Jonathan go all wound up Saturday afternoon, turned his bucket-o-dinosaurs upside down, climbed up on it like it was a stage and started to sing. But like a true punk, he didn’t just sing. He also lept from the stage, like a veteran stage diver, flinging his body around the room from his perch. Add in beer, smoke, and 100 decibels or so and I would’ve been having flashbacks to Mike Watt at the Bottleneck or Fugazi in the Kansas Union.
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