The night started off normally: my friend was denied permission to go at the last minute but managed to change that with just hours to spare; my mom wouldn't let me go outside in only a t-shirt despite my explanation that I'll spend a few hours in a sweltering hot club and mere minutes outside in the 44 degree weather; my friend and I arrived before doors and stood in a huge line of middle-aged couples. Typical concert routine. Except the middle-aged people left their JoBros-obsessed daughters at home this time. (Okay, most of them were probably too young to have children with hormones, but you know. This was the first time I'd ever really partied with anyone over the age of 23.)
After snapping a picture of the SOLD OUT sign (because I'm a dork like that) and getting the hand stamps that prevent you from ordering alcohol but more importantly, make all your friends wonder where you were last night, we got in, checked out the merch stand, and assumed our spots in front of the stage. Oh, and I used the bathroom with the Little Mermaid Barbie doll on the door, as opposed to the one with the Prince Charming Ken doll. Gotta love the 9:30 Club.I also met a girl wearing a remarkably similar outfit to mine (magenta top, yellow belt) who asked me how awesome her peacock feather barrette was, told me it was her 21st birthday, asked me how old I was, then wished me a happy birthday as I hurried out.
Doors were at 8:00, and although it would seem logical that the 9:30 Club would begin its shows at 9:30, no one I talked to actually believed they would be logical about things. Opening the doors 90 minutes before the show? No way. Most places do 30 minutes. 60, tops. But alas, logic prevailed, and we had to stand 20 feet away from the stage for 75 minutes until the smart adults started trickling in.
Remembering the girl near me who fainted at the Hellogoodbye concert, I grabbed two cups of complimentary ice water from the bar before the show began. Since dancing while holing drinks is slightly awkward (guess you need alcohol in them for it to seem more comfortable), I discovered that I could fit each cup of water into a pocket in my cargo pants. ((Concert tip: cargo pants = love. Sticking your newly purchased t-shirt in your pocket isn't always flattering, but it beats holding it all night.)) I told myself to be very careful when dancing so the water wouldn't spill.At long last, the lights dimmed and the show began with what we all hoped was some sick joke. Three women lumbered on stage, turned their backs to the audience, and the music began.
I have never seen a mentally challenged pole dancer, but I imagine that watching one perform would instill the same feelings of guilt, disgust, pity, and sick fascination that Hottub's performance did. The three women on stage had a range of skin tones and body types, but they were clearly united in their fashion sense. All three wore (yes, you are reading this correctly) animal-print spandex. Two of them wore pieces of fabric that might have been leotards before someone realized just how hideous a plus-size tiger-print unitard really is and tried to do the world a favor by cutting it up. But their plan backfired when Hottub got a hold of it and... the result is still burned into my retina.
I actually thought one of them was totally rocking the whole leopard-print leggings with a leopard-print tunic look until she took her top off to reveal a very sparkly bra and an array of tattoos that would give John Vesely a run for his money. At least the sparkly bra reassured audiences that she really was a girl. There were rampant rumors that they were really men in drag. (Nope, I got an unfortunately close look at all three, and they were definitely female. But the average drag queen probably would have been able to put together a better outfit.)
Musically, Hottub is probably the best hip-hop screamo girl group ever, which is to say, they suck. Their first song might have been able to pass as rap; their second was more of a hard-rock chant; by the third, they had given up any remaining self-restraint and just devolved into seemingly senseless screaming. A few of their songs had slightly catchy choruses, but I think that this was because 10 minutes into their set, the audience was so desensitized that hearing them chant "B-I-T-C-H, you know what it is" sounded all right. (That would be the chorus to their song "Manbitch"; their other catchy song was "123Go," whose oh-so articulate chorus went "Ready, 1, 2, 3, go." Both songs are available on their MySpace page so you can make your ears bleed anywhere with Internet access!)(And if you're listening to them on MySpace and thinking they're all right, please know that they don't sound as good live.)How does one dance to their self-described punk/crunk/funk music? Based on Hottub's moves, it appears that you trudge across the dance floor then get down on your knees and wail into that microphone. Once in a while you climb on top of a speaker with a lack of cat-like grace that would make the jungle cats who inspired your outfit cringe. Just as rarely, you and your bandmates attempt to do choreographed dances that are about as graceful as Britney's infamous VMA performance.
But Hottub's fave dance move? Gettin' down with the fans!
