Music
Stage Times: Bayside
From sharing the stage with Chubby Checker to playing ping pong in the backrooms of arenas, Anthony Raneri walks us through his most memorable performances.
Growing up with the likes of Bad Religion, Dropkick Murphys, and Social Distortion blaring through their speakers, Bayside were a band created with longevity in mind.
Witnessing a generation of punk artists masterfully curate careers that spanned multiple decades, the New York City quartet have made it their goal to never become a fleeting moment. Each decision made with the intention of furthering that goal, for almost twenty-five years they’ve been in a state of constant evolution.
Colliding a punk mentality with badass riffs and a love of whimsical show tunes, across nine studio albums their journey has been far from straightforward. From catastrophic van accidents to major label disputes, they’ve become no strangers to battling through adversity, churning out anthemic, emotional punk songs with each defiant step. Returning to the UK in 2025 for the ‘Errors Tour’, they’re set to celebrate two and a half decades of sheer determination and growth.
“We came up with the name of the tour over a year ago, and we were so eager to announce it in case someone else took the name!” frontman Anthony Raneri laughs.
“When we started talking about what we were going to do for the 25th anniversary, we thought it would be fun to play longer shows and dedicate full sets to certain eras of the band. That way, we can throw in some real deep cuts. It’s a chance for fans to hear their favourite songs that they’ve never heard us play before.”
Playing two full sets each night – one filled with tracks from their stint as Victory Records’ poster boys, and another showcasing the Killing Time era and their later releases – it’s set to be the ultimate salute to Bayside’s journey so far. One that’s been defined by triumph and tragedy, we sat down with Raneri to reflect on the band’s most memorable live moments to date.
The gig that made you want to play music
I grew up in Queens, New York, in the 90s, so I was able to go into Manhattan for shows. When I was younger, I would take the train in to see bands like Lagwagon, Bad Religion and NOFX all the time, but the shows that really made me think that I could do this were the hall shows in Long Island. We started around the same time as Taking Back Sunday, Brand New, and Glassjaw, so those were our local shows. My first time going on tour was when I was 17, and I dropped out of high school to do merch for a local band. After that, I did merch for Brand New, who were playing in halls and college cafeterias. Seeing people who were my age and who came from the same scene as me out there doing it… I knew I could do it too. Glassjaw signed to Roadrunner Records and were opening for Deftones, and The Get Up Kids were on MTV. Suddenly, it felt attainable.
The first
It was in Bellmore, Long Island, and there was a band called Showoff that put us on the show. I can’t remember the name of the venue anymore, and it’s been gone for ages, but it was a cool place. I did merch for Brand New and I saw Piebald there. The first time we played there would have been in December of 2000, and all we had was a demo that we had burned on to a bunch of CDRs. We had recorded that before doing any shows, and we were selling it there. We’ve improved a lot since that night!
The smallest
It’s probably not the only time that it happened, but one that stands out is when we played a show in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. It was in the back room of a record store, and the only two people there were people that we met online. Before AOL chat, there was something called IRC chat where we used to meet people. There were message boards, and we used to go into chat rooms where people would talk about bands in the scene. We’d meet kids who would be like, ‘I live in Myrtle Beach, and I know a guy who puts on shows. I could help you get a show here’. That’s how we were booking our early shows, and that night the only two people there were these two girls that we had met on IRC chat.
Do those moments knock your confidence?
At the time they do, but from my ivory tower I would tell my discouraged 19-year-old self that although paying your dues sucks, it’s practice. You don’t owe it to the universe to eat sh*t, but doing those shows is practice. We did some support tours early on in our career, and whilst a lot of people came to the shows, we often came off those tours feeling like we didn’t make any new fans. We were learning how to play to people who didn’t know who we were, which is a big jump from being a local band and only playing to your friends. You’re playing to 1,000 people who don’t know who you are, and who don’t really give a sh*t who you are. It’s a lot to learn, but with each show you’re getting tighter, and you’re learning those skills. Paying your dues is bullsh*t, but as a musician no show is a wasted experience.
The biggest
We’ve done festivals in front of 80,000 people, but I feel like a festival is a cop-out answer. The biggest standard show was probably in the UK when we did Alexandra Palace with The Gaslight Anthem.
Coming from a punk background, those energetic, intimate shows obviously hold a special place in your heart, but what stands out about the experience of playing larger venues?
It’s an interesting day when you play an arena show, especially when it’s in London, New York or LA. Everything is going to be a little cushier when compared to 1,000-cap venues. The dressing rooms are more comfortable, they’re bigger, and there are ping pong tables and maybe even a basketball court. There’s usually a big catering thing, and there’s sometimes a guy carving a roast for you. The whole day is surreal, and if it’s in a big city, there’s always a ton of guests there. It’s a social event, and you’re talking all day. You can’t just hang out in your pyjamas and watch TV during the day, you have to be entertaining. When I come home, I take out the trash, I mow the lawn, and I coach my daughter’s softball team – that’s who I am. When you’re backstage at an arena in London though, you have to turn on the charisma. That’s the biggest difference with those shows for me, and often it’s a mentally exhausting day.
The weirdest
We did a show in Manhattan as a showcase. There was a music conference happening, and the distributor for our label wanted to showcase what they were doing there. It wasn’t open to the public, and only industry people were invited. We came onstage, and everybody was sitting down, which already made it super weird. It wasn’t even theatre style; it was cabaret style. Everyone was sitting at tables like they were at a restaurant, and the opener was this Americana musician called Langhorne Slim. After him, we played, and then Scott Weiland played his solo music. It was just him with an iPod, and he was singing along to the tracks. Chubby Checker then closed out the show with a full band, and it was everything you expect a Chubby Checker show to be. There were dancers in flapper girl dresses, background singers, and a full horn section. It was surreal, and we were all just wondering what the hell we were doing there.
The worst
There was a show we did when Killing Time had come out. That record was released on a semi-major label, and it was the only time we’ve ever had a full radio campaign. ‘Sick, Sick, Sick’ was charting, and to have a song like that succeed at radio, you have to do all this sh*tty stuff. The radio stations would make you play at a movie theatre so they could invite contest winners, or you’d play on a boat for contest winners. There were also all these radio festivals, because in the States there’s a different rock radio station in every city.
When we were on tour, every day you’d have to do something to appease the local station, and we did one in upstate New York. If you don’t know, upstate New York is a lot more like Alabama than it is New York, and this show was us, Stone Temple Pilots and Bush. That’s not our scene, and instantly we knew that they just weren’t going to get it. Our jeans were too tight, and there was a booth selling merch with the confederate flag plastered on it. It was everything that people think of as being the worst of America, and we were so unhappy with having to do that show that we called the label to say, ‘Whatever you want us to do from now on, the answer is no’. We begged them to drop us because we just weren’t cut out for that mentally, and it was a course correction in our career. I think Killing Time is an incredible album, but it’s as good as it is because we had a label with money. We didn’t write it in the back lounge of the bus while we were touring, but the price we had to pay was playing shows in movie theatres, on boats, and in front of confederate flag merch booths. We did a bunch of those shows, and it always sucked, but that one changed the future of our band. After that, we signed to Hopeless Records, and we made our most punk album to date with Cult.
The best
This feels random, and it may not sound like a special one, but there was a show on our headline tour two years ago. We played in LA at a place called the The Belasco Theatre, and we were promoting The Blue EP. Everybody was really psyched about the song we did with Spencer Charnas [vocalist, Ice Nine Kills], and whilst it was just a regular, everyday show at Ghe Belasco, it felt so special. I don’t remember ever feeling so connected with the audience.