Flatfoot 56 - Jungle of the Midwest Sea

It’s not enough that punk rock is dead; its grave is now trampled by hundreds, thousands of thankless pop/emo punk clones, fatherless children unaware of their roots. Fortunately, Chicago Southside’s Flatfoot 56 know where they came from, and do a fine job of honoring their forefathers, both musically and culturally.

Flatfoot falls under the mantra of Celtic or ethnic punk rock, employing the usual bagpipes, mandolins, and gruff slightly Irish tinged pub sing-alongs. But here and there, they stretch with accordion, flute, female vocals, violin, claps, stomps, and some various household objects I couldn’t decipher. In regards to the band’s history (the gritty Waves of War, and the energetic Knuckles Up), it’s a certain step in a more permanent direction, resonating with a certain timeless nostalgia…back to a time when punk rock was authentic, pints were on the house, bands (and likewise their observers) had fun, and Amazing Grace was sung alongside the dingiest of bar songs.

For the greater part of their career, Flatfoot has treaded the difficult line between meeting the expectations of two very different worlds; the church and the punk rock underground. Perhaps originally their signing to Flicker records would be seen as a choice to firmly plant both feet in the church camp, but time has shown, remarkably, that they have kept credibility in both. The church doesn’t mind if you’re in the bars as long as you’re bold, the underground doesn’t mind if you’re playing summer festivals as long as you sound good and don’t get too specific about faith. To the Christian, phrases like “salt and light”, “city on a hill”, “stand for nothing, fall for anything” and countless others are obvious Biblical principles. To the underground, they are a battle cry for a positive scene, solidarity, and justice.

Jungle… is complete, the best of their career, with more believable vocals than ever, the proper nods to Ballydowse, Dropkick, Social Distortion, greater diversity (i.e., they slow it down from time to time), better tones (the guitar has less bite, the bass has more crunch) and of course its delivered with more conviction than ever. While punk rock’s grave is getting trampled, Flatfoot is reverently conjuring straight from the depths of Davy Jones Locker.