#woe. penguin be upon ye | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

certifiablyplatinum · 7 years

Text

“‘Call the police’, cause I been arrested for an improper display of rockin’!” LCD Soundsystem at the Masonic Temple, Detroit

So, when I got notified of the “early bird sale” for this show waaaay back when in June,, I whipped out my plastic as I am wont to do without thinking…. of course I did. Because… James Murphy, and one of my favorite bands of all time. I consider LCD Soundsystem my Depeche Mode 2.0, and for anyone who knows me that’s all the summation that needs.

Well, because when you get old, time moves in a different way (as in, faster), summer basically didn’t happen, and before I knew it, it was time to hit the road to Detroit. I was beyond stoked, and played my favorite classics all morning as I finished up some work…. North American Scum, Losing My Edge (probably my favorite lyrics of any song,* and even more pointed AND poignant as an aging creative in my industry. Like, I GET that song: “But I was THERE!”

Anyway- Russ (so game! So indulgent of my schedule dictations and crazy plans!) and I made our escape in the Escape and off we went. We checked into an Air B & B 3 hours later that seemed KIND of sketchy but was “actually really, really nice.”* We poured some warm vodka into a solo cup I had brought along in my bag just in case (it pays to be prepared, and I can be weird about other peoples’ dishes) and about an hour later, after playing tunes and sitting on the bed looking at each other, we summoned an Uber and went to the Whitney, a gorgeous 1800′s mansion converted into a restaurant, dessert parlor, gardens, etc. When Russ saw the white tablecloths he looked at me with wide eyes and said, “Holy shit” and promptly covered his “God Save the Queen” sex pistols shirt with a classy flannel. We agonized in stage whispers how to plan, mesh and merge our overeating vs. cocktailing- (Russ said somewhat accusingly: “THE LAST TIME YOU HAD A FULL FISH DINNER COMPLETE WITH SIDES AND BREAD YOU WENT HOME AND SLEPT”) along with figuring our budget for this meal, which there was none. So, I ordered a crab cake (playing it off with a coquettish “Oh, I don’t have much of an appetite!” to the waiter), and kept asking for more bread.

Yes, I’m cutting to the chase, but I like to add a little background flavor to my “reviews” (which are turning into stories.) Anyway, we ate our way to a pleasant satisfaction, NOT stuffage (key to a good evening.) We left the Whitney and popped into another Uber and got dropped off in front of the imposing, castle-like Masonic Temple theatre (the largest in the world.) It was about 7:30, and the line already snaked around the building. As we exited our Uber, we were met by my fellow LCD fan and Columbus-ite, Kerrie, and her BFF Dani, who had also road-tripped up. We gathered together and moved simultaneously in a clump until we reached the front doors and presented our tickets.

Inside was already a bit of pandemonium. The auditorium was the size of the indoor LC, (oops, Express Live) with the ornate-ness of the Ohio Theatre, with arches leading through to aisleways into the venue and beverage/snack counters like the Schott or any basketball arena.. Kerrie and Dani had balcony seats so up they went, and Russ and I made our way to the floor. (Earlier Russ had asked, “Is there an opener?” I had said, “I bet there will just be a DJ” and bingo.) Thudding bass beats blasted into the auditorium, and I rocked out with my Rum and Diet once we found a seat. Get this. Our seats were on the aisle, second row from the floor. (The whole show was GA, and I couldn’t believe what a great spot we got.) It was like being on the floor, but– I could see better because we were elevated a bit OVER the floor, and I could sit if I damn well chose to do so.

The DJ spun, the floor in front of us filled, and before I knew it the place was maxium capacity, with people even spilling into the aisles. A wisp of smoke, a darkened stage, and the screams began… as the opening notes of the first track off their new album, “Oh Baby” filtered into our eardrums. The build of swirling, tinkling keys sounded like a fairy tale, or Tinkerbell, or making one feel they should be standing in a darkened field with stars swirling dizzingly around them in sparkling rotation.

I was agog at taking in the sight of James Murphy (and all his gear!), my shaggy-haired hero. Who IS this odd genius, cool yet mad, hipster yet pushing 50, dapper yet rough, a singer/songwriter/drummer/pianist/programmer/DJ/mixmaster? Such a hodgepodge of talent, so much so that I can’t pin him down with a word. He almost seemed as if he was the maestro of an orchestra, or big-band leader at a supper club, in his white shirt and black jacket (and black jeans). For the entire show, he was the beacon on the stage that everyone revolved around. Even when laying down the most danceable beats, he stood tall and composed, a beam of light shining upon him.

After the magical vibe of “Oh Baby” faded away, the band launched into a rapid-fire, doubletime, raw take on “Daft Punk is Playing at My House”, causing a frenzy of moshing and screaming. The stage turned red under the lights, fists were pumped, and a cowbell made a bold and badass appearance:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NLWUIy0dvTk&feature=youtu.be

“Call the Police”, with its deep bass riff toward the end (ba bum bum bum da da ad DA da, repeat) slayed the crowd; like “Daft Punk…”, the tempo was amped considerably. In fact, most songs were played with a driving, energetic urgency, almost as if the band couldn’t keep up with themselves. Everything was spot-on… clear vocals, an assured presence, drummers that bounced up and down as they slammed the sticks– James hit every high note with thoughtful preparation… (’we don’t waste time with…love”). He commands this song with Bono-like intensity. (I think he sounds like Bono on a lot of the new album, if you must know).

