Yay, indie rock! It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a show, what with law school and the bar exam ruining my life for the last three years, so it was with much excitement that I joined my husband and two friends at the AV-aerie last night for the Thank You/Lord of the Yum Yum/O’death/Dan Deacon show.
We missed Thank You, but Lord of the Yum Yum and O’death were pretty great, even though the bass player of the latter band was a disconcerting composite of like three of my ex-boyfriends. He did a lot of screaming, though, and that was pretty sweet, if you like that kind of thing.
Dan Deacon, who was the only performer that I’d heard of before the show, was super excellent. He set up his equipment on a table in the middle of the floor, which I guess is the way he rolls, and a minute into his first song, some over-zealous fan knocked a vocorder off the table and broke it. After getting everything squared away, while singing a little song about getting what he deserved for not playing on the stage, he recruited some big strong people to stand protectively around the table and got back to rockin’.
I’m not one for tight crowds or for standing with my face crammed into the sweaty armpit of a smelly hipster, so I stayed away from the fray and against the wall where I could have room to both dance and breathe. My husband stood to my right, and to his right, standing perched precariously on a folding chair, was a very short woman who was seriously on the nod. Now I have very judiciously and intentionally stayed away from junkies for a number of years now, so at first I was kind of pissed off at her for making me care about whether she fell completely off the chair instead of just dancing like a carefree crazy woman, which had been my intent. She stood there, holding a can of Coke, her eyes shut, wavering, then she would slowing bend her knees and sink down as if to sit on her heels, tipping forward at an alarming angle. Just when I thought for sure she was going to fall face first into the crowd, she’d catch herself, stand up straight, and start the process all over again. She did this so often that I finally stopped paying attention to her and got back into the music, until, of course, she toppled over onto my husband. I grabbed her elbow and suggested that, for the benefit of us all, she try sitting down for awhile. She agreed to at least sit back on the windowsill, and that, nearly an hour later, is where she was when the show ended, still holding a can of Coke, still with her eyes closed.
Meanwhile, in front of us, three girls who would have looked equally if not more at home in the the Wrigleyville Barleycorn as they did in a Wicker Park supermegaindierock performance art space, aggressively freak danced each other, Coyote Ugly style, which seemed a little incongruous but hey. Dan Deacon brings out the best in all of us, I guess.
The evening ended with a group sing-a-long to the epic song “Wham City”:
There is a mountain of snow
Up past the big glen
We have a castle enclosed
There is a fountain
Out of the fountain flows gold
Into a huge hand
That hand is held by a bear who had a sick band
Of ghosts and cats and pigs and bats
With brooms and bats and wigs and rats
And great big dogs like queens and kings
And everyone plays drums and sings
Of big sharks, sharp swords,
Beast bees, bead lords,
Sweet cakes, mace lakes,