YAY, I LOVE THE POSTAL SERVI- HEY, WAIT A MINUTE, THAT HONOR DEFINITELY GOES TO ADAM YOUNG FOR OF JUNE! Oh well, might as well listen to it anyways. Just so I’ll be well-informed when defending the honor of Owl City.
Upon listening to the album, however, I found the description of the music as “electronic” about as insulting as this slight to Adam Young. Freelance Whales employ a ragtag bunch of instruments, and singling out the laptop as the most important would be like saying the catcher is the star of the baseball team. Sure, he plays an important role, but his teammates are a far more interesting bunch. And Freelance Whales certainly has an eye-popping line-up: glockenspiels, harmoniums, and many, many more I’ll probably never identify. This team was put to great use crafting both happy and haunting tunes about, as the band’s website explains, a young boy in love with an elusive ghost who haunts his home.
After listening to their enchanting album many more times than I would like to count, when I read in my Ticket Alternative newsletter that they were opening for Tokyo Police Club, I jumped on the chance to buy those tickets like a child who’s been waiting in line for 20 minutes to use the trampoline during gymnastics camp. (I often jumped on trampolines like that in summers of my youth.)
Several months later when the concert finally rolled around, my trusty concert buddy and I found ourselves with an extra ticket and few friends in town. Seeing no other options, my friend turned to a bold new ticket-selling frontier: Craigslist. Apparently paying $20 for a ticket to a sold-out $18 concert is quite the deal, so we soon sold it.
Like the naive little girls we are, we thought it would be pretty easy to spot our mystery customer outside the club if we arrived half an hour before doors. Like, who shows up early for a Tokyo Police Club show?
Oh, only about a hundred people.
Thanks to the magic of cell phones, we managed to meet up with her. While she drove around the block in search of parking, I noticed the walls of the building were covered in posters for Lightfoot’s upcoming show. Since Jessica Louise Dye is kind of my best buddy, I took a picture of one of the posters, just in case I want to continue admiring it in the comfort of my own home. Here, you can admire it in the comfort of your own home (or office or hotel room or other favorite place with Internet access) too:
As we entered the club, our customer, who was several years older than us and began to refer to herself as our “chaperone,” joined us started talking about how excited she was to see R. Kells. I briefly became concerned that she thought she had bought R. Kelly tickets, but it turned out that after I bought the tickets, a band called Arkells was added to the line-up, and no one told me. That made much more sense than Tokyo Police Club sharing the stage with R. Kelly.
I was pretty excited to add the Black Cat to my list of venues I’ve been to DC. Since they tend to attract indie bands even I’ve never heard of, I was expecting it to be about on par with Rock & Roll Hotel: dark, stuffy, and the size of a walk-in closet.
Oh mighty Black Cat, I’m sorry I ever doubted you.
The interior of the club was gorgeous. With its black-and-white checkerboard floor and soft yellow lighting, it looked more like an elegant hotel lobby than a hotel room’s closet. And best of all, despite the monstrous line to get in, the stage area was nearly empty.
Okay, actually, the best part was the low ceiling, which was uncovered so you could see the ducts and air-conditioning vents. I thought 930 Club’s AC was as good as that of any club you could find, but their high ceiling and balconies give them a huge disadvantage compared to single-story places like Black Cat. At Black Cat, you could see the vents to plan the optimal air conditioned spot, then feel the cold, glorious air gushing down on you, as close to paradise as any area jam-packed with dancing people can be.
My friend, our “chaperone,” and I ended up with second- and third-row spots a bit too close to the speakers for comfort, then waited for Arkells to come on while our chaperone educated us on why Canada is the most superior country on Earth. Personally, I’ve always thought a significant part of why Canada is so superior is that Canadians rarely brag about their superiority, but hey, maybe that’s just me. One of her reasons why Canada is Heaven on Earth is that they have amazing bands, such as Arkells. Apparently the band is quite popular amongst our Northern neighbors, and they had an epic duet with Ke$ha during the Much Music after party. I can’t find it on YouTube, but it’s out there somewhere.
When Arkells finally took the stage, it was easy to believe they were a hit in Canada. Their lead singer Max Kerman’s male-model looks alone could have earned his picture a spot in teenage girls’ bedroom walls, and the band’s combination of solid rock songs that were by turns upbeat and moody certainly didn’t hurt.
