by: Kyle Harris
Perhaps it was a blessing that the weather gods obliterated the Flobots concert in early June at Levitt Pavilion.
The opening act of that show, busking-heroes-turned-protest-marching-band Brothers of Brass, made it through most of its set, and the group got to pay homage to Krishnaswami Ramachandran Azad, a member who died earlier this year. The sky cried, lightning raged, and the crowd and musicians chanted "Black Lives Matter" — but then the venue shut down for the night.
Flobots fans wandered back to their cars, playing the classic “Handlebars” on iPhone speakers.
A few weeks later, Flobots returned and opened Fourth of July weekend with a powerful take on what the United States has been at its worst and could be at its best. The timing of this July 2 show couldn’t have been better; it should become an annual tradition at Levitt.
So many Independence Day celebrations are jingoistic displays of grotesque nationalism, paying tribute to the ghosts of long-dead slave owners without a blink. These festivities ignore centuries of brutality and struggles for justice. Orchestras blast militaristic music, drowning out the dream of a good life for all, one not built on the backs and graves of the oppressed. The powerful bulldoze the powerless out of the narrative, distracting us with sparklers, hot dogs and a case of beer. Fireworks splatter the sky. Happy Fourth of July, kids. Isn't America grand?
But on July 2, Flobots fans heard something radically different, something that people across the country should be able to get behind, regardless of identity. Work toward joy, witness each other, and care for those who suffer. Rise up and grasp our collective power. Embrace each other’s humanity — imperfections and all. Fight injustice with tools. Wrestle with hard ideas and complexity through the power of art. Lift up the power of the people. And be happy together — as the band, joined by a few members of Brothers of Brass, sang in its finale, a remix of the Turtles classic “Happy Together."
Happy together? Why not? We were happy together all night long; maybe the country could work that way, too — if we learned to share and show enough humility to listen to each other.
The evening started with Denver’s revolutionary hip-hop act 2MX2, accompanied by the powerful singing of Jon Shockness, aka Kid Astronaut, and Flobots masterful monster of a drummer, Kenny O, delivering danceable messages of solidarity, anti-capitalist resistance and eco-justice — in English and Spanish. Lolita sang her banger, “Toda Mi Gente,” an anti-fascist anthem written during the Trump years. Then, to beats produced by DMD, she and fellow rappers Owen Trujillo and Juice E.T. Hugo pumped up the crowd, teased Flobots’ set, garnered cheers and reminded us all why it’s great to be alive and struggling — even when things are bleak.
The rising band took a break, and Kid Astronaut sang a riveting single from his soon-to-drop album. Once again, he showed himself to be one of the city’s most talented artists, an under-recognized voice capable of tapping deeply into our existential angst and the struggles we have to connect.
Then the members of 2MX2 returned, and with loose choreography and wide grins, they led us toward liberation through dance.
Flobots were gonna follow that? Good luck, I thought.
But from the moment that Kenny O, backing singers and sisters Larae Edwards and Chrissy Grant of the gospel group Spirit of Grace, violinist and violist Sarah Hubbard, trumpeter Joe Ferrone and bassist Sean Blanchard took the stage, Flobots turned Levitt into a space of ecstasy, a place to embrace our power, rise up and make this world just.
Stephen Brackett, aka Brer Rabbit, opened the set with all the fire of an old-time preacher, reciting the opening lines on the first track of the band’s album Fight With Tools, “There’s a War on Your Mind,” and ensuring that nobody in the crowd thought they were at some concert where they could sit back and groove to the music. Flobots was on stage to challenge us, to upend our entire worldview, to push us to see where we are flawed and wounded, to forgive and engage ourselves and others about those flaws. And then to "stop the apocalypse," as the members chanted.