No wonder I feel like I’ve seen the Constantines constantly bandied about by Call the Office, or at least the marquee outside, long before they were preening in the glow of indie-cred and continent wide praise. It turns out they’ve played there no less than 20 times in the last 5 years. And I was dumb enough not to go to any of them. But wait, the website tells me they played with Sanseiru (my oldest friend phil’s teacher’s old band for those who don’t know) three years ago. So I may have been there. I can’t quite remember, but back then I wouldn’t be surprised if I didn’t like them. As it turns out, last night I saw them for either the first or second time. It turned out to be a very agreeable experience. Theirs is the kind of music that when you hear you kinda just know it’ll be better live.
Raspy voice, vocals brazenly pleading with the mic. Lead singer bears uncanny resemblance to someone and eventually I realize it’s Terry Jones. Or maybe I have seen them before. Music is dark, grungy, and heavy. Layers of sound flit in and out. It’s messy but focused. The beats hit hard, and the drummer’s grinning like he really really knows it. All the musicians are wowzers. They even bring out the cowbell! The melodies aren’t upfront, they’re buried beneath the squelching music, but it’s got a raw driving intensity that’s rather undeniable. I love the raspy almost slurred spoken quality of the lyrics. Like a pounding haze. There’s plenty of old school rock n roll bravado and posing, but during Shine a Light when he raises his fist and tells us to think of our families (can’t anymore remember the exact words), I’m genuinely moved. Heck I have a really awesome family. The concert is dedicated to hating the thieves who busted into their van last night in London. Everyone breaks at least one string. They turn to taking various shots of liquor on stage; perhaps they’re alcoholics, or perhaps they need to de-stress after the robbery. By the time the end of the show comes around not everyone is quite standing up straight. But what an ending it is! They bring the Seasnakes back onstage, and with 6 or 7 guitars, a bass guitar or 2 (who can keep track exactly), drumming, and a sax, they bust out a rather incredible version of Gordon Lightfoot’s Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. The instrumental ‘choruses’ of guitar bombast between verses are monumental. MMmmmm.
Also last night, on television, which I do not have, U2 completely asserted dominance over Saturday Night Live. It’s been tricky for me as an elitist indie music type hearing that what U2 really cares about is gaining a huge audience and being very popular, and I was really starting to question their motives. But their escapades on SNL showed at least me that there’s still no pop music artificiality behind it and they and their music are coming from a genuine place. It was thrilling to see the entire cast and audience and crew in awe of the band, and kinda know that the band could tell. But they’re the types that when they get acceptance and praise, they don’t settle for it, they take it as bait and push harder. Supposedly after the broadcast ended they just hung around and played 3 more songs. That’s some folks who love what they do, right there, and for all the people who might think U2 has descended into no better than meaningless corporate rock trying to make a quick buck, that really sets them apart. So you can expect me to bring them up fairly commonly here, because they excite me. Ooh la la. This one is looking forward to the tour.
And also, the new CDmp3 player that I got (just a month ago) to replace my old one (which, sadly, broke, and was probably my most happily used possession) seems to have completely crapped out. I should be throwing things and kicking stuff, but I have learned that stubbed toes are no fun. Instead I’m all about the controlled, seething burn. I’m not really super mad, but I feel that if I chose to be, I would be fully justified in it.