Riot! Riot!

There it was: ROCK IS DEAD tattooed across the cement wall, an epitaph for a revolt that went nowhere. Before R!R!, vocalist/guitarist Nabeel Afsar frequented all the local watering holes where traveling musicians sold rebellion in neat packages. Anarchy with a two-drink minimum.

It was in 2004, eleven stories above the Boston Common, that Afsar met drummer Mateo Vosganian, someone who shared the feeling of being born in the wrong place at the wrong time. Vosganian spent the latter half of the 90s drumming in rock clubs all along the east coast, gigging and recording in every band he could find. The connection between the two was instant, a euphonic spark both sought, but neither expected to find.

A good friend introduced the duo to Toby Karlin, a multi-talented musician from California whose unusual life story embodied the ideals of freedom, love and creativity that R!R! would soon champion. Karlin’s obsession with recording and experimentation pushed the band’s creative boundaries while also rounding out their sound. Before long, Karlin aquainted the others with virtuoso guitarist Dave Scher. Despite his taciturn manner, Scher’s electrifying solos said it all, captivating ears with an incendiary sound far beyond anyone his age.

Within just two years, despite countless setbacks and hardships, R!R! went on to open for the Presidents of the United States of America, rotate regularly on Boston’s 104.1FM WBCN rock station, and build a devoted fan base that shared their zeal for something new. Refusing to limit themselves to any genre, R!R! quickly became known for their ability to seamlessly transition from in-your-face rock to heartfelt R&B to the upbeat ska of their youth.

While the four are also known for their sense of humor (and their penchant for undercutting the seriousness of their songs with endless jokes), R!R! aim to offer unique experiences to uplift fans; to reach that crossroad where sense and order break down, to stir crowds night after night. No matter how small the room, the quartet gladly takes command of any stage, performing with the fervor of a crashing plane.

Next to the elegy commemorating the death of rock ‘n’ roll, Afsar presses his sharpie to the cement wall. The bathroom is smothered with stickers for punk bands, soaked in ink tagging dirty phone numbers. If rock is dead, then so are we.