SATURDAY, AUGUST 25:

The infamously naughty and notoriously raucous Fuse! resurrected itself—albeit briefly in comparison to the more traditional nature of the miraculous occurrence—as the most confrontational act anyone saw all weekend at the Fuck Yeah Fest. I’m sure of it. What other band would threaten to pummel members of the audience and violently lament about how fucked-up the L.A. scene is since voluntarily disappearing from it four years ago? From what I could decipher, the contempt is motivated by a love of what screamer/guitarist Mars called “the neighborhood,” which has since morphed into a strange world that relies more on electronic “friendships,” than the camaraderie born from the arm-in-arm sweat and saliva-soaked pits the band incited back in the day. My guess is they don’t have a MySpace page. They also had no qualms about literally banging out their vicious repertoire of punk, abusing their instruments and sending cymbals careening across the stage like flying saucers. The Fuse! may be dead but their fan base isn’t. The middle of the crowd inevitably breathed more life into the set, creating a pit so terrifying (to me) that most casual onlookers decided it was best to inch away from the outer edges of the audience. Good idea, because I saw kids literally falling on their heads and bouncing and presumably drunk girls become rag dolls in a matter of seconds. All in all, the Fuse! played their hearts out, proving they can still do what they always did best—stir some shit up. (CL)