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I recently read an article written by Andrew McMillen called How To Be A Live Music Critic. The piece basically pokes fun of music journalists and lists in bullet points examples of what NOT to focus on in a live show review. One of the points that stood out to me most is: “You must not use more than half of your word limit to describe the band’s music. This is a waste of valuable words, which could be better devoted to describing stage attire, between-song banter, drink prices and/or bar staff temperament.” Well, this won’t directly apply to what I’m about to get in to right now, because I’d like to focus primarily on the audience at the Interpol show I went to the other night at The United Palace Theatre. To sort of set the scene for this, I’m gonna attempt to play a game of word association with you. Ready? Okay. When I say “fist pump,” what the first word that pops into your head(s)? Was it “douche?” It was?? We are SO good at this.
One of the major problems with going to a live show is that there are going to be other people there as well. I’ve loved Interpol since day one. Since the first time I ever heard about them, since their first album, they have been MY band. It’s cool if other people like them as well, but they’re mine. Super fan though I may be, although I own all of their albums, up until the other night I had never seen them perform live, unless Julian Plenti counts for a half point. In my mind, the ideal setting for an Interpol show is basically Paul Banks huskily sinking his full discography into my ear as he spoons me, but since that’s not likely to happen any time soon (CALL ME) I had to settle for seeing him sing the hits to a room filled with A-holes, and me. I don’t mean to sound harsh, but every third person in attendance was smoking pot like they were at Burning Man or something, and people were all but trying to get mosh pits going. Seriously? Aside from the fact that I hate everyone, the show was fantastic. The guys in the band wore suits and sounded recording studio perfect. In between telling us about how friendly people from the Midwest are, and how her kickball team is going so far this season, the doughy blonde girl to the right of my friend and I agreed. If you’ve made it this far in the review, I’d like to offer you some bonus behind the scenes material. After the show, when my friend and I were walking to the subway, a lady with a bloody face and mouth came out of nowhere and said “help meeeee.” We screamed and ran, but then doubled back a few minutes later (when we realized we had screamed and ran in the wrong direction) and saw her hanging with some dudes in front of a barber shop eating chicken and rice. She’s fine. Everyone’s fine.
(Set list found on setlist.fm)
