Friday, September 16, 2005

beta imagines bowie in his funk

My only planned night of CMJ is inside the VIP pen on the side of the SummerStage. I am trying to figure out a way to cover Bell Orchestre in the near-future, but their live set does little to help, as there's nothing to endear or earmark it to me. Yes, it strikes me as a few more of the Arcade Fire playing even more instruments. And when's the last time you've seen two bands in a night both use a French horn player? Alright, I got that you guys are from New France; I don't need it shoved down my daggummed Texan good ol' boy throat all night long.
Speaking of TX, my boys SOUNDteam (a/k/a the other Screwed-Up Click) must have the H-town connex, opening up for the Arcade Fire in a humidity that feels like home. The 'team are crisp, even on such an open stage, getting a crowd that has never heard a peep of them nor been told to like them to nod and clap.
Everyone is waiting for the Arcade Fire, and while I have only come across one song that strikes me, the devout are in full-force, selling out the show months beforehand. Perhaps I've avoided really big, corwd-pleasing concerts in the recent past, but I always get chills when I hear a crowd chant back all the words of songs (I never remember the words). What amazes me the most is how the Arcade Fire is sold on their own concept, whether it's just spazz-goth or something more (or less) profound. They've sewn their own flag, pounded their own marching drum, conceptualized their story and art from the start. They shout along and writhe, stomp and shiver, loose howls towards the light riggings of heaven, just as their fans do. As if mere recitation could save lives.

I saw David Bowie backstage, just drunk enough to convince the girls that I would get a Polaroid of them with Bowie, but then he moves towards the sidestage and I'm not that drunk to test my slobbery silver tongue then. Even knowing what's next (or what happened before), to feel the roar that washes over me when Bowie takes center in crisp Panamanian white to offset their sweaty black digs mewling about that queen bitch is a fitting peak to the long night to follow...


Post a Comment

<< Home