For more photos from the concert, see our slideshow here.
|Photos by Groovehouse|
Not to say Friday's sold-out crowd didn't enjoy it - scalpers were selling single tickets for upwards of $100 - but can you really put a price tag on white noise? Ask your alarm clock that makes rainfall sound like downtown, and then add the fact that hey, we're dancing European. The answer will probably turn into something like "I just knew my ennui was smarter than your irony."
Phoenix really makes you think about reconsidering your apathy.
We have officially reached a point where song, comma, song, comma, song, comma (hey!), comma, song, comma, ready (here we go!), comma, song, comma (woo!) counts as a rock concert. It's the gentrification of fun perfected by the mundane, sold to the willing for a cost that doesn't matter as long as the end result is "Remember that time we saw that show at that place?" Our souls are turning Xerox.
Opening with "Lizstomania," their not-so-veiled attempt at trying to prove that "See, I told you I could name an obscure moment in that one British band's career," Phoenix channeled their inner Who in an ominous way, giving the audience one of the handful of songs they could sing all the way through far too early. From there, it was an hour and a half of going through the robotic motions, feeling more like a mediocre episode of My Super Sweet 16
where that girl begs her dad to pay for that band she just heard on radio station X's Top 20 countdown.
Songs like "Lasso," "Consolation Prizes," "Fences" and "Armistice," which normally sound perfectly okay digitally spewed from the comfort of earbuds, didn't really translate well live. They felt forced, making the obligation of the sometimes blinky light show behind the band feel more like the place where moths go to die rather than a complement to a concert by a band that is supposed to make you want to dance, not yawn.