Fully Clouds, Dingy Bars
The Rosebuds and Camera Obscura at the North Star Bar in Philly
2004-07-28
This past Wednesday we hustled down to the North Star to see Camera Obscura
(the Scottish folk singing Camera Obscura, not the California punk screaming
Camera Obscura) and two "smaller" opening acts.
The first act amazed us. Not with their musical talents, but with their
complete lack of professionalism. We arrived at 8:15 PM. The first act was
in the process of unloading their van at the time. We had a bite to eat, drank
some thick brew with twigs in it, and lounged about. The action was suppose to
commence at 9:00 PM, English time. At roughly 9:15 PM it was still silent. We
wandered in and grabbed a decent table. There was one other person in the
entire room (with the exception of the bartenders). He was wearing a Star Wars
storm trooper shirt, but I'll elaborate on that later.
By 9:45 PM the opening act was still fidgeting with their equipment. And, did
they ever have a ton of it! They had amps, mixers, boards, laptops, keyboards,
guitars, and a vast array of indiscernible electronics. It was a mountain of
gadgets and a sea of wire. Among all the equipment labored three lanky,
academic looking fellows. They moved slowly, as if through a low-gravity fog.
The lead vocalist made his way to his keyboard and played a few notes. The
tallest, lankiest member of their group clicked something on their iBook and a
drum loop started playing, but softly. They asked the sound engineer to turn
up the drum level a little. When he did, the drum loop disappeared. They
stopped playing and started crawling around on the floor, looking at wires,
and looking to one another in befuddlement. I knew with certainty academic
debates were ensuing.
By now I began to take notice of the sound engineer/stage manager. The man
looked unhappy. The academics didn't seem to notice. They crowded around an
amp and examined it, like doctors studying an exposed human brain. They poked
and prodded, and I turned to my friend and BANG! With a sound like an
exploding shotgun shell, the amp blew out. Everyone's ears were still ringing
when the stage manager charged the stage waving his arms and screaming "You're
done! You're done! Get off the stage!" The veins on this man's neck were
bulging and his face was red, but the academics, again, didn't seem to notice
or care. They didn't seem to sense the impending physical threat this seething
figure posed. They tried to press him for more time. They couldn't understand
his excited state. They felt negotiation was in order. No, sir, more than
once the stage manager held up his hand and explained through clenched teeth
with the kind of barely-suppressed rage you'd see in a Ren & Stimpy cartoon,
over and over, "You're done. Get off the stage. Don't talk to me. Don't talk
to me. You're done. You're done." Ad nauseum.
Finally, the reality of the situation began to penetrate their fog and they
began packing up their gear. At first I felt sympathy for these guys, because
I too am an academic lost in a fog, and tormented by card-punching control
freaks. But by my rough calculations, it took them nearly an hour and 45
minutes to setup on stage and with the blown-out amp fiasco we were probably
looking at another 30 minutes of delays. No, the excited stage manager had a
right to be upset and so did we. We came for a show and were going to have one.
The crowd will have its way or we'll pick your bones clean. After all, this is
Philadelphia.
Finally, 30 minutes and 3 vodkas later the stage was cleared. It took 10
minutes for the second act, The Rosebuds of Chapel Hill, NC, to setup their
drum, keyboard, and guitar. Ten minutes is reasonable. Simple is sexy. And
the music started with a vengeance. Right from the first note Ivan Howard
thrashed his guitar and blew into his mike with veteran confidence. Kelly
Crisp (sounds like the name of a cereal or a porn star) hovered around the left
side of her keyboard, swishing about, tapping away, and directing her attention
to Ivan. The drummer was amazing. He pounded skins like Animal from The
Muppets and sweat like a whore in church. The energy he exuded seemed to
supercharge Ivan and Kelly and thus pop rock became power pop rock (a la Apples
In Stereo).
It wasn't deep, but it was infectious. My cohort, Matt, was not as impressed.
He surmised, "They try to overpower you instead of texturing their songs."
At this point I took a good, hard look around the room. What kind of crowd was
Camera Obscura attracting? Who were my peers? At the Yeah Yeah Yeahs show a
few months earlier, it was a diverse crowd of fire-breathing pseudo-punks, hard
rocking record nerds, corporate punks, and such (cool people), but this was a
different group of people entirely. I found myself surrounded by cuddle girls
and hemp wearing nomadic types; touchy-feely people with plastic rim glasses
who may brake into discussions of online role playing games and crotchet
patterns if left to their own devices. Alcohol wasn't a help. Instead of
riling them into a frenzy, they became more subdued and chatty. Midway through
the Rosebuds concert they became very talkative and restless (to an annoying
degree). In other words, they wouldn't shut up and they wouldn't sit down.
Their chatter was so loud and consistent it became a distraction from the show.
The game of musical chairs didn't stop either. In fact, the only interesting
person in the room was our waitress. Covered in elaborate ink and visibly
tired, she brought me Stoli with militant regularity and forced herself into
pleasant airs. Quote Matt: "That one's a novel not a short story." I could
only nod.
But then I realized: this wasn't a concert. This was a gathering. It was like
teeny boppers at the movie theatre or trekies at a convention. These people
weren't there for the music. They were there to mingle. The music was merely
a backdrop for them. An excuse to go out. They even formed little discussion
groups and stood or sat around in circles cavorting on such exciting topics as
"Good Will vs. The Salvation Army: Which Offers Homelier Fashions?"
The room was a toolbox and I wanted to start stabbing people. But I remained
calm and returned my focus to the stage. The Rosebuds powered through a high-
energy set of break-neck power pop and dropped in a few softer songs to break
up the monotony. All-in-all, it was a fine show. I picked up their latest
album Make Out on CD for $12 and felt I had made a wise investment.
Next up came the main act: Camera Obscura. They took a mere 5 minutes to setup.
It felt like no time at all and they were on stage and playing. My first
thought was: This is the ugliest band I have ever seen in my entire life (with
the possible exception of The Verve). I'm not much to look at, but as a group,
they were homelier than their fans. The two female band members looked frumpy.
They both had short, cropped, boyish hair-dos and the lead singer Tracyanne
wore a floral pattern house dress with a butterfly collar. They all looked
terribly uncomfortable in their own skin. Which made me smile.
The only possible exception in the looks department was John, the other
vocalist in the group. He wore jeans and a Smiths t-shirt, and although he too
looked uncomfortable, his challenging beady brown eyes pierced the throngs of
nerdom as if he was searching for something and disgusted at not finding it.
Appearances became a moot point as soon as Camera began playing. Their lilting
folkish music permeated the room. We were no longer in the dank surroundings
of the North Star Bar, but riding on fluffy clouds and staring at sunny skies.
These Scottish tree-huggers played with mesmerizing grace and Tracyanne's voice
rang of delicate innocence. My head uncontrollably bobbed side to side.
The noisy crowd quieted and other heads bobbed to and fro. Suddenly we were
all the same. We were all happy tree-hugging fans. All my prior quibbles
evaporated. Nothing mattered. I was there for the music, and the music proved
wonderful.
http://www.therosebuds.com/http://www.camera-obscura.net/