Legendary Athens Ohio dirt punk! Nobody ever wanted to go on after We March. Minds and ears toasted, it would be like playing to a lobotomy ward. I always came out the other side of a We March show drenched in sweat and bruised below the knees, where the stage at The Union would cap me as I headbanged so hard I probably gave myself CTE. After moving to the city, I remember eavesdropping on a local band that was playing a show with them. They were arguing about the lineup order. One of them wanted to play last, and in an instant someone jumped in to save themselves the embarrassment: “You don’t wanna play after We March.” Even the big bad city kids were afraid to go on after Athens’ crown jewel. And really, how could you expect to outdo them? We March had a mean, misanthropic sound that combined LA punk and DC hardcore with what I swear was a vein of Lynyrd Skynyrd running through the middle. Their wildman lead singer spent as much time in the crowd and hanging from the ceiling (or that weird vertical support beam in the middle of The Union) as he was on stage. I’ve seen a lot of confrontational fake-Iggys in my life, but this man was different — maybe because it didn’t feel put-on or pretentious, but joyful. Even as a small guy, he was intimidating, but also funny: I saw the band play at a record shop and while it ripped through its set, he sang and shopped, purchasing a couple of LPs by the end of the song.