all photos: Betsy Paul
I swear to god, Wednesdays need no introductions. When you’re out on the town midweek, you effectively embody the phrase worn proudly on Will Eastman’s chest last night: “Living the Dream.”
As all things that are good must, we begin the evening on wheel. 70-millimeter wheel, that is. I left work, kick-pushing my way over to Beyond with Adrian Parsons and Ed Porter in Dupont. When you’re sitting with friends, sippin’ a brew, shootin’ the shiz, munching on a meal, and great tunes are groovin’ straight into your earspace/lobe, it’s hard to imagine life getting much better. Thank the lord for leisure.
But there was serious business that needed attending to. Apparently there were some young folks playing at the Cat that demanded an audience. A serious audience. So we obliged.
Rolled up to the spot to Eastman playing some deliciously sizzlin’ tracks. So excited I did a dance with my skateboard. I then had my skateboard confiscated. Had a shot of whiskey. Shook a tail feather or two and looked to the front of the room to see a couple of people congregating by the main stage. Hmm.
Team Robespierre had arrived in full effect. And not being fully affected, they played in front of the stage with their brethren: us common folks, the show-attending public.
The Robespies were like a shot in the arm of something. Something good. Something loud and energetic and fast and fun. Something hyphy and hard-house-ish. Some might call it nu-punk. Something that made men in loafers and oxfords get dirty like I haven’t seen in a long time. Simply put, these guys came out and did their thing. Their thing involved a rock-solid drum master, keyboardist, bass player, and a programmed rhythm-of-the-night maker. Whatever it was, they spread a nice thick peanut-butter-esque layer of magical adrenaline on and over and in and out of the crowd.
After making a few half-hearted attempts at moshing, I decided to get real. Real serious. With two more shots of whiskey.
It worked out nicely.
The raucous team of Robespierre got me thinking of thinkers present and thinkers past. Some say Maximilien Robespierre was immaculate in his attire and personal manners. And while they might not be as revolutionary as the instigator of the reign of terror, these young French men and women that just graced the stage were certainly immaculate in their attire and personal manners.
The Teenagers have an immediate advantage in life just by virtue of being French (admittedly some are British). It allows them to be self-consciously ironic and clueless simultaneously. It allows them to tell stories of high school clichéd romances in spoken English with a slight accent and have the girls go wild. It allows them to have a beautiful drummer.
The Teenagers have all those things and more. They have the ability to make you dance even when you don’t want to. They have the ability to make you climb on stage in loafers and oxfords when only the girls were invited. They have the ability to bring a seriously middle school-ish 1990s vibe back into your life. They make me want to go find a post-homecoming basketball gym and make out with someone.
So keep playing your synths and guitars young dudes. Stay young and Euro. We’ll all keep living the dream.
Seriously feeling the polaroids
May 9, 2008 at 10:07 am