Besides his striking good looks and rugged croon, Kerman had a great sense of humor to boot. His between-set remarks drew laughter from the audience multiple times. Sure, sometimes the crowd was laughing at him rather than with him, such as when he tried to guess the Black Cat’s location (“Columbia? Potomac?”), but it was all good-natured. When bassist Nick Dika had to replace a string, Kerman filled the awkward silence by jokingly chastising him for stopping the party, since Tokyo Police Club said they wouldn’t get paid if they stopped the party.
Despite their brooding lyrics in songs about personal and political struggles, Arkells were at their best when they were rocking out and having fun. The fast-paced “Heart of the City” was a stand-out because of its driving guitars and strong beat, not its lyrics on heartbreak. In “No Champagne Socialist,” multi-instrumentalist Dan Griffin played a catchy harmonica riff, giving the song about a young man trying to represent the working class a fun, bluesy feel. The “hey hey hey”s in the chorus of the upbeat, piano-driven “Ballad of Hugo Chavez”’s were more memorable than the song’s ruminations on solitary confinement, but hey, making your meaningful songs rock is hardly a crime.
Near the end of the set, Kerman engaged the audience in a sort of call-and-response in the moody “Oh, the Boss is Coming!” Kerman yelped “Punching in,” and the audience shouted back “Punching out!” The crowd seemed most enchanted, however, with Kerman’s Beatles-referencing moments, such as the song “John Lennon,” in which he repeatedly crooned “I’m John Lennon in ’67” over punchy pianos. Kerman seemed most in tune with the crowd when he quoted the opening lines to “Eleanor Rigby” and the whole crowd sang along to “I look at all the lonely people.”
After Arkells exited the stage, our “chaperone” left as well to go hang out with them at their merch stand. Her spot was quickly filled by the surging crowd. I doubted the crowd was truly that interested in Freelance Whales and began to dread the pre-Tokyo Police Club rush.
Freelance Whales set up an odd array of instruments used to craft their eclectic, folksy sound. The night’s line-up included a banjo, a glockenspiel, and a percussive instrument that looked like a whisk that got in a fight with a carving knife. They began playing through Weathervanes from the beginning: slow-building opener “Generator^First Floor,” followed by the cheerful and quirky “Hannah,” the soothing “Location,” and the bouncy electronic tune “Starring.” To my disappointment, they stopped short of my favorite song, “Kilojoules,” and skipped to songs later on the album. I decided that since the sunny, hand-clapping “Kilojoules” is arguably the most fun song on the album, it would be best if they saved it for last.
Since I’d never seen a picture of the band, I was surprised at their diverse appearance. Their line-up included a woman in a mod polka-dot dress, a man whose yellow headband screamed jock, and a man whose newsboy cap and beard screamed hippie. Their eclectic outfits, however, suited the odd variety of sounds on the album. Their lead singer, Judah Dadone, wore a gray button-down shirt and large glasses that, with his dark, curly hair made him look like a dead ringer for Leonard from The Big Bang Theory.
While we’re comparing the band members to TV characters, I have to say that Kevin Read’s yellow headband was pure Paulie Bleeker from Juno, and Doris Cellar could easily have been Zooey Deschanel’s double in (500) Days of Summer. The jury’s still out on Chuck Criss and Jake Hyman. What do you think?
As I was saying, between Dadone’s nerdy charm, quirky lyrics, and the adorable way he smiled while singing, I must confess, I’m a little bit in love.
It was hard to judge whether the rest of the crowd was similarly enamored. By some miracle, I happened to be standing near a couple that were dancing along to the music. The girl behind us graciously moved back a little after I spent the first few songs sort of leaning in front of her to see around the tall guy in front of me, so then I could dance next to the dancing couple, instead of awkwardly by myself. My friend and I both thought that it sounded to us like lots of members of the crowd were singing along, but whenever we looked around, I was the only one.
Then again, our ears weren’t in the best shape. We were approximately ten feet from the speakers. Although Arkells played much more rollicking songs than Freelance Whales, Arkells played theirs at a reasonable volume. Whereas on their album, some Freelance Whales songs start soft and gradually build, in concert, these songs start ear-splitting, and if their volume increases, the change is canceled out by the gradual deterioration of the audience’s hearing.