Get Innocuous, You Wanted a Hit, ferocious and fun, blasted out next. And then, I made a critical error. Fateful, dare I say. Like Icarus soaring cockily to the sun, because I have done this hundreds of times before with no negative consequence… I left to “bring back drinks.”

I headed up the packed aisle and walked down the marble steps to the basement- the quickest and closest bar. I pulled my sweaty 20 from my bosom and got a bottle of water, a Pabst (lol) for Russ, and a rum and diet. After waiting 10 minutes, I gathered my sundries and climbed back upstairs, finding my entry way to “aisle 3.” And I was met by a wall of bodies. No, more like..a CONE of bodies, packing every square, breathable atom of space and air from the top of the entryway down to the floor. My 5′2 self, carrying three beverages, pushed boldly on, and then confusedly, and then feebly. The oxygen was sucked from my lungs, I was being eaten alive by warm, sweaty, douchebag bodies as they sucked me in the Upside Down like Barb. My cracking, forlorn, yet agitated voice called “RUSS..” (dear God, why. The auditorium was powering out decibels with the same power of the sun.) It was so dark, so loud, so packed, I didn’t even know where I was heading. To top it all off, in the cruelest sense of irony, during my time of woe the band was blissfully singing their gentlest, saddest song, “Someone Great.” As I pushed and sloshed through the Upside Down of bodies, my wrists wet from rum, a ragged sob burst forth from my throat. I sensed I was getting close to the floor… and then I was being grabbed and clawed, some colossal dickhead grabbing the neck of my shirt to keep me from getting through, grabbing my drink and spilling it, and then his friends laughing – I felt I was in a fucking funhouse hall of horrifying mirrors. Like, if it was a movie, I would have seen their faces in slow mo moving toward me with deep, slowed-down, “HA, HA, HA’s.” Somehow, I found myself on the floor, which meant I had bypassed my second row seat. As the haunting lyrics, “when someone great is gone… when someone great is gone…” were being sung, in a weird way I trying to listen to it I was pissed I was missing it, while the rest of me was painfully aware I had no idea how to find Russ. Would Russ be singing those lines about me when I never returned? I wondered forlornly. A girl yelled - “YOU’RE ON THE FLOOR” and I stared at her blankly and yelled back, “I’M ON THE FLOOR?” All my instincts could do was send me away from the floor. Like a penguin on their programmed quest for winter food, I marched back toward the packed aisle. My foot felt a step up- I had made the front row. My eyes scanned the seats, and finally I saw Russ standing. I shoved my way into any available hole that a human body made as it stood next to another human body it was not connected to, and I slithered my way to my (unbelievably) still-empty seat. I collapsed, tossed Russ his pabst, and wiped an exhausted, emotional , drunken tear from my cheek, barely able to blurt: “I WAS ASSAULTED AND THE AISLE WAS PACKED.” I then slammed the remaining droplets at the bottom of my spilled drink.

SO, YEAH! ‘Someone Grea’t was… great. (It really was. I was hyperaware of it as I was going through my trauma.) Once settled, though, I shook it off, and danced with vigor at Yr City’s a Sucker and Tonite, Tonite (which sounds like a Daft Punk song. Ironic? Discuss.).

“We’re going to the bathroom, then we’re coming back,” James informed the crowd, so we settled down a bit because I had a feeling that Dance Yrself Clean may be one of the encores… I was not disappointed! It put a worthwhile capper on the whole evening. “Ahhh ahhhhhh, ahhh ahhh….” rang out the harmonies, with the chirpy RD2-D2 synth sounds peppering underneath, and then, the big, bold, reverb-y breakdown…. ahhhh! Washed clean. Danced clean.

Here I am, sweaty with the abovementioned cleanse. I look like I’ve been through the “wringer”, so to speak. Hot mess!:

(as my POS phone had died, I was begging Russ to document the evening in a photographic sense.) Anyway, we weren’t quite sure what to do because we were both feeling pretty rough and tired at this point… so we wandered toward the casino. Once we got there, we sat down at a metal table in a glorified food court, looked at each other and said, “what the hell are we doing here?” I really just wanted a huge bottle of water, and maybe a sub. Like- Justin and Karly, if you are reading this, I really just wanted that pizza place/bar we stumbled into on the way back from the U2 show in Cleveland. Quiet, dark,dumpy, whatever. SOOOO, we ubered back to the air b & b (in Lafayette Park- which I am reading was a hotbed for Mies Van Der Rohe’s’ residential buildings, and I wonder if the apartment building we stayed in was one of them?)

I had a half a bottle of water waiting for me from earlier, which I chugged; I ripped out my contacts, changed into my slug clothes, and hopped in bed. I wondered aloud if I would be able to sleep– many times after a concert I am too jacked up, especially when rum & diet is involved. Like a magical elf, Russ rolls toward me, producing a Klonopin he takes for his own sleep issues. I cracked the hell up. Russ then literally proffered it on his finger and put it in my mouth, saying in a creepy voice, “Take it, kid… just let it dissolve and see the rainbow.” Holllllllyyyy shite.

So- I love this band, they are a sinuous, living, silvery, fluid octopus of harmony and rhythm, soft and loud, thundering and syncopated and layers of weirdness and stops and starts. As I read weeks ago– the only band who could produce a 9-minute pop song and leave you wanting more. WHO are they? WHAT do they create? Just like me getting trapped in a throng of screaming, pulsating bodies, there are some things we may never understand.

0 notes