A set at the Che Cafe

This setlist is probably from 2012..

Written on a napkin, accompanied by terrible drawings.

The Che Cafe was a very important place to a young musician growing up in San Diego.

It seemed that every Monday I would show up to school only to hear about whatever “amazing show” had happened at the Che just days prior. Tale of lead singers hanging from the rafters, or the occurrence of “the greatest mosh pit ever” were the frequently told. I knew that I had to see what this place was all about!

I eventually made my way to the Che Cafe one evening to catch one of my favorite bands Bomb The Music Industry. It was then that I finally understood the legendary status of this little shithole on UCSD’s campus. It was, at the time, a shack nestled in a dark corner of the college campus, surrounded by tall tress that formed a small forest, perfect for hiding out and smoking weed or partaking in some underage drinking (something that the Che did not appreciate by the way. Most DIY venues are straight edge facilities, hence why the Frights developed a reputation for getting banned from those sort of places. We were kids, we didn't know better).

At this particular show, a crowd of about two hundred had showed up, making it VERY sold out. I waited in line with my friends and once our hands were stamped, we stepped into the hottest room in the fucking world. The building that the Che is in, is famously hot. To make matters worse, the exterior is made up of big windows and a sliding glass door that become disgustingly fogged up by sweat and other bodily fluids as the show progresses. Basically it’s like sitting in an oven full of body odor and neck beard hair. Gross.

As we stood in the middle of this stinky crowd, the band took the stage. Everything after that was a blur. I recall Jeff Rosenstock hanging from the rafters as he screamed “I Don’t Love You Anymore”. I vaguely remember bashing my ankles against the dangerously placed lip in the wood flooring on the right side of the venue. I remember the faint smell of puke and shitty vegan food as I ran to the bathroom to piss before the next song started. But more than anything, I remember the feeling of walking back to my car and promising myself that I would play there one day. And god dammit, I would hang from those fucking rafters.

In high school I couldn’t get a show there no matter how hard I tried. I would email over and over again, just begging for any opportunity to open for… literally anyone! I don’t care if it’s fucking ska, just put us on the show!

No go.

It wasn't until after high school that Richard and I started an “surf-art” band (self described by the way) that we finally got an opportunity to play the Che. We got a slot opening for this band called White… fuck I've forgotten the name now. If you look up a band consisting of two red heads with the first word of the band name being “White”, that’s probably them.

Whatever they were called, we expected much more than what actually happened. I figured this would be an easy sell out show considering that this was a touring band! I neglected the fact that it was a Tuesday and that nobody actually listened to us or this band! We ended playing to a crowd of about ten. We got some good feedback and actually ended up meeting someone who would organize the very first Frights tour! But despite these good omens, I was not fulfilled. My fantasy of playing a GREAT show at the Che would have to wait.

The wait wouldn’t be too long either! Over the next year, The Frights began playing all over San Diego (sometimes six shows a week) and soon we were selling out small rooms. The Che was one of those small rooms. By this point we had grown a little bit as musicians and even more so as performers. We at least knew how to have fun, and that goes a long way with a live performance!

As we began to load in and soundcheck, I remember seeing the kids start to line up on the pathway through the trees. As they packed into the venue I saw the windows fog up with that old familiar haze. I could smell the shitty weed blowing from the depths of the dark wood. Everything was where it was supposed to be.

Like my first experience at the Che, this too was was a blur. I heard nothing but distortion. I screamed bloodily through a broken Shure microphone. I shocked myself repeatedly thanks to some bad grounding in the buildings electrical system. The crowd kicked and spat and jumped all over the place, endangering our teeth and gear. But most importantly…

I hung from those fucking rafters and screamed: “NOT SCARED OF THE OCEAN ANYMORE!!!”

Ta-da!