In my mind, there is a difference between a concert and a show. We end up at shows. Maybe it is for a lack of anything better to do or because we were drafted to play sidekick for a friend. Maybe it is because we know someone in the band or we heard that the band may be the next big thing. With shows, there is not that sense of anticipation that exists with concerts. For a concert, we may wake up at dawn to sit on the phone trying to score third row seats. We spend days in preparation by listening to every song the band has recorded. We walk into the venue thinking that this event might change our lives, if only for a few hours.
Last night, Trashcan Sinatras held a concert at a spot best known for shows.
Balthazar Monsoon and I listened to the band's 1990 debut, Cake, for the duration of our trek to Miracle Mile, screaming out lines to "Only Tongue Can Tell" much to the chagrin of the Versace Dudes sitting in the Benz next to us as we endured Friday night traffic. Inside the El Rey, we had a gut feeling that most of the crowd had done something similar. No one in the audience seemed to be much younger than twenty-seven and there was (thankfully) a shortage of scenesters in the audience. This crowd, which was either sold-out or very near sold-out, consisted of fans of the most diehard variety-- those who actually do not care that they are wearing the shirt of the band that they came to see and those who view breaks between songs as an opportunity to shout out requests. (Best Request: "Every song you ever wrote!") Can bands even hear requests while onstage?
Perhaps the girl behind us was disappointed that her pleas for "I'm Immortal" remained unanswered, but Balthazar and I weren't. Sure, we would have loved to hear "I'm Immortal," from the second album I've Seen Everything, but the Trashcans managed to astound us regardless.
The set leaned more towards new material, including the title track from last year's album, Weightlifting, and my current favorite, "All the Dark Horses." They also introduced a new track (not from the album) entitled "Prisoners." They played approximately three songs from the sorely underrated sophomore release ("Hayfever," "Easy Read," and "Bloodrush") and the two biggies from Cake, "Obscurity Knocks" and "Only Tongue Can Tell." Fortunately, the Trashcans are powerful enough to be heard over the scores of voices surrounding us. Apparently, we weren't the only ones who were obsessed with Cake in ninth grade.
The biggest surprise of the night was during the six-song encore. The guy next to me started screaming, "Oh, my God! I cannot believe they're playing this." Balthazar giggled. The song sounded familiar, but was definitely not something I would associate with the Trashcans.
I looked at Balthazar.
"It's 'Macarthur Park," he said.
To watch Frank Reader furrow his brow as he hit the high notes of a disco diva ballad, to hear a slick track transformed into a three-guitar slice of indie pop was magical. There were no flamboyant performance tricks, nothing to make this a hyped event. It was just music for the sake of playing music, a group so obviously passionate about the songs that the audience had no choice to but to live this set. It was as intense as any arena concert I have ever attended, but in a setting so intimate that we could practically feel the sweat drip from the stage. I'm not sure that either Balthazar nor I will ever have the chance to see something like this again.