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APRIL 7 1998

The speed at which pop culture recycles itself today is amazing. It seems that record labels have already begun delving back to the early '90s for inspiration. One listen to Creed's amazingly successful, and somewhat dated sounding debut, My Own Prison, points in that direction anyway. Steeped in similarities to Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, and Stone Temple Pilots, it's hard to imagine that music so familiar and indistinguishable can become the chart-rocket it is today. That is, until you see Creed perform live.

In person, Creed are just as one-dimensional – layering massive, plodding guitar riffs on top of tight, brooding percussion. Unlike the slightly monotonous disc, however, the live band gives their darkly textured tunes quite a kick in the ass, granting them a fist-shaking vibe absent on the CD. The audience seemed to love every minute of it, understandably so, because the heavy dynamics suit the material well.

With a near-blinding explosion of strobing flash pots, the four-man band from Florida sounded like a rocket launch at Cape Canaveral as they hit the stage, erupting into "Torn" while the packed house went ballistic.

Unlike the two opening acts for the evening (and many professional bands today, for that matter), lead singer Scott Stapp has a voice as powerful as the music that backs him up. His Eddie Vedder-esque wail could clearly be heard above the thunderingly tight riffing machine known as guitarist Mark Tremonti. Unfortunately, many of the riffs were predictable, as were many moments during the stage show. For instance, Stapp lasted for only one song before removing his shirt, exposing his lean, cut frame, and uttering such rock'n'roll clichés as, "Are you ready to rock!?" and the sure-fire applause button, "I didn't know we had so many friends here in New York!"

Again, for whatever reason, chalk it up to sheer charisma, Creed's audience simply couldn't get enough, with the female populous screaming like banshees in hormonally crazed lust. Not for nothing, if you're going to be utterly unoriginal, in today's overly critical mass media, you had better have the chops to back it up – and Creed has them in spades. How else could they get a platinum disc for My Own Prison, the sure-fire hands-down winner for the Deja-vu Disc of the Year.

"In America," their political rant, and "Illusion" received audience participation to the hilt, as did their smash hit and title cut, "My Own Prison," which they used to close their hour-and-20-minute show. Covered in sweat, the band returned to do a simple encore, the introspective and sedate, "One," and didn't embarrass themselves as many bands do by returning after the highpoint, only to blather in overkill.

During their set, they debuted two new songs, "Say I," and "With Arms Wide Open." Both were received favorably, which just goes to show that despite a rather disappointing lack of originality, Creed seems to have hit some collective nerve – hard. One can only hope that with their next disc, they put as much energy into penning some more distinctive songs, as they put into performing live.

The opening band, power-punk-pop Samiam, matched Creed's energy level, launching immediately into, "Full On," from their latest disc, You Are Freaking Me Out. As the title of their CD implies, Samiam knows one speed, all-ahead full. Their set, composed of ten tracks without much in the way of a varying tempo or rhythm, sounded incredibly similar. Unfortunately, their sharp cover of The Beatles' "Cry Baby Cry," felt noticeably absent at the gig, and despite his wacky appearance, resembling a young Bob Hoskins in his pajamas, lead singer Jason Beebout really did nothing to work the crowd, concentrating solely on lyric delivery, standing perfectly quiet while guitarist James Brogan tinkered with his amp periodically. At the risk of advocating inane, cliché banter, it would have been nice to at least have said "Hello" to the anxiously stirring crowd.

L.A. band Cool For August did their best to get things going, with their generic brand of alterna-pop. Sounding like a hybrid of Live and Pearl Jam-lite, much of their material was well delivered, but not memorable, with the exception of one of their final songs, "Spinning." Accompanied by an electric violin, the song bore a faint resemblance to R.E.M.'s "This One Goes Out to the One I Love," both musically and emotionally.

May 1998

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It would be easy for Samiam to be resentful by now. They've seen their supporting acts (Green Day, Blink 182, No Doubt among others) hit the big time whilst they've been left listless, waiting in the shadows. Nor is it, like say Fugazi, a moral stance. A major label recording contract came and went during the post-'Dookie' infiltration of the California underground in the mid 90s with Atlantic releasing only the seminal 'Clumsy' album in 1994. Those with a dark sense of humour may get a kick out of the fact that both Green Day and Samiam got started in the defiantly DIY Gilman Street scene by ex-members of Isocracy.

Two sides of the same coin then? Perhaps not. Mainstay songwriter and guitarist Sergie Loobkoff (interviewed on poppunk.com) attributes the lack of commercial progress to an instantly recognisable trait: "Those bands [at the time of interview meaning Face to Face and Blink 182 but presumably this could be extrapolated - NR] embrace youth culture and play music that celebrates blissfulness and being happy and carefree. I think their audience is largely made up of really young kids that want to go have a fun time at their shows and stuff. Samiam is much more serious and sometimes depressing."

So if these truths are self-evident why the hell is Joseph's Well sold out in advance for a bunch of washed-up, miserable old cranks? Maybe it's because Samiam's back catalogue shreds any of the other pop-punkers mentioned. Europe never gave a shit when bands like Samiam and the equally illustrious Jawbreaker sold out to the man, what mattered was that their music remained undiluted.

After a six year hiatus, which at some point encompassed Sean Kennerly's move from bass to guitar to replace James Brogan, the early signs aren't promising. Oddball singer Jason Beebout looks to have been eating solidly for most of that time and his eccentric inter-song babblings seem to be irritating Loobkoff ("That's not funny man."). Kennerly seems to be stoned or drunk, staring off in to the distance with an expression akin to an acid casualty. They start with 'Sunshine' and it quickly becomes obvious that Beebout's once silken voice is blown.

However, whilst age and a heavy touring schedule have altered Beebout's voice, they have also given it a scratchy, pain-infused quality that lends itself to the dark undertones of their material. Hardcore punk is a community that acts as a refuge for lost kids, kids from broken and abusive homes like the one Beebout grew up in. Songs like 'Stepson' and 'Factory' now cut even deeper with his voice breaking up as you watch.

Tonight they peak with 'Dull' and 'Capsized'. My chest tightens as the words paint a world of opportunities, a life to be seized before it drifts away. On stage is a man who was not willing to give in, a man who would not take it any more.

It's obvious (by their continual shouting) that certain sections would prefer a Don't Look Back rendition of Clumsy but the set interweaves new and old tracks. For others who have grown up alongside their releases, the night is one of catharsis. With fists in the air, every line being sung in unison, the audience is left wondering if Samiam will survive long enough to make another UK tour. Is it no longer true that America cherishes nothing more than a triumph over adversity? Either way, a life outside the mainstream has its own reward and perhaps the best thing we can learn from Samiam is summed up in one throwaway line; "Don't be jaded".

Some hours earlier, for some inadequate reason, I arrive too late for the opening set from the usually excellent Milloy. Silently cursing myself, I'm lucky that the UK's own Vanilla Pod quickly blow away these misgivings, and pretty much everything else that's not nailed down. They were great, combining bundles of energy with a light-heartedness that makes me wonder why I spend so much time at po-faced indie wakes. The fact that they construct little in the way of a barrier between the audience and the band also makes a welcome change. For the uninitiated their style, like the other acts on the bill, falls under the catch-all tag of melodic hardcore.

Main supports on this tour are Gainesville's The Draft. Again they ripped it up, though I suppose that shouldn't be surprising for a band that includes three members of Hot Water Music. Their songs hit like immediate classics, planting their anthemic choruses deep in the recesses of the mind. Seems like the new project has finally given them some independence from the weight of their own history (read: how to better 'No Division'). Check out 'New Eyes Open' or 'Lo Zee Rose'. Do it now.