You know what the problem with going to shows alone is? Well, besides the fact that you are going alone. You end up paying too much attention to the people around you, and what is probably just a typical gathering of hard-line and casual concertgoers turns into an annoying sideshow packed full of freaks.
Besnard Lakes started their set and while my attention should have been fully dominated by their FOG MACHINE and front man wearing SUNGLASSES INDOORS I couldn’t help wonder who brought the big guy in the Ohio State sweatshirt. Dude managed to work his way directly in front of me and then proceeded to make already awkward indie kids even more awkward by dancing like an awkward white boy to music that isn’t supposed to yield awkward white boy dancing. At one point he even, I shit you not, raised the roof. So while he was “getting down” and randomly yelling things to his buddy like, “Am I right?!” Besnard Lakes played their melding of ‘90s indie and stoner rock. The three guitars and keyboard made for some serious layering that never grew into full on noise freak out, but instead maintained an impressive amount of atmosphere. The vocals were also dead on and the jammed out interludes never grew tiresome. I just wish I could have seen more of them, but eventually the “40 and still relevant crew” moved between me and Ohio State guy with P-Coats and Miller Lites in tow, and made things even more difficult to view. Except the fog, I could still see the fog. Luckily the guy who likes to stomp out the drum beat on the floor and the dude wearing a red-checkered shirt, Buddy Holly specs, and a cap with a feather in it, who thinks his dance moves are revolutionary didn’t surround me until the band’s final tune, which meant I could make my escape after only a few minutes of harassment.
After a beer it was back to the stage where I thought a new vantage point would save me from further distraction. While the guy next to me had a habit of following the same structure with every sentence: “Dude, BLANK is totally BLANK, man,” even he shut up when PB & J (get it!?!) took the stage.
The Peter Bjorn and John live experience is much different from the recorded one. While on record they sound like calm and careful craftsmen who’s main goal is to unlock the secret of the perfect pop hook, live they are three guys who simply want to rock. The energy levels bordered on small child, while the tones were all louder than expected. This was a good thing by the way. Sure, these guys had done their homework before recording by penning some inscrutable tunes, and they had been diligent students during the tracking process by invoking a warm, fuzzy analog vibe, but on stage it was mother fucking recess time. Bjorn (he’s the bass player) climbed speakers, Peter (he’s the guitar player) danced like he could play Bruce Springsteen in a remake of the “Dancing in the Dark” video, and John (you better have guessed drummer) showed that pop drumming can still feel like a kick to the chest. Songs like “Amsterdam,” “Let’s Call it Off,” and underground hit “Young Folks” from last year’s near-perfect Writer’s Block were all amped up, but still delightfully catchy, as vocals seemed to be the only thing that fully maintained their pop polish.
The performance was like combining the two best types of gifts, those you really want, and those that you didn’t even know you really wanted. Hearing Peter Bjorn and John perform their fantastic indie-pop tunes live was a treat, but hearing them turn them into power-pop rockers while shaking some ass was a welcome surprise. And once they were done, I got the hell out of there, and made a note to self in bold letters, “Do not go to anymore shows alone.”
Posted under Hometown
This post was written by MyFriendCleveland on December 5, 2007