The latter half of the set was a bit easier on the ears as Freelance Whales played their more subdued songs. “Broken Horse” and “Ghosting” were both stand-outs for their lyrics that were nonsensical yet sensitive. In concert, the band extended some of the instrumentals and repeated vocals more than on the album, giving some songs long, languishing intros and outros, which made the show very fluid. The transitions were also eased by the fact that the band spent little time talking between songs. Dadone told the crowd that playing in DC was special to him since he attended George Washington University. While the band was switching instruments between songs, Cellar made a comment about how much she enjoys the glockenspiel, though her voice was nearly drowned out by the sound of her bandmates tuning their insanely loud instruments.
They played “Kilojoules” as the second-to-last song of the set. I listened to the two verses and chorus and silently prayed they would repeat some of them. They played a long outro that wasn’t as catchy or fun as the rest of the song, and I desperately prayed that they would repeat the chorus. Alas, they did not, and they played another song after it that I don’t remember at all because I spent the whole time wishing they would play “Kilojoules” again. I decided that no one should ever give me a time machine because I would just use it to listen to them play that song again. And again. And again.
The only disappointing thing about their set was that they didn’t grow a forest on stage or reanimate any dead girls while wearing Day of the Dead masks. Wait, did that sentence not make sense to you? Then you need to see this video.
Freelance Whales - Generator 2nd Floor
Freelance Whales | MySpace Music Videos
They seemed much more normal in person, I swear.
After Freelance Whales’ set ended, my friend and I wondered aloud how much longer our ears and feet could stand all this standing near the speakers, but we decided to stay for at least some of Tokyo Police Club’s set. Meanwhile, the guys next to me started getting restless and pushing each other around. Four guys, near the stage, all friends, all starting to move around already - I thought these were prime conditions for mosh pit formation and figured we wouldn’t last three songs.
As I’ve said, predicting mosh pits is an art I have yet to master. I am happy to say that my prediction was totally wrong. The guys near me jumped around and danced, but they were remarkably good at staying in place and respecting other people’s space. There was a tiny rush toward the stage that left us with lots of room, I was right under the air conditioner, and the guy closest to me did some adorable fifties-style dancing instead of the usual fist-pumping. It made for the most delightful dancing experience I’ve ever had. Sure, my ears were probably going to fall off and get lost on the floor, but it was worth it.
And it wasn’t just the crowd that surprised me - I was a bit blown away by how fun Tokyo Police Club’s music sounded live. They began the set with “Favourite Colour” and continued to play most, if not all, of their latest album, Champ, as well as several songs from Elephant Shell. Although there were no major stylistic changes between the album versions and live versions, there was a little more of that spark of life to them. Chill songs like “Hands Reversed” became laid-back dance songs, and fast songs like “Wait Up (Boots of Danger)” sounded more energetic than ever. It’s hard to say whether the change was caused by the energy of the crowd, Dave Monks’ focus on the songs, the colorful stage lights the band was enveloped in, or a combination of the three.
Dressed in a plain white t-shirt, Monks kept his long hair in front of his face for most of the set, but he managed to keep the crowd captivated despite the fact that they could rarely glimpse his eyes. He wasn’t distracted by small talk or show-offy antics, only raising his guitar and shredding right in front of the crowd a handful of times throughout the set. However, the band had enough great songs that they didn’t need any gimmicks. The bright colored lights surrounding the stage and flashing at migraine-inducing speeds near the end of the set were by far the flashiest thing about it.
One of the band’s most charming displays of humility was their decision to include their most popular song, “Your English Is Good,” as part of the set instead of the encore. When they were finished playing, there was no awkward pause when the crowd stops cheering and waits expectantly for the encore they know the band will give no matter how quiet the crowd is. The crowd kept cheering the entire time until the band came back onstage for the two-song encore they earned.
During the set, I marveled at how good they sounded and how great the crowd was (and how long some guys can jump up and down without getting stomachaches - oh, how I envy them). There were two girls, however, that showed just how easy it is to ruin a terrific set for those around them.
