Where there’s smoke, there’s fire — the age-old caveat that where signs of combustion exist, something’s probably aflame. Smoke or Fire tears this sentiment to shreds, and the blood lands squarely on four pairs of rock-soiled, hardcore-calloused hands.
Where there’s smoke, you’ll probably find cigarettes burning through overcast Portland skies, above late-night bike rides and guerrilla graffiti raids. But where there’s fire, Molotov cocktails have surely been thrown. Tonight, both will threaten the integrity of Salt Lake City’s favorite indie fire hazard, Kilby Court.
Punk-rock nihilism is not wasted on Smoke or Fire, but the band’s sophomore release, This Sinking Ship, shapes the genre’s clich angst into something more passionate than preachy.
The war cries and bar ballads of frontman Joe McMahan balance the drudgery of the daily grind with the joys of friendship and the fury of political injustice with the conscientious satisfaction of direct action.
This poise is mirrored by the band’s ability to balance rock roots and post-hardcore preening, composing Johnny Cash-worthy acoustic ballads, Springstein-esque rockers and biting punk jams. And they all range from Avail fist-pumpers to Hot Water Music haymakers.
Smoke or Fire’s driving work ethic is quickly forging a reputation for blasting bleeding-hearted emotion through smoky dives and lofty clubs alike louder than the power chords the band overdrives through its classic, arena-ready Gibson guitars and Marshall amps.
The smoke of the band’s undeniable comradery exists in its powerful onstage presentation and heartfelt odes to friendship, screwing up and getting back up with the help of these said friendships. The fire manifests itself through passionate punk war cries and punishing power chords.
Take one or the other tonight at Kilby Court, or maybe just take in the point that life is full of good smoke and bad smoke, good fire and bad fire. And relax, because Joe’s still gonna be screaming, “It’s the world that has to change, not me,” sometime around 7 p.m.
