High energy, raw dog-dirty Rock and Roll. There’s nothing I love more than experiencing a band bring the ruckus. Tell a story, then scream an anthem. A tempo that’s first out of the gate, stronger yet down the stretch, and has a furious finish. I feel abandoned when the set is over, the excitement curve on which I judge my daily activities is blown to hell.

The Fucking Americans are a motley crew, each bringing their influences through the sound board and into your hearts, to complete dynamic five-piece rock and roll mayhem.

Rich Gill, lead vocalist and moderator of stage presence, keeps his life experience in his pocket, something he says he’s learned from the likes of Cash and Strummer, and draws from it with grace and fierce energy when his guitarists call on him. Chorus and verse are Rich’s call to arms, from dark and brooding, to devil-may-care and don’t give a fuck.

Matt Schaller, growling vocals and dragging a pick over the strings of his classic guitar, puts a distinctive Rock and Roll layer into every sound that comes from his amplifier. Matt Schaller is the lanky guitar samurai. Before songs earn titles from Rich, they are often referred to as ‘that song with the riff,’ or ‘that song with the lick.’

Chad Arnold has an amazing vision of how his guitars should communicate with and complement the others. There is a rigid and hardened sound that Chad draws from his extensive experience. His contribution to the sound provides a dynamic that requires attention of the audience.

Marshall LaCount picks out a bass line and makes certain that everyone sticks with the plan until it is finished. He is a rhythm jockey who knows when to hold back, change leads, and go balls out, bringing the thunder.

Jesse Bradley, commander of all rhythm, has been quoted saying, “Fuck drumming, drumming is my nature.” Jesse not only sets the foundation, but ties up all loose ends with his drumsticks, and determines how fast your heart is beating throughout the mayhem.

The Fucking Americans know no better feeling than getting caught up in their songs’ rock and roll drama, and from the looks of the sweat and beer glazed dance floors, either do audiences. The successful rock show offers answers to and relief from the hardships of this american life. Music, especially Rock and Roll, can be maintained as ours, not “theirs.”

Today’s “they” is insidious and gaining power always. “They” might be parents or bosses, but more likely “they” is the vague idea we have to describe the moneymaking machine we’re all up against. The one that puts their most recently designed hit on the charts every week, poisons our airwaves with it, and pastes its name on generic templates for this week’s “best of the year” list. “They” have ever more control over what is available to us, in what seems like a societal dumbing down. This happens in every aspect of our fucking american life, and globally, thanks to America’s superpowerdom. The Fucking Americans’ maintaining real, live, pure Rock and Roll is a quest to maintain real, live, pure life.

The understanding of many bands is that if you’ve had fun, something is going right. Having fun becomes the simplest and most subversive activity in the world, like a drunk punk’s drinking, or a freegan’s eating out of dumpsters. If the band shares their experience of playing a show with the audience, The Fucking Americans offer exhiliration, anger management, relief, and some proactive hope.

They prefer the honest, hardworking, and old-fashioned way of touring and playing out, the kind that allows them the opportunity to rock the fuck out for new people in new places. The very kind that reinforces a band’s well-being and longevity through successes and failures on the road.

The Fucking Americans have the hands that do the devil’s work.