Katie Cameron
A&E Editor
Part 1: Born Ruffians
My Winter Break started on Nov. 15, when my semester abroad in New Zealand ended. Realizing that two months was roughly a month and three weeks too long to spend at home, I broke up my trek back to Ohio with an extended layover in San Francisco to visit my brother. After four airports, 48 hours awake, and two Nov. 15s (the international dateline is some straight up Back to the Future nonsense), my brother surprised me at the baggage claim with tickets to see Canadian indie rock band Born Ruffians that night. Being a polite Midwesterner — my cross to bear in this life — I agreed to attend despite the exhaustion-induced facial tic developing in my cheek.
The small bar that was hosting the gig was predictably trendy and, wedging myself between two hipsters, I prayed that their piercings wouldn’t accidentally maim me in close quarters. By 9 p.m. the band quietly came on stage, picked up their instruments and tore into their romp of an opening track (the song, called “Kurt Vonnegut,” included lines from Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle that deeply satisfied an oh-so-nerdy part of me). The too-cool crowd exploded, abandoning their craft beers to dance.
Everybody just kept dancing, myself included, facial tic and all. The Born Ruffians performed a high energy tour through their new album, titled RUFF. The setlist included tracks like the unabashedly irreverent “(Eat Shit) We Did It” and the sexy groover “Oh, Cecilia.” The concert was one of the wilder ones I’ve attended, but with a gleeful energy, not a manic one. For a band that I had heard once in the background of a Honda Fit commercial, I was impressed enough to buy (yes, buy) all of their music that I could find. Pick up RUFF and listen for yourself.