Come Dance With Me

How do I begin to describe last night's show. It was incredible. Easily one of the best live performances I've ever seen. I expected it to be good, but not that good. Before the show myself and James had a few drinks at Pier 23. Before he arrived, I drank alone leaning against the back of an occupied bench. I looked over the attendees and saw an eclectic assemblage of people. Many of them the wealthy and well-off type, which confused me given we were to see a band of musical dancing gypsies dressed in rags. Unprovoked, a big breasted bartender poured me a shot of whisky to drink with her, and rather than explain to her that my crippling acid-reflux prevents me from doing shots, I accepted the gift. I spent the next 60 seconds cringing and resisting the urge to regurgitate.

Walking to the show I ate 3/4 of a double-dose square of medicinal chocolate. While we danced to the tail end of Midlake, a Burner from last year stumbled upon us, making a cameo. We chatted and laughed at the odds. Once she left James and I became engrossed in a talk about the power of gift giving. The satisfaction received when something is given, and how it is in everyone's collective interest to give without an expectation of something in return. Because when something is truly given, there is something gotten. For everyone involved. I then offered orgasms to the women surrounding us. I think someone left to call the cops and James and I hid ourselves deeper into the crowd. "I hope they play Man on Fire," I said, "whatever else they play is a bonus." James, with unwavering certainty said "Of course. They're going to open with it. C'mon, what other song would they open with if not that." I hoped he was right. He said he was hoping to hear Jangling, and I suggested they might play it after Man on Fire. Our words were eclipsed by the cheer of the crowd, and the band began to appear on stage.

Edward Sharpe, looking like he'd come straight from Black Rock, greeted the crowd and began repeatedly humming a note, as if tuning us to his key. As we fell in with his vibration, so did the band and they were ignited; Man on Fire. The throng became a dancing swaying sea of singing euphoria and everyone's voices sounded to create a single unified roar, now tuned with the band so that we were all one sound. I danced through the depths of a kind of abandon I rarely achieve. For the duration of the song nothing was felt save unadulterated bliss and the dissolution of the self to participate in concert with something larger; all our bodies burning, becoming one big sun. He got the whole damn crowd to come dance with him. 

To our surprise and merriment, Jangling played next. The eerie accuracy of our prediction infused the air with a magic supernatural quality. That and the edibles. And the beer...and shots. With Jangling, the band worked us like marionettes, making us jump and dance maddeningly for the duration of another song. I cannot recall the last time I'd seen an opening so well executed. They dressed the songs in difference enough to keep things new yet familiar. They told stories and let fans sing songs. He walked into the crowd and sang happy birthday to someone. Their performance was the embodiment of gift giving, through music. Almost every song played was one requested, including a few covers. He asked one of his percussionists to sing a song, and the percussionist took the stage. He sang one of the most soulful songs I'd ever heard a human being sing. When I closed my eyes he was transformed into the ghost of a sultry African-American soul-singer straight from heaven's gate. When I opened my eyes I literally could not believe that voice came from the mouth of a man. There were moments I couldn't help but utter phrases like "oh my fucking god," "holy fucking shit," "are you fucking kidding me," "fuck," "pfffft, wow," "damn it." 

They played until the very end, until the venue killed the lights toward the finale of This Life. It was a powerful show and they held no punches. I felt I was kidnapped and taken away from the world for a short while and brought to a place where there was only sunshine flowers and sandy beaches. The entire experience felt religious. An angelic possession. 

It was the kind of performance that makes you want to quit your job and spend a year following them from show to show. Just to feel that energy again. Just to be a note in one of their chords.

But I don't wanna pray to my maker
I just wanna be what I see
Not just who I am, but the pink in golden land
And that wide wild sky over me
Help me to the sun, hey I'm looking everywhere
See I'm looking to become not the prayer, but the prayer.

- I Don't Want to Pray