Friday, February 04, 2005

Just caught Rogue Wave at Zeno's, my off-night pub of choice. They're a Sub Pop OC-rock act on the up'n'up and the audience enthusiasm level was high despite the band's visible awareness that they were now above these stage-free bar shows (no encore, natch). I felt old sitting with my middle-aged pal Greg and making wry, seen-it-all observations about the hipstery folk we didn't recognize that were blocking our view (Tyler says that receding hairlines are the new studded belts and I am ALL for that). I also felt incredibly young, knowing that I would barrel to the front and giggle with glee if they suddenly morphed into Linkin Park.

While it was in ways preferable to the countless "fonky" bands that reign supreme in State College, watching these placid older innocents amble through a set of lukewarm oatmeal made me wonder just how long my enthusiasm for indie shows will last when I move to Philly. How many weeks will it take me to go from "OMG Hot Snakes on Wednesday and Mountain Goats on Thursday!!!" to "uh, yeah, I thought about going but uh yeah uh whatever"?

It didn't help that the singer sounded like Ben Gelding of Death Cab/Postal Service, probably my least favorite singer who doesn't fartel. Dude's such a calm eunuch that he makes Neil Tennant sound dangerous. Stuart Murdoch might as well be James Brown. Maybe that's why, while I have no time for I'm Wide Awake, It's Boring, I actually enjoy Digital Ash In A Something Urn a lot. Let that dramatic quiver be part of a quirky musical puzzle rather than the focus of my attention. Please. Give Up would benefit from a modicum of spazzo and the 15th best selling album in America this week (and that's not counting the countless indie stores that don't play soundscan, folks - probably should add another 10,000 copies or two to the actual tally) has plenty to share. I don't trust any of the evident legion who only picked up the acoustic album. They want their helpless manchild pathology unhindered by sonic eccentricity. Ew.

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