Around the middle of the set, I felt something cold and wet on my arm and looked down to see a girl who had muscled her way into the fourth row next to me. By the way she was holding an empty glass, I speculated that she had bought so many drinks she could afford to pour one over herself. Then she started loudly complaining about how someone spilled their drink on her. I soon began to suspect it wasn’t an accidental spill so much as the liquid residue of popping someone’s personal bubble. Luckily for me, she and her friend soon decided the fourth row wasn’t good enough for them, so they muscled their way into the second row, right by our “chaperone,” who had returned from her chat with Arkells. My friend fought valiantly to keep them out, but finally our chaperone sarcastically told them that if they could find enough space to stand in front of her, they could go.
Never dare someone to squeeze into nonexistent space by the stage. It’s like giving dessert to a kid who says they’re too full to eat more vegetables. They’ll always find room.
Although none of the rowdy boys standing near me ever tried to mosh, one of these girls did. Well, she was either trying to mosh, or grind on all three boys around her at the same time.
After the set, the girls left a few feet ahead of my friend, our chaperone, and myself. As we walked, our chaperone loudly commented that they were a “stupid, entitled horse.” Except she pronounced “horse” in a funny way.
We made our way over to the merch stand because my friend and I wanted to buy CDs by all three of the bands. Our chaperone was still a bit miffed that her conversation with the lead singer of Arkells hadn’t gone so well earlier, and she thought he was a bit pretentious. Still, we bought their CDs, asked them to sign them, and asked for a picture. When I was standing in line and told their [incredibly burning hot] lead singer that they were amazing, he thanked me, introduced himself, and shook my hand. I think you should be proud of me for not fainting. I am.
After that, my friend and I bought Freelance Whales and Tokyo Police Club’s CDs - $12 for both, an amazing deal that made up for the fact that before the show, I stupidly bought 4 Tokyo Police Club pins for $1 apiece. They weren’t even big pins. I don’t even have anything to put them on. But they came with a free poster, so it wasn’t so bad.
Two members of Freelance Whales were working their merch table, so I asked for their autographs, too. One of them signed the CD then gave it to their lead singer, who was in front of the table talking to someone. After he signed it, he gave it back to me. I tried to take this opportunity to convey that I think Freelance Whales is one of the greatest bands in the world, and I absolutely adore their music, and I could listen to “Kilojoules” on repeat for a million years, and I have attempted to do so on several occasions but given up after about 20 minutes, but it was hard to declare my love for him when he was being so darn humble, always thanking me for coming to the show and buying the album and all. Our conversation wasn’t nearly as long as I’d hoped it would be, but I think that had it continued, it might have devolved into an endless cycle of
“Thank you for coming to the show.”
“Thank you for playing such an awesome show.”
“Thank you for buying the album.”
“Thank you for recording such a great album.”
“Thank you; we love you for being a fan.”
“THANK YOU MORE; I LOVE YOU MORE.”
“Thank you-”
“THANK YOU TIMES INIFNITY!!!! Ha, I win!”
Anyways, he shook my hand and introduced himself to me (Judah, in case you forgot). I blame all these introductions on an incredible amount of luck and perhaps a bit of good karma, though it later occurred to me that the shirt I wore to this concert was much lower-cut than the shirts I typically wear to concerts, and I have spent several hours watching bands at Warped Tour totally ignore me in my t-shirt to talk to my friend in her tank top. If that’s why I got two handshakes at this show, I think I’ll go paper-cut my wrists with some feminist manifestos about how fashion and standards of beauty are ridiculous and boys are stupid.
I like to think that Judah could tell I’m kind of madly in love with them, though. He was so nice that after our little conversation, I decided that in the indescribably tragic event that Adam Young, Ben Gibbard, and Mika all die, Judah Dadone will assume the position of Love of My Life.
So after that, I could have been nice and talked to the two underappreciated members of Freelance Whales, but I spotted my dad waiting by the door and decided it was time to leave. He had come in time to see the end of Tokyo Police Club’s set, and his insight was that they sound like Al Stewart, the seventies rocker best known for his hit “Year of the Cat.” Stewart doesn’t have Monks’ pleasantly whiny growl (yes I am aware that sounds like an oxymoron), but I suppose the comparison isn’t too far-fetched. I wish I had my dad’s historical perspective on Arkells’ music, since I’m pretty sure they owe a great deal to some seventies rockers, but I’m not entirely sure which ones. Freelance Whales, on the other hand, seem pretty darn original.
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