They got off the stage and into the little part of the floor behind the metal barricades several times during the set, and if being 10 feet away from them while they're on stage is scary, being 5 feet away is horrifying. Yet fascinating. I wanted to cringe away and lean in closer to get a better look at their war paint-esque eye make-up at the same time.The crowd was dumbfounded. While Hottub got all fired up, the audience just kind of stared. Even laughed out loud a couple times. Because, well, it was a funny experience. And if the freak show on stage got boring, a look at the adults on the balcony was sure to put a smile on your face. Most looked pretty freaked out, but a few ladies in business casual were dancing and clapping their hands like they'd hit the bar a few too many times. Like I said, partying with people over the age of 23 is weird...
The only time the crowd really cheered for Hottub was when they announced that they would only be playing one more song. But our joy soon turned to dread when Hottub explained that since the 9:30 Club won't let fans get up on stage with them, they were going to come down into the audience and party with us!!!!
As the ladies climbed off stage and into the audience, the crowd hastily parted for them. Some girls even screamed in terror as they passed. They worked their way through much of the club, stopping to grind with the occasional man.
When one of them passed by me, I did what anyone else would do in such a horrifying situation: I wet my pants. No, no, I didn't need to go to the Little Mermaids' room; I spilled the cups of water in my pockets. Though it felt like I had peed my pants. As if it wasn't hard enough trying to back away from a crazed lady in tiger-striped spandex who decided to stop and shake her thang right in front of me, I felt the water trickling down my legs and saw a puddle on the floor next to me. Most awkward moment of my life? Hell yeah.
I used my friend's camera to record a video of the crazy tiger-clad chick dancing six inches away from me; I sincerely hope it will be making the rounds on YouTube soon. I'll link to it as soon as it does!
When the song ended and Hottub returned to the stage, the audience let out an audible sigh of relief. The following 30 minutes of bland club music felt like heaven after Hottub's jarring 30-minute set.
Hottub's crazy dance attack shifted people around a bit on the floor; there was definitely one more row of a people between me and the stage than there had been at the beginning of the show. But no worries. I wasn't going to make the same moving mistake two boys near me made. They came up from somewhere near the back of the club and squeezed their way in in front of the stage. The middle-aged man next to me totally told them off and made them stand somewhere else because he and his wife had been waiting there, and they weren't about to lose their good view. The guys slunk off someplace farther back. Did I mention that I love partying with people over the age of 23?
When The Ting Tings came on stage, the audience cheered more loudly than I knew middle-aged people were capable of. The Ting Tings began with a terrific rendition of "We Walk."
The Ting Tings played every song on We Started Nothing except "Traffic Light," which isn't much of a party song anyways. Their live performances sounded very similar to their performances on the album (possibly because Jules DeMartino's drumming, Katie White's vocals, and both of their occasional guitar work were the only parts actually performed live. The keyboards and most of the guitar and bass were played somewhere off-stage, maybe on a recording.)
Honestly, after the months and months of anticipation for this concert, I don't really know how to say this, but The Ting Tings were a little... anticlimactic. Hottub made me want to scream and cry and run as if my life depended on it. The Ting Tings made me want to jump up and down and dance a little (and make out with Jules, omg hottness...), but watching their set felt like attending the wrong after party.
Although I may have been at the wrong party, I was in the right part of the room. You know when you're at a concert and you see a section of people dancing like crazy and having a blast, and you are stuck with a bunch of people who keep complaining about the sound quality and how much they want to cut your off? For the first time ever, I was in that awesome section of people that makes everybody else jealous. They jumped and clapped their hands, but they rarely bumped into you and never stepped on your toes. And it didn't start to smell rank in there until at least halfway through the set. So I loved the crowd. I really couldn't have had a better experience at the concert.
So I was glad I was near the stage because the crowd there was so enthusiastic, but as for The Ting Tings... They seemed pretty out of it. Katie looked dazed, and Jules spent the whole time hiding behind his oh-so cool large sunglasses. Katie barely spoke to the audience after she informed us near the beginning of the set that they had been to the 9:30 Club before and that it was a wonderful establishment. I don't think I ever heard Jules' voice. I wonder if it's all squeaky and funny-sounding, or if it's really raspy and scary? Probably not. I think I actually have heard him sing/rap/talk backup on a few songs. I think I've heard him in interviews too. But it would have been funny if he sounded like Mickey Mouse or a serial killer...
