Mogwai
St. Andrew’s Hall
Wednesday, April 16
I’m often writing about getting older in a music scene where I grew up, where the names are changing from Adam to Addison and I’m always promising myself that next time is when I’ll finally remember to bring ear plugs.
I couldn’t agree more with fellow Midbrow-ist Tony Daquipa, who recently wrote: “The simple fact is, punk is old. The good news though, is that being old is punk af.”
But damn, did anyone just hear my knees crack?
I felt punk and old af at the Mogwai show at St. Andrew’s Hall.
The Scottish post-punk noise rockers were finally back in Detroit, touring their latest album “The Bad Fire,” which doesn’t cover much new ground but continues to build on a legacy of one of the loudest bands you can see in 2025. They’ve pushed the quiet-loud-quiet agenda over the years, bringing soaring shoegaze guitars and driving drums, and don’t miss a beat today. I honestly think the crowd would be a little disappointed if they had veered into too far of a direction.
The last time I saw them was almost 20 years ago at the same venue. They actually played a lot of the same stuff, but I was completely different.
It was like returning to the scene of a crime.
I wasn’t packed into the audience downstairs trying to get closer and closer to the stage; I was coddled upstairs in the VIP balcony section with a lot of aging punk rockers like myself, some who didn’t even leave the VIP bar to watch and chose instead to see the show on closed-circuit TVs from their bar stools.
And I wasn’t underage and sneaking beers anymore. I didn’t have to wash the Xs off my hands to try and score a beer, and my friend didn’t get busted this time and kicked out. (Je asked on his way out, “well, are we all going to just leave?” And we said, “No, we’ll meet in an hour after the show.” Cold as the beer I was legally drinking today.)
And the sad truth is… I shouldn’t have gone back 20 years later to try and recreate a memory that was best left under glass in the memory museum and forever untouched.
As powerful as the post-punk pulse of Mogwai still is today, it simply doesn’t scratch the same itches for me today (although opening track “God Gets Your Back” is by far the best song on the new album and was a perfect set opener).
Luckily, I had a friend with me who had never heard or seen them before, who was thoroughly blown away by the whole thing. That made me feel less guilty about my own hang-ups about aging out of the scene and corrupting a beautiful memory from the past.
