'68 presale codes

'68 began when Josh Scogin closed the book on The Chariot and built a duo that slams noise, blues shuffle, and punk sparks into one rough-edged voice.

Two people, many gears turning

The project has stayed lean, even as the drummer's chair has changed hands over the years, keeping the songs elastic and quick to pivot. Live, they ride tense quiet parts into sudden eruptions, and they treat time like a rubber band that snaps back on the one.

What likely makes the cut

Expect a set that hits Eventually We All Win, Bad Bite, and The Knife, The Knife, The Knife, with an older jolt like Track 1 R when the room wants a left turn. The crowd skews mixed: veterans from The Chariot nights, younger DIY fans, and gear sleuths tracing the signal path from guitar to thunder. You will spot foam earplugs, scuffed Vans, and denim with paint on it, plus small pockets up front that move hard when the band cues a stop-start riff. Trivia fans note that In Humor and Sadness was cut mostly live to tape, and that its track letters hide a message across the album. Another quirk is how they jot a set on a torn paper and toss it mid-show if a riff begs to run longer. Fair warning: the set and production notes here come from informed guesswork, not a final plan.

Denim, duct tape, and warm feedback

The scene feels hands-on and practical, with people in lived-in black tees, thrifted button-ups, and caps that have seen a few tours.

Sound-first rituals

Up front, there is a give-and-take push during the loud parts, then quick resets so folks can breathe when the band ducks the volume. Sing-along moments tend to be short phrases and hey-shouts, less about full choruses and more about timing the hit.

Merch you can feel

Merch leans tactile: screen prints with slight ink quirks, limited vinyl that might be hand-numbered, and designs that nod to garage culture. You might catch someone comparing stompbox settings between sets, or tracing the mic feedback sweet spot at the edge of the monitors. After the show, the vibe is casual and direct, with patient lines at the table and a lot of thanks exchanged for a loud night done with care.

Grit, space, and the swing of two

Vocally, Josh Scogin jumps from smoked-out croons to barked lines, keeping syllables clipped so the words punch through the wash.

Thick tones without a bassist

The guitar runs through an A/B/Y split to a guitar amp and a bass cab, which makes single-note riffs feel thick without a bassist. Arrangements often start with a bluesy figure that gets broken apart into sharp hits, then rebuilt around a simple drum motif.

Elastic time, louder payoffs

Tempos pivot between half-time stomps and sprint bursts, and the duo likes to stretch codas into noisy call-and-response between cymbals and feedback. A neat live habit is detuning the low string for extra rumble and using open strings as a drone so breaks feel huge when the drums re-enter. When they rework songs, they may flip a chorus into a quiet talk-sung bridge, then slam it back with double-time snare for contrast. Lights are sparse and timed to the big cuts, usually stark white flashes that mark the downbeats and leave room for the sound to be the show.

Kindred noise, kindred rooms

If you like friction that still swings, The Chariot is an obvious kin, sharing leader lineage and a taste for abrupt left turns.

Where punk meets blue-note grit

Fans of Norma Jean often cross over too, drawn by the gritty vocals and lurching rhythms that drop into big, chantable hits. METZ fits the noise-rock side, with blown-out guitar textures and a live mix that favors punch over polish. Death From Above 1979 brings duo heft and danceable stomp under the grit, a helpful reference for the low-end illusion.

Neighbors across the pit

For punk energy with communal shout lines and a working-class pulse, IDLES lands nearby, though their tone skews more cathartic than bluesy. In short, these artists value raw momentum, simple gear used loudly, and rooms where the crowd helps shape the set feel.