All words: Travis Andrews — All photos: Jenny Greenley
It’s so loud, I almost feel nauseous. My internal organs are vibrating with that bass and Blonds, with a new line up from last time they blew me away, begins to play. It’s the same mix as last time, as always for this band. It’s moody. It’s sexy. It’s pissed. It’s humorless. But not in a bad way. How this band is still an opener’s opener is beyond me, but a travesty. No one is speaking. The place is so loud, so dark. The band is dark. That Interpol, atmospheric sound. It’s 8 p.m. It feels like 3 a.m. Nothing good is happening in the world. Her voice is so sultry, so beautiful. Her tight blue dress stands at contrast to the black clothes worn by the rest of the band. The room is vibrating. No one’s beer is still. Suddenly, it’s over. Turn around, and the room is packed.
Watch as several young men with long floppy mops of hair climb onto the stage. DIIV. This is different. The darkness has lifted. A groove has replaced it. Atmospheric still describes what’s happening here, thought the atmosphere is different. Bodies are leaning all around, head bobbing to the groove, that indeterminable groove. PBRs now make sense in people’s hands, that the darkness is lifted. The band plays the grooves faster and faster, heads follow suit. Not a missed note as the room just grooves along … slowly but … faster … faster .. faster . faster. faster fasterfasterfaster, and everyone’s going nuts, beer is being chugged and … it ends, stopped. And it starts over, a new song, a new groove, but the same idea. The idea cannot die. The drummer’s drinking beer he brought on stage. The darkness has lifted, and life has returned. The Rock n Roll Hotel is nothing but good vibes. The darkness has been lifted. The music circles around, a guitar riff over a grooving bassline, song after song. They don’t change, but who wants them to. PBRs are finished, more are bought. Slowly the lights go on. The band takes its floppy hair and retreats. And it’s over. Turn around, and the room is packed.
Wild Nothing is on a stage, above everyone. The lights have changed, all purple, fantastic, spinning. And … atmosphere … again. The first sound the guitar makes fills the room with atmosphere. You can just … feel … it. They groove as well, slimier to DIIV. The darkness is completely destroyed. Humor arrives. “Our website is MittRomney.com.” It’s cool, it’s grooving. Life is here in full, without he purple lights, with the grooving guitars, with the atmosphere. The air is no longer thick and dark. Every note is hit. Everything perfect. It was, earlier, perfect. But a perfect darkness. This is a perfect groove.
Spring has spurn.