afropunk atl: upchuck brings the beautiful fury

If a band’s name is synonymous with throwing up, I’m in. It’s 3 PM. and I’ve seen the first Black Juggalo I’ve ever seen in my life, let alone in the moshpit, so I’m all the way the fuck in. Have you ever seen a 3 PM moshpit? It’s four, then five, then 10 punks who all know what the deal is. And then someone tackles their friend until their beer spills on the pavement. Upchuck, par the course, gave minimal fucks about the first-set slump: their front-woman Kaila Thompson came in with a shriek, then spent the better part of a half-hour with the mic in a prayer-like grip, striding to rage. At one point, two of her bandmates surrounded her as they shredded, forming a holy trinity, while a throwback Satanism news clip flashed into static behind them.

Upchuck was the most punk shit one could’ve seen on Windsor during AFROPUNK Atlanta. They gallivanted in rage, swigging beer and strumming each other’s instruments. At one point, a different member sang in Spanish, as they all took the swigs. Upchuck carries the kind of firepower that can incinerate a small town and grow a garden from the rubble. Issa beautiful fury they’ve conjured up. As supercharged as the group’s 30 minutes were, I barely heard a word. Aggravating as it was, I made quicker peace than I realized, off the sheer intensity of how every emotion translated through an unfortunate case of a bad mix. The overcast sky fared most appropriate, and Upchuck was sick of everyone’s shit. Personally, I’m sick of only having three demos to comb through, and I anticipate their full-length with unreliable legs for the dancing.