Posted by KB on August 10, 2010
I may have been assaulted on my way into the venue. I mean, I can’t tell. I feel like I was assaulted. The memories of early that night come infrequently; a glazed, dream-like translucence when they do. I lay out on the floor – feet facing away from the stage. My eyes mostly closed. It was 1980-ish. A jaded Cyndi Lauper tribute show working through tired attempts at Fleetwood Mac. The feet around my head stood unmoving, planted. The most familiar hand, reaching down – recognition, pulling me up to comparatively fresh air, standing. It was over. Praise be to anything.
She lived in another city when Antidotes came out. In a Zach Braff pitch that almost was, the album became part of the soundtrack of that time; the first choice weeknight jacket hung on the coat hanger of drinking until you forget how much you miss her. In truth, the soundtrack fit better than most jackets of the time. Tension mounting all week – the strummed, yelping definition of a crescendo – to places seemingly beyond where you imagined tension was capable of being mounted.
Then suddenly, arrival.
Responsibilities shed – life lived in a blur of lights, alcohol, love – not a passing thought given to impending duty. It’s appropriate that she grins as ‘Two Steps Twice’ hits the release valve; moments stretching out, end on end on end.
If he’s not the drunkest person at the show, he’s the drunkest person not to have been shouldered out by St Johns/muscled out by Security.
“Mate... Maaaaate... Oh my Gawd, how good was that? (hic) HOW... GOOD... WAS... THAAAAAT! (hic) Fucking. Sik (sic). Dancing!”
In between drunken pauses and a rising fear of projectile vomit, I reason that he has a point. Around me, disaffected youth taunt sobriety to forget. “Cassius it’s over, you’re second best” doesn’t actually mean anything. I don’t think. The thing is that you don’t realise this until you start thinking about it. And by that stage it’s too late – you’ve missed the point. Tonight is a first time ever – for them, for us. Tonight is an energy. Tonight is a celebration of itself, and nothing else. The found collective and our in-house band of choice. And Foals work best when optioning anthem ideas off their debut. It would take one of cheap plastic novelty ears to deny the artistic leap Total Life Forever represents for the studio troupe. But live, tonight, Foals sign off a letter in invisible ink. Blinding, chiming, treble-clean guitars are left to dropped needles. There’s grittiness to live Foals. A band fresh back from the beach, left outside to be hosed down. And it lends itself to Antidotes, stomping dirty boots on the delicacies of their sophomore.
A guitar-slung lap of the crowd, a largely anticipated encore, and we’re out. First time finished. It’s capital-R Raining outside, but no one seems to hoist umbrellas as they trudge away, muffled opinion escaping disguised as fog.
For photo coverage of the show, check out the Kluster Gallery.
foals, manning bar