The Ting Tings' aloofness was disappointing, but it didn't mean they didn't play well. "We Walk," a song that always seemed like filler on their album, screamed NEXT SINGLE during the set. "Great DJ" was another standout, and I totally rocked out during my personal fave "Keep Your Head." And those weren't even the best songs. Katie did an interesting dance/trance/horrible step routine at the beginning of "Fruit Machine" in which she clapped, bent over, and hit a button that made a sound like, well, a fruit machine. It was weird, and I would've thought she was on drugs if this wasn't The Ting Tings. But it was a rare spark of innovation in their generally unvaried stage routine. (Katie sings, center stage. Katie sings, stage left. Katie is handed guitar, which she plays, center stage. Katie hands back guitar and plays mini keyboard, stage left. Jules plays drums, stage right, throughout.)
The other major Innovative Moment was during Katie's Crazy Weird Percussion Section on "Shut Up and Let Me Go," that really wasn't particularly crazy or weird. I've heard that The Ting Tings like to go all Blue Man Group during that song, but really, all Katie did was hit a cowbell a few times. Then she hit a spotlit bass drum with The Ting Tings written on it. I thought she was gonna go all Crazy Destructive Rock Star on it and bust it into a billion little pieces, but no. She just hit it like a marching band geek with anger issues.
After the Disappointing Blue Man Group Wannabe routine, The Ting Tings probably realized they needed to leave the audience hungering for more, so they left the stage. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. This statement proved entirely true because right then, I was kind of wishing Hottub would come back and make me think I wet myself again. But actually, seeing the spotlight on the bass drum Katie didn't destroy made me want The Ting Tings to come back, too. The guys around me were all grumbling about how a 30 minute set was too short. I'd pretty much have to agree with the people I'd been standing next to for the past 3 hours.
They say it's not over until the fat lady sings, but if that were true, the show would've ended with Hottub. Actually, the show didn't end with "Shut Up and Let Me Go" either. After a few tense minutes, Jules took the stage again. For the first time ever, he stood on stage left, playing the mini keyboard Katie had forsaken. Way to switch it up, man. Let the girls over there ogle your sex symbol-ness.He started by playing a bit "Walk This Way," then gradually devolved into playing some electropop tunes I could not identify. I thought he might be playing a new Ting Tings song until Katie returned to the stage, grooved with him a bit and said "Impacilla Carpisung." And for the record, those lyrics are even more indecipherable when heard live.
I hoped Katie would use her minutes spent offstage to change into some uberfabulous costume, or at least paint her face blue, but alas, no Blue Man Group influence was present at the show. Whoever told me they did that was a liar.
Katie's outfit remained the same, as did her strange detachedness. But again, that didn't stop her from performing a killer rendition of "That's Not My Name," the last and certainly not least song of the set. That performance made me really understand why they picked that song as a single in the UK. It sounds really good.
The Ting Tings may have felt a bit like the after party, but once their set ended, Hottub returned and started the after after party. In fact, I think the after after party started right next to me. My friend and I decided we just had to buy Hottub tees to show everyone the trauma of what we survived. Plus they looked cool.We were standing in line (correction: chaotic throng) the merch table when the girl from Hottub with the crazy warrior paint eye makeup walked up to the table and started talking to one of the girls working there. My friend and I realized then that we just had to get a picture with her, and I was elected the one to ask her while my friend bought the shirts. I have this thign where I use politeness as an excuse to avoid talkign to people I don't want to talk to, so of course I coudl not interrupt her conversation. How rude.
But then, who shoudl appear but Bubbles or whatever her crazily-named bandmate was called! She started shakign her leopard print-covered behind to some imaginary music and gushing to me about how awesome The Ting Tings were. I attempted to make small talk, working up to asking her for a picture, because I wanted to be seen as a fellow partier, not a moocher who's just in it for the Facebook profile picture. But another moocher beat me to it, slipping in wiht their camera extended, ready to snap it. Leopard Lady got Warrior Chick to stop talkign and take pictures wiht the fans, and the chaotic throng shifted 5 feet from the merch table to the freak show. Look for lots of Leopard Lady and Warrior Chick on Facebook and MySpace pages near you.
As it turned out, my friend and I were dead last in line for merch and almost last in line to get our pictures taken. But I partied right next to Warrior Chick during the show and Leopard Lady afterwards, and one of them complimented my friend on her scarf and engaged her in a brief conversation about the awesomeness of thrifting, and that is really all that matters. We had a great experience with people we will never forget, even if they did make me wet my pants.
