What a difference a mere 6 months can make. The last time that Denton, TX band MIDLAKE played here last July (review here), they were first on a bill with COLD WAR KIDS and SOUND TEAM following them and they couldn’t have played for more than twenty people or so. This time, however, they headlined a sold-out (in actuality way oversold) show at the same venue and it seemed as hot and sweaty inside as it was cold outside on this frigid February evening.
Playing almost all of their terrific 2006 album The Trials of Van Occupanther and a few great oldies like “Ballon Maker” (from their previous album Bamnan and Silvercork), they showed command and poise in front of a larger audience willing to embrace and accept them in much the same way that artists like SUFJAN STEVENS or MY MORNING JACKET have been. In fact, like those other aforementioned artists, I wouldn’t be surprised if Midlake end up headlining small theaters within the year or by the time their next album comes out. However, increased popularity can often have a downside and tonight this was in evidence. In a nutshell, this was one of the rudest, most obnoxious audiences I’ve ever had the displeasure of attending a show with. In addition to talking over the entirety of ST. VINCENT’s great opening set (more on that below), a man obnoxiously tried to push me off while he was headed up towards the front. Of course the same man was yelling way too loudly for them to come back on before the encore and saying other entirely inappropriate things as well. Now of course there should be some excitement and people should have a good time at shows, but a certain level of respect is also necessary for those actually trying to listen to the music, not others’ inane conversations. Also, please turn your cell phones off. No one cares what band you’re seeing and how cool you are. Just sit back and enjoy the show. the level of drunkenness and stupidity that permeated the North Star on this evening made me question if it was the band or the venue that draws out such people. After all, this was the same place that MARK EITZEL basically fled as if he was a fugitive on the run after he got similar audience treatment several weeks back. Perhaps we should’ve gone to see JONATHAN RICHMAN approximately 30 blocks east on Girard at Johnny Brenda’s instead.
Nevertheless, none of this was the band’s fault and it’s good to see a great band getting more popularity and attention in spite of that. The show was very similar to the one they put on last July, complete with videos projected on a screen behind the tiny stage, which Midlake dutily filled up with their plentiful gear.
Opener St. Vincent (a fellow Texan named ANNA HARRIS) was a pleasant surprise. A female singer-songwriter who played solo (sometimes on guitar and other times on a tiny keyboard), her voice and style were somewhere between FIONA APPLE and NELLIE MCKAY. At times she even evoked jazz and blues greats like BILLIE HOLIDAY or even BESSIE SMITH as well as the chanteuse NICO. In fact, she covers “These Days” (a song written by JACKSON BROWNE and recorded by Nico) on her EP, though unfortunately she didn’t play it on this evening. However, it was really difficult for us to enjoy her set because of all the incessant talking going on around us. I suppose one can expect that during an opening set, but it was unusually loud tonight. I just don’t understand why anyone would pay $12 to talk to each other and drink when they can go to another bar and do the same without the distraction of a band or singer vying for their attention. In particular, a funny conversation of one-upsmanship between two young men was one I couldn’t help overhearing. One man said that he confused the band FRENCH TOAST with the similarly-named FRENCH KICKS and then the other went on to mention that he’d seen the former play with THE WALKMEN. While ordinarily this wouldn’t be a poor topic of conversation, the fact that I was distrated by it proves that it was entirely too loud.
OK I’m off my soapbox now. Sorry about that, but it had to be said.
The above photo was taken by Anne Leavitt-Gruberger.
