A Freaky, Funky Halloween at the Old Ritz: Fishbone, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and a Night to Remember
Halloween in New York City has always been a spectacle, but the night Fishbone and the Red Hot Chili Peppers took over the old Ritz was something beyond ordinary—it was chaotic, sweaty, and gloriously unhinged. The line outside wrapped around the block, a writhing mass of costumed misfits, punks, funk freaks, and a few ghouls who might’ve just wandered in from Tompkins Square. I’d gone full goth for the night—black eyeliner thick as tar, shredded fishnets, and boots that could crush a disco ball.
Inside, the Ritz pulsed with anticipation. Fishbone hit first, detonating into their set like a brass-fueled explosion of ska-punk insanity. Angelo Moore, decked out like a possessed ringmaster, crowd-surfed with his saxophone, blurring the line between performer and maniac. The dance floor turned into a carnival of motion—spinning, thrashing, laughing, alive.
Then came the Red Hot Chili Peppers, still in their raw, feral phase—shirtless, painted, and dripping with that wild West Coast funk energy. Flea’s bass lines ricocheted off the walls like a heartbeat on overdrive. Anthony Kiedis swung the mic stand like a weapon, channeling both menace and mischief. It was primal, electric, and strangely joyous.
Halloween brought out the extremes—faces painted skull-white, skeleton gloves gripping beer bottles, and a vibe that teetered between chaos and communion. For a few hours, we weren’t just watching a show; we were part of a living, sweating, screaming organism.
When it was over, we spilled out into the cold Manhattan night, makeup smudged, ears ringing, hearts thundering. It wasn’t just a concert. It was a séance of sound and spirit—a freaky, funky Halloween burned forever into the city’s pulse.
