Arts & Entertainment

 

 

 

Final Fantasy With Great Lake
Swimmers and Basia Bulat

Richard's on Richards, October 20, 2007

By Luke Simcoe, A&E Editor

A, open letter to the guy who felt
the need to tell me to “be quiet” and to
“stop moving around” during the Great
Lake Swimmers’ set:

I am terribly sorry that I ruined your
concert-going experience. I was clearly
so obnoxiously drunk that I must have
wandered into a night at the opera at
the Vogue Theatre and mistook it for
an indie-rock concert. I am also sorry
that you took my offer of earplugs
and attempts to chastise the crowd for
cheering in between songs as mockery.
I had no idea that you had “waited
forever” to catch the band, and if I
could take back all those shouts through
cupped hands to my lady friend, or the
revolting motions of unpacking my
camera, I sincerely would. If there’s
anything I can do to make up for it,
please let me know. I believe my
contact information is contained in this
humble paper’s masthead.

Seriously, though... Where do you
get off? You didn’t buy my ticket,
so why do you think it’s appropriate
to tell me how to enjoy the show?
Furthermore, just how ignorant are
you of what happens at these so-called
“concerts?” If you wanted a quiet and
personal moment with your precious

14

indie band, you should have stayed
at home, put on some headphones,
and made sweet love to your iPod
underneath the covers. Concerts draw
crowds. Crowds make noise. And move
around. Shocking, I know.

What really grinds my gears is that
the band you were expressing such a

meets-Jewel voice and deceptively
intricate arrangements were at least as
worthy —if not more—of praise and
adoration, yet your persistent nagging
at the crowd to be quiet was nowhere to
be found.

Perhaps you noticed that the crowd
was much quieter during Final Fantasy.

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evenint “Aside from the band, thous. you
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— | your group of friends te london
— shushing people and __ vasyouana
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ee complaining during 7
chord almost every song.” sei :

progressions, sentimental lyrics, and
a complete lack of charisma aren’t it.
In fact, I’m pretty sure that the crowd
was engaged in idle chatter because the
Great Lake Swimmers weren’t holding
their attention.

Where were you during Basia
Bulat’s set? The Torontonian’s Shakira-

during almost
every song. It’s kind of hypocritical
if you’re making as much noise—or
more—than the people you’ re imploring
to be quiet. It’s a shame that you
failed to see the crowd paying their
respect to a much more talented act.
Owen Pallett’s quasi-classical violin
compositions, skill with loop pedals,

and narrative lyrics are actually worth
shutting up for—if shutting up is what
you’ re into. Not to mention the fact that
the visuals— provided via an overhead
projector manned by artist Stephanie
Comulang—were a captivating example
of low-tech beauty. Mr. Pallett had the
whole stage presence thing down too.
He bantered with the audience, accepted
a shot of Jagermeister from an adoring
fan, and joked that he thought that Brian
(Devon Gummersall) was hotter than
“that 30 Seconds to Mars douche-bag”
on My So-Called Life.

And speaking of douche-bags, it’s
pretentious ones like you who stand
motionless with their arms crossed
at shows that make people think that
hipsters and indie fans are a bunch of
pretentious douche-bags who stand
around motionless with their arms
crossed at shows. The idea that music
must be put on a pedestal to be enjoyed
is an antiquated, bourgeoisie point of
view.

In closing, I’d like to offer some
words of advice: be careful whom you
choose to shush at a concert; you never
know if they’ll turn out to be a writer.

Sincerely,

Luke Simcoe