I didn’t want to go all the way to San Francisco. It was the first day back from spring break, I was too cold to wear the outfit I’d laid out, and it was starting to rain. I was exhausted and all I wanted to do was stay in and watch a movie, but the doors opened at eight and I had made a commitment— both to B-Side and to the enthusiastic PR woman with whom I’d been emailing for the past week. So, I met up with my date and we headed to the BART.
As my date and I entered Bottom of the Hill, after I had proudly been able to announce to the bouncer that I was on the list, we found ourselves confused by the band’s target audience. The intimate venue was half-filled by people on the older side of the millennial spectrum, bald ex-hipsters with beards and beanies and half by young adults sporting the same underage X that had been drawn on our hands as we entered. The former half walked through the room with beers in hand, the latter chugged cans of Red Bull, and all sporting Doc Martens. Not wanting to cough up six dollars for a drink, I spent the thirty minutes before the first act exploring the thirty-four-year-old venue and the three decades’ worth of gig posters up on the walls, and pacing back and forth, attempting to shake off my fatigue.
Erin Sydney of 37 Houses
The first thing I noticed when 37 Houses stepped onto the stage at 8:35 P.M. was singer Erin Sydney’s bass. It was a sexy Rickenbacker, deep purple, which shone under the stage lights and popped against Sydney’s sparkling top. The second thing I noticed was the drummer’s equally sparkling heels, which shimmered and twinkled behind the drum set. Then, they began to play.
Although the band’s energy was strong, I was disappointed at the lack of enthusiasm emitted by the audience at the beginning of their set. Granted, with only a few hundred monthly listeners on Spotify, 37 Houses is far from a household name, and yet where they lacked in fame, they made up for in spunk. Their stage presence was stellar, the vocals were powerful, the performance had a distinctly rock feel that I hadn’t expected from clicking through their debut album. My favorite part of their set was a pop-punk-esque cover of “Suddenly Seymour” from the musical Little Shop of Horrors, something that satisfied both my sixteen-year-old self’s Paramore kick and inner theater kid— which was enough to get the crowd both passionate and invested. By the end of their set, the audience was chanting along to songs they’d never heard before, entirely due to Sydney’s enchanting crowd work.
“Music’s the only thing that keeps us alive, so let’s keep fucking doing it.” – Erin Sydney, 37 Houses
The second act, following a brief intermission during which fans lined up for a chance to buy merch from Johnny Manchild himself, featured a Colorado-born band called Volores. My date and I had spent the entirety of the intermission debating on whether or not the two teenagers standing a few yards away from us, who spent all evening awkwardly swaying and desperately trying to avoid accidentally touching the other’s hand, were aware that their feelings for each other were painfully obvious. It was something that we only further questioned as Teenager 1 excitedly cheered when the band strummed their opening chords and Teenager 2 appeared endeared by Teenager 1’s excitement. While 37 Houses enticed the audience through conversation, Volores was there to simply play music and spared no time with introductions.
They began with “Nothing New (In The Unknown),” from their 2023 album AGES, before playing a number of yet-unreleased songs off of their upcoming album Shores of Scorpio. After being so blown away by 37 Houses’ enthusiasm, this set left me unsatisfied. The instrumentals were good and the vocals were strong, but they sounded just like every alternative rock band of the last fifteen years. Each song sounded just like the last, not energetic enough to wake me up, yet too loud to only sway to. While Volores may have on their own made a fine opener, they unfortunately found themselves lodged between two more memorable acts.
The Poor Bastards took the stage a little after 10:30, and were welcomed by a sea of cheers. Much like Volores had before them, Johnny Manchild’s band immediately jumped into the music, opening with fan favorite “Friends” from their 2024 album Rapture Waltz. Having only had the chance to skim through Spotify’s “This Is Johnny Manchild and the Poor Bastards” before last week’s interview, I was pleasantly surprised by the energy that emitted from the room. People of all ages sang along and I let myself be carried by the groovy bass line from Alex Coleman’s lefty Fender.
Alex Coleman (bass) and Ethan Neel (drums)
After “Friends” came “Sleep,” from their 2018 album Insomnia, with a classic alt-rock sound, which I might have enjoyed earlier on in the night. However, by that point, the Celsius I’d drank on the BART was starting to wear off and the songs were starting to blend together. That was until I was jolted back into attention by Johnny’s brash and thrilling piano, one that made me realize what Johnny had meant by piano rock when we’d first spoken. It is entirely on me to have dismissed the “piano” part of “piano rock,” but once I realized that the keyboard would be here to stay, I was sold. No longer counting down the minutes until I could call an Uber home, my favorite songs quickly became those where the piano could have its moment to shine.
For any hardcore Manchildren (which is what I’ve assumed the band’s fans must be called), the show must have been an exciting one, namely due to the exclusivity of the setlist. As announced by Johnny during the set, the band is slated to release a new single every month of 2025 and played a number of never heard or rarely heard before songs, debuting one of them that very night. Although I wasn’t able to catch the order of the tunes, a single blurry Android picture of the band’s setlist reveals that some of these upcoming titles include “Copper and Red” and “Halo.” He also announced that, in addition to a year’s worth of singles, the band will also be releasing a new album in 2026, although comprised entirely of new music.
Johnny Manchild during “Gestapo”
Johnny Manchild and the Poor Bastards finished their set with their March 2025 single “Almost Over (Smile Honey),” which Johnny introduced with a jazzy piano solo that had the crowd, me included, waiting in anticipation and “Oh, Songbird” as a closing song. It was nearing 11:30, my notes were getting sloppy, and I was more than ready to be safely tucked in my Berkeley twin bed. And yet, they had one more song left in them: “Gestapo,” also from Insomnia (2018). Although this dreaded encore meant five more minutes spent away from an Uber’s comfortably warm interior, this encore was lead by the crowd chanting “fuck Donald Trump” as Johnny aggressively slammed down on his piano keys with gritted teeth and Ethan Neel clanged away at the drums. That alone was enough to keep me going, and left me energized enough to introduce myself to Johnny before leaving the venue.
“How’s your night going?” our Uber driver asked me, as my date drifted to sleep next to me and I leaned my head against the Honda’s window.
“Really good! We’re just leaving a gig,” I replied, though deep down, all I could think was that I still had readings to do and that despite a fun show with great acts, I’m not built for concerts on a school night.
Article and photos by Micah Petyt
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