Strokes - 5/15/2004 - Orpheum, Boston, MA
The Orpheum is hot. Not hot as in "jumpin' jumpin'" spiffy-keen, or any good and enjoyable sensation. Hot as in no air conditioning and filled to the brim with people.
It's bad. Beyond bad. Worse than The Middle East at their most crowded and in July. Fifteen minutes of sitting and we're already speculating on how many bodies will be dropping to the floor in a faint over the course of the evening.
We miss the openers, but I'm not really sure who they are and neither is Katie so it's all good. Now theirs just the waiting and the crowd watching. There's an older man sitting in front of us and, when his son comes to visit him, we learn that he's switched seats with someone so a couple would be able to sit together. This father is adorable. We love this man. By the end of the night he's probably our favorite person in the place, mainly because of the enthusiasm with which he bounces to the music.
The show starts with a crash and keeps going from there. When I listen to the second album at home I have a tendency to think, 'well, it's fun. But isn't this just the first album all over again?' Heard live, it improves ten-fold. Live, it's energetic, well played music with fast moving guitar, fast moving drum beats, and those droning, mumbling, and sometimes frantic vocals layered over the top, providing contrast.
They perform a little bit of everything. The crowd is beyond energetic-- rather amazing, considering the heat-- and madly in love, fully smitten from the beginning chord. The crowd is also dripping in sweat. Our own, and some belonging to the people around us. This is not a show for people concerned about hygiene.
There are several lovely rock diva moments in which Julian indulges in chair climbing and yowling from amidst the crowd. The interaction escalates through out the evening, culminating in a Pearl Jam, "Even Flow" type moment where our beloved cult leader/lead singer climbs the speakers up and into the balconies, first one side, than the other.
Given that he's probably at least moderately intoxicated, it's a good thing the fans aren't shy about helping to keep him firmly attached to the edge of the balcony every time he lurches outwards.
The show crashes to a halt at pretty much top speed. I'm not sure it ever slowed down to anything resembling the speed limit. At this point we're a collection of folk that are madly, fully smitten, but also damn grateful for the opportunity to breathe fresh air again. As well as desperate to find a bath and a bar of soap. Katie and I make a beeline for the exit and she immediately begins digging through her bag for a cigarette. After everything that just happened, I'm not surprised that I'm suddenly craving one as well. What other way to conclude the evening.
