightly appearance fuel you, their songwriting and musicianship is far beyond their young looks. Equal doses of sincerity and self-deprecation, Froggy traverses a musical tightrope and shines bright. Condition Oakland brought to the Sampler Stage its Wilkes-Barre delegation (which I believe means Sweet Anne Marie took over duties on bass). As they had last night on the Fire Stage, Condition Oakland won me over with a bombastic delight of emo-folkish punk.
Sunday services continued when the international ska-core punks Dissidente took the Main Stage. Dissidente put out one of the best records of 2022 and was likely the band I was most excited for at Camp Punksylvania. These beautiful motherfuckers did not disappoint. Frontman Chris Ruckus wasted no time opening up the gospel, shouting out a salty sermon and sounding 7 trumpets against the Q-Tang Klan and the rest of the far-right bootlickers. Virtuosic guitar and bass solos echoed off the mountains behind us as Dissidente preached a simple message of violent rebellion against all who live fat through the oppression of others.
No punk or ska show in 2023 would be complete without an Operation Ivy cover sprinkled in. While Avenues performed “Knowledge,” Working Class Stiffs chose to take things another step by performing an entire set of Op Ivy tracks. The raucous set was exhilarating, but my dumbass really fucked things up with this set, and I’ll explain in just a minute, but first I want to mention how impressed I was by the Days N Daze set. I had no expectations for it. I knew the band because I check out everything Fat puts out but I didn’t have any opinions of what they were doing, similar to things I’ve said before, what I’d heard from them never resonated so I never invested time in getting to really understand the sound. What a fucking mistake that was, huh? I don’t know what genre they are being categorized under, maybe blue-thrash? Honestly though, I don’t care what they are called. Their set was high energy and sounded beautiful. Their psalms of joyful noise made our hearts full.
Remember a few lines back when I mentioned that I fucked up? Well, this is the parable of how I made a terrible decision and almost missed The Chemical Imbalance and their debut performance. Like I mentioned this all starts with the Working Class Op Ivy set, which was not listed on the set times, or, as it turned out, was listed but under a pseudonym. Between seeing a band perform under a different name and knowing that The Chemical Imbalance had many shared members with Fat Chance (who canceled yesterday’s performance for vehicle issues) I falsely assumed the cover set was a replacement and the Sampler Stage was closed down. I missed the first third of the 15-minute set. I fucked up. I got in for the final 10 minutes, and what a fucking rip the performance was, however a crowded tent combined with my fat, tired and dejected set meant I took 0 photos of the performance. Either way it was a rowdy shot of adrenaline I needed and a definite signal I’ll need to be checking these dudes out again, real fast.
That actually did close down the Sampler Stage, and River City Rebels took to the Main Stage. RCR have always been an odd for me. I don’t believe I’ve ever intentionally put on one of their records, but I have seen them probably 15 times and think they are among the best live sets to exist. They continue to impress on stage even in 2023, thanks to a highly caffeinated blast of rock. The set ended with former member (and current Warn The Duke frontman) Dan McCool coming out for a sing-along.
Baltimore’s War on Women took the stage. It didn’t take long for front woman Shawna Potter to commandeer the stage and set forth on a path full of piss, vinegar, hellfire and brimstone.
Potter is a consistent and impressive presence on the mic, a powerful pastor and good shepherd . She would alternate between fun dance moves and headbanging a flurry of long, mermaid-colored hair swinging in the air. She was connected to the crowd, fun, high-energy and most importantly, she was powerful. It was an absolute delight to watch the rest of the band enjoy the fuck out of their time on stage, but it was near impossible to take your eyes off Potter long enough to watch them enjoy their time, even when you could watch her enjoying her bandmates.
The band was unabashed and unafraid, spitting venom that would make the sphincter spasm in any incel unfortunate enough to overhear their homily. War on Women, and Potter in particular, tore the fucking roof off the Circle Drive-In. Today’s performances from Dissidente and War on Women reignited a smoldering flame deep in my gut and reminded me of the power and unity of a middle finger flying high.
Final headliners, A Wilhelm Scream did what they have done since they were still called Smackin Isaiah, which is perform with the energy and passion of one thousand suns. The night air cooled the crowd, but the Massachusetts powerhouse kept the scene hot. Filling our cathedral with odd-time signatures and unique perspectives AWS showed off why they have such lasting power. A Wilhelm Scream brought forth their own plagues, replacing frogs and locusts with riffs and screams, I was willing to douse myself in lamb’s blood to keep the set going. Unfortunately like all good things, the stage needed to be shut down so the local Scrantonites could get their rest.
Following the Golgothan Hill to the Fire Stage (with its 3 crucifixes to show the way), I found myself struggling to keep my eyes open waiting for the first of the late night performers. Sweet Anne Marie, as she had in her first performance of the weekend, brought her beautiful voice to the stage, easily able to outshine a whole choir of seraphim with only her acoustic guitar and a microphone. I wish I could tell you that I enjoyed Jon Snodgrass and Linh Le after this, but Satan tempted me with reminders of my 2 hour drive home and only an hour of energy. I unfortunately had cut out on what was likely a life highlight for those who got to experience it.
Now for what I imagine to be the hardest part of any good Camp… the goodbyes and see you next years. On Saturday night, I got to share a few moments of candor with Jon Tumillo of Folly before our respective drives back to Northern NJ. He summed it up, and I’m paraphrasing, by saying this event was true DIY and it came through in the performances and receptions. Thanks to the Riot Squad team, those of us, whether performers or crowd members, were able to share these small moments with one another, from the security guard joking that I spent too much time going back and forth between stages, to the shark being led on a leash, and to the members of bands who were in the pit and against the barricades to sing along with their favorites, the many became one and it was fucking beautiful to be a part of it.
See you next year Camp, meet me at the waterfront after the social.
Bad Dad (occasionally called Ed) has been on the periphery of the punk and punk-adjacent scene for over twenty years. While many contributors to this site have musical experience and talent, Ed’s musical claim to fame comes from his time in arguably the most punk rock Blockbuster Video district in NJ where he worked alongside members of Blanks 77, Best Hit TV and Brian Fallon. He is more than just an awful father to his 2 daughters, he is also a dreadful husband, a subpar writer, a terrible dresser and has a severe deficiency in all things talent… but hey, at least he’s self-aware, amirite?
Check out the pathetic attempts at photography on his insta at https://www.instagram.com/bad_dad_photography/
