Biography of Victor Bravo

In the early 1990's Nirvana took all that was good about metal and 70's punk, put their own spin on it and saved a rock world that was drowning in an ocean of hair metal poseurs. Today, awash in a post-emo/screamo deluge of watered-down imposters of Panic at the Disco, Flyleaf and Paramore, and a similar multitude of overly-polished and underwhelming imitators of "hard rock-lite" bands like Nickelback, it's maddening but unavoidable to admit. The world of rock desperately needs yet another new savior.

On one recent Friday night in Manhattan, Fontana's - one of New York City's remaining premiere rock clubs - opened its doors for what promised to be a solid show. The show was supposed to be about three bands: a local one celebrating a CD release, another well-known NYC band headlining, and a third on tour from Austin, Texas seeking to add to its growing national fan base. In fact, an error on the press release left only these three bands on the bill.

The three bands that made it into the calendar listings for the show all over town each showed up and played well. But when the fourth band, the one that had been accidentally left off the press release, took the stage, everything changed. The fans of the other bands looked around a bit puzzled, as the room was suddenly packed to the walls. And as the band on stage hit the opening chords of their first song, everyone there got to experience what might go down as the beginning of the next revolution in rock.

That fourth mystery band was Victor Bravo. Two guys - if you close your eyes you swear there must be at least five of them - who, frustrated with the lack of opportunity in their home state of Maine, moved to Brooklyn with little else but the proverbial three chords and the truth. Pulling the best elements from 60's underground garage bands, 70's and 80's punk acts like Husker Du and The Ramones, and yes, even a little 90's grunge thrown in for good measure, they add their own unique contribution to create addictive, heavy rock anthems that make you want to dance your ass off and break everything you can get your hands on.

Daniel Collins pounds the drums with a fury and intensity that is invigorating and frightening all at once. Collin Daniels, his counterpart not just in name, slashes away at nasty, angular guitar work while snarling out slimy, angst-ridden vocals. As I watched them, I was certain Collins would break an arm or Daniels would cough up a lung. With a raw, real, storm-the-barricades, take-no-prisoners attitude that is all rocking and no bullshit, they are just the two-man wrecking crew that rock needs to redeem itself for the umpteenth time.

So where did all those people come from? After earning their stripes and honing their sound the old-fashioned way, by touring and playing the NYC club scene relentlessly, it seemed like everyone who had ever seen them play must have shown up that night at Fontana's. There wasn't a cubic inch left to stand in, and a swirling horde of people dancing and flailing about, with an energy to match the band's, engulfed the entire front half of the audience.

Masses of people dancing at a rock show in New York? It not only happened, the band made it seem inevitable. A roar of well-earned screams and cheers followed each song, and when Victor Bravo's blazing 45-minute set was over, I imagine almost everyone, those who had seen them before and those who hadn't, realized they had just witnessed a watershed moment.

Once again, rock has fallen into a disappointing malaise. But once again, thank fucking God...

It's back.