by carl wilson

Dance in the Police Disco Lights

The Arcade Fire's designated spouses. Not from last night: Simulation via Bradley's Almanac.

The first night of the Arcade Fire's three-night stand in Toronto last night was like a mass debutante ball for the indie kids (and the, well, not-so-kid-like writers who love them), the elegant old Music Hall upholstery around us, the subway car on the way home seeming like a capacious limousine or school field-trip bus, and love-all-around seasoned to taste. A hard call to pass up the Undertones and Wedding Present, but it was memorable - even if the show hadn't been great it was enough just to look at the two teeming floors of fans, to think Jesus, there are two more sold-out nights like this! and marvel.

Mrs. Zoilus and I were very sad to miss Final Fantasy (had to hit a family birthday party), and didn't get entirely won-over by Montreal's Wolf Parade (felt like a shmoopier, more Cure-like junior Frog Eyes, but they had chawm; we generally figgered it was a bigger venue than they're ready to command - mind is still set on "open"). It'd be silly for me to go on about the A.F. here, but live is definitely where it all comes together for them - I like about half the songs on Funeral plenty, a couple (Tunnels, Laika) I adore, but I loved the huge anarcho-family-jamboree vibe last night, like early Hidden Cameras shows but more theatrical and less participatory. They strike such great tableaux, with a strong dynamic of frozen stillness versus chaos and perfect timing switching from one to the other. Misc. points: Huge drum sound, somehow no matter who's playing them, which is crucial to the parade-ground feel; it must be tough to be away from home so much - six months more or less straight, they said; Win announced that he's just become a permanent Canadian resident (he's from Texas), to much crowd cheerage. Cue closing processional out through the centre aisle, there goes the band, there goes the band, da-da-na-naaaa-na, there goes the band.

What's the name of that broader-shouldered band member with the perfect poses who so joyously molests drums and cymbals and bandmates? The one who disguises himself as a musician but is more of a dancer-provocateur? He's totes an eye magnet, as are of course Win and Regine. We married people love to see the cool marrieds up there - you see, it is romantic, it is epic, yon naysayers. 'Tain't no thing like listening to their tenderly wobbly, steel-drum cover of This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody) with true love at your side, chillun: "I can't tell one from another/ Did I find you, or you find me?/ There was a time/ Before we were born/ If someone asks, this where I'll be/ Where I'll be." Amen.

As Win freely admitted last night, they're a very sentimental band.

Speaking of which: I'm now giving the Mountain Goats' new Sunset Tree its first audition, on my broken office earphones (only the right ear works - does that somehow influence which hemisphere of the brain is hearing the songs, or does it just make one woozy?). Initial weather reading: Intense. Reportage tomorrow after the other ear gets redress.

Also: Douglas Wolk provides another example of how music-industry contortions c. 2005 as a whole and Toronto's own 20hz/Stillepost squidfuck run parallel.

Live Notes | Posted by zoilus on Wednesday, April 27 at 5:04 PM | Linking Posts | Comments (1)



carl -- Admiral Antics is win's brother, will.

Posted by kat on April 28, 2005 8:19 AM




Zoilus by Carl Wilson