Grief is weird. Not the emotion itself, but how it’s handled by us mortals.

When I was 17, I remember the moment when the phone rang in English class. Usually a moment where kids hoped their name was called as a means of rescue from the rigors of education. My sister was there to pick me up. It wasn’t planned, but I knew it was coming. When I left the room, I looked down the vast and empty hallway and I saw her standing outside of the office, visibly shaken.

We made the hour drive north to see my 40-year-old dad lying comatose on a hospital bed at the Cleveland Clinic. Sitting in the waiting room were my extended family, including my mom, who had a coworker drive her up alone. What happened next still sits with me 22 years later.

He didn’t die right away. After a day of hard truths learned by an extended family who lived an hour away, holding back from using my teen angst to scream about the fear I had about a man who struggled with addiction to a group of relatives who painted cheerier pictures of their Tommy, we headed home.

That same day, now in the middle of the night, my mom woke us up and rushed us back to his bedside. I’m skeptical of most things, but there’s a phenomenon where loved ones will hold on until their family sees them one last time. It could very well be made-up by medical professionals to help the grieving process, but that night it worked. I don’t know the time, but he was gone.

What does any of this have to do with a ska band from Michigan?

About 12 hours after my mom became a single parent and I started a long life ahead where people avoided the topic of my dead dad, I was at a hockey game. Don’t ask me who won. All I can remember from the night was standing next to my grandpa, who lost his oldest child, during the national anthem. I was balling. For years after, before the numbness of being an adult and parenthood stress set in, I’d still tear up when I heard it at any event, and not for the patriotism it hopes to elicit.

Wednesday night I was at Rumba Cafe, seeing my favorite midwestern ska punk band Mustard Plug. No parents died but there was still grief. Pain surrounding what would happen next to loved ones, friends, and anyone deemed not good enough by a ruling class of selfish and afraid politicians.

If you rolled your eyes or scoffed reading that, you probably don’t listen to any of Mustard Plug’s lyrics.

From Grand Rapids, Michigan, Mustard Plug’s been taking on the world since 1991, a punk version of ska music that, unlike some of their punk peers from the 90s, haven’t lost a step. Some bands, none will be mentioned here, change their sound from punk to more of a lazy rock outfit as budgets and production value increases.

Mustard Plug’s sounded great from their introduction through last year’s “Where Did All My Friends Go?” release. Their live show lives up to the recordings and then some.

A friend had to back out at the last minute, so I invited a few people to try and take the extra spot. Try to convert some folks and give them a chance to find some sort of release from the news of the week. Understandably, the people I asked either were either staying in to get their own heads right or digging a hole for themselves for hiding away.

Both viable options, considering the circumstances. Contrary to what most think, people can make their own decisions on what’s best for themselves, and there’s no ill will towards anyone turning down a free concert ticket.

But I had to get out.

Last December, Mustard Plug was again at Rumba had one opener, the Ska Bees, a local Columbus-area ska band. This year that trend continued, bringing in a local punk band to open the night. The Raging Nathans came in from Dayton and brought an early 90s Green Day-esque sound. Driving guitar and loud, and fast, bass lines.

I wasn’t counting the number of songs but in true punk fashion, there were a lot of them. Near the end of the set, the lead singer did the age-old tradition of letting us know “we’ve got two songs left,” but it was really five and I wasn’t complaining.

Songs from going to jail, getting out of jail and one aptly titled “Dayton.” The lead singer dedicated one song to the Rumba bartender, who used to play bass for the band, and the only reference to current events was a simple “if you had a bad Nov. 5, you’re going to have a good Nov. 6.”

Between bands, my friend and I headed to the back patio. If you haven’t been to Rumba, or you have and haven’t ventured up the stairs near the bathrooms, the venue has a great outdoor space for nights where the weather cooperates. I don’t smoke but if you do that’s where you do it. If the weather doesn’t cooperate, they have covering too.

No offense at all The Iron Roses, a band including Mustard Plug guitarist and co-vocalist Colin Clive, but my friend and I stayed on the patio. We could still hear how the crowd loved The Iron Roses and their driving guitar sound reverberated outside, and probably giving neighbors in the area something to enjoy.

We sat it out for much needed in-person conversation. It got deeper than you’d expect at a punk show, but it stretched the spectrum of friends, family, atheist druggies and how we deal with tough conversations while looking out for our own.

Like the music in the building, the chat outside was part of the process. How we regroup and refocus. Another way is getting into the pit, which is part of the Mustard Plug experience.

The three-man horn section (one is a saxophone, but you get it), Clive with a brand-new yellow gold Reverend guitar and frontman Dave Kirchgessner in a refreshingly pink button-up shirt stepped onto stage and played through a set featuring over 20 songs from their tenured music catalog.

For all the jokes made at the genre’s expense, it’s hard to find a kind of music that touches on tough topics but wrapped in an upbeat package.

I hopped into the pit on “Fall Apart,” from their newest album.

“Feed the cancer of your ghost
All the things I love the most
Are slowly, slowly killing me
Walk another lonely path
All your questions, never asked
Drown me, drown me in a waste
Never knowing you”

Now imagine those lyrics with a trumpet blaring with backing drums and guitar. Plus the occasional melodica cameo.

On stage, Kirchgessner alluded to what was happening outside of the venue’s walls. He mentioned checking in on his three daughters and a fourth non-binary child while he was on the road. Expressing his care and concern for what comes next but putting it back into the music.

Mustard Plug added old favorites like “Go,” “Mendoza” and my personal favorite “Box,” alongside more from the 2023 LP. Including “Why Does It Have To Be So Hard?” It’s a track questioning the struggles folks face in life from working to alcohol addiction, something I know probably too much about from my own family experiences.

“Why can’t things not be easy
Why do they have to be so hard”

During “Go,” I was a casualty of the pit, falling over but up within seconds after folks helped me out. A fitting bit of symbolism or a call to action or whatever you want to take from it. The HVAC being out made it a far sweatier affair than normal, even with the extracurriculars of skanking.

There were hiccups, but life’s about how you respond. From Kirchgessner not knowing what song was next to a string breaking on Clive’s brand new guitar. That’s when the band plays the old baseball game organ favorite ending with a resounding “CHARGE!” or invites members of the Iron Roses to accompany a five-string guitar.

None of it took away from the night. If anything, it added to the fun.

Towards the end of the set, I needed a break. With my entire body adequately covered in sweat, I headed outside in the cooler evening air, still hearing, and seeing, the band inside Rumba’s cozy confines. I tried going back in, but it’s hard to go in when a brick wall of heat smacks you in the face. We stayed out for the rest of the set, then took a walk down to Summit Music Hall for crunchwraps and more conversation.

The concert won’t stop bad things from happening. Bad is subjective, but for folks with empathy it means families being taken away, impossible medical decisions and leaders who treat people like garbage. Hockey doesn’t bring a parent back either. But it still helps.

Earlier in the night, Mustard Plug’s show was “Everyday Wait,” another new track that shows the band’s maturing lyric work. Including appropriate lyrics for folks going through however grief shows up to them.

“It’ll get better
We know we can’t be wrong
If we keep holding on”

After the initial grief, it’s time to get to work.