Coming up on the start of the show, there was a peculiar calm over the Black Cat that I’m unfamiliar with.
Most concerts I’ve seen where there’s a high level of anticipation, it’s like the roof on the venue is about to blow off.
People can barely contain themselves, sporadic shouts pepper the atmosphere.
Last Friday, the Black Cat was seriously tame compared to, shoot, the Lightning Bolt show I saw on Wednesday of that week.
It could be any number of things, but my money’s on an overall sense of disbelief.
We haven’t seen this band in (we’ll be generous) five years.
Holy shit!
After J. Robbins’ gracious speech and explanation for the (unfortunate) reason that we were really all there, they stalked out, all kinda doing the coy smiling thing.
Holy shit!
And just like old times: “Hi we’re the Dismemberment Plan from
Washington D.C.”
Without sounding like a day had gone by since their last show, they struck right off into Emergency & I’s palate-cleanser “A Life of Possibilities”. No one forgot the words. Just like old times, some people were jumping around, some people were emo-ed out, crying every word, some people were standing with arms folded taking it in, and some were just grinning ear to ear. I couldn’t help being all of those, probably all in the course of one song, multiple times throughout the night. I felt like a teenager again: they were again saying everything that I wanted to say but way better and more loquaciously.
The Plan hit pretty much everything that a fan would expect -- “Doing the Standing Still”, “What Do You Want Me to Say?”, “OK Joke’s Over” (with Beyonce interlude, yeah!), “You Are Invited”, “Following Through”, “Gyroscope”, “The Dismemberment Plan Gets Rich” – and some of what you wouldn’t – “Girl O’Clock” (a personal favorite), “Ellen and Ben”, “Rusty”. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I (very) slightly disappointed, like I had seen it better. And I had -- the first time. I had never seen a band that unique before and I was awestruck, soaked from too much dancing, and ecstatic. Friday’s concert was my 7th time, I’ve grown up a little, and I’d moved on to different things. That’s not to say that it wasn’t good, I was just pining for those first couple of times when it was just so insane that I could barely contain myself.
Still – virtually every song was met with fans shouting every word, there was an erotic cake, there were the requisite d-bags yelling for songs no one likes including them (but they’re on the first album, bro). It was a riot. After their set, which seemed to fly by too quickly, they came back for the encore playing “Sentimental Man” and their best song ever ever ever “The City”. I sat there swaying, happy as shit thinking, after all, the night was perfect. Ready to turn around and leave, they stuck around for one more song, “Onward, Fat Girl!”. It summed up the night for me: a set that sent me on a course headed for starry-eyed nostalgia, only to right me right at the end and slap me in the face to say that, yeah, things end. Particularly not the way you expect or maybe even want them to.
Kicking off their last album, Guided By Voices have pretty much everyone’s highest expectations to live up to. It’s fitting then that it’s one of those perfect, mid-fi Bob Pollard tunes that doesn’t smack you in the face, but slowly, deliberately makes you reach for and raise your lighter. Everything’s intact here: jangly guitars, Who worship, well enunciated lyrics, that slight yet fake British lilt, and a handful of powerchords. If there was a more perfect band for raising your glass to the erasing of bad memories, being awesome for one night only, and power of rock and roll I don’t know them. It doesn’t matter that Bobby and co. made this song about (literally) 3,000 times. It just matters that this at this particular moment GBV proved rock music could be perfected.
Coming up on the start of the show, there was a peculiar calm over the Black Cat that I’m unfamiliar with. Most concerts I’ve seen where there’s a high level of anticipation, it’s like the roof on the venue is about to blow off. People can barely contain themselves, sporadic shouts pepper the atmosphere. Last Friday, the Black Cat was seriously tame compared to, shoot, the Lightning Bolt show I saw on Wednesday of that week. It could be any number of things, but my money’s on an overall sense of disbelief. We haven’t seen this band in (we’ll be generous) five years. Holy shit! After J. Robbins’ gracious speech and explanation for the (unfortunate) reason that we were really all there, they stalked out, all kinda doing the coy smiling thing. Holy shit! And just like old times: “Hi we’re the Dismemberment Plan from