The Severed Cortex

Going into this concert I really didn't know what to expect. Hell, it's lucky I could even hear after seeing Motörhead the night before. Going from the mid forties, black t-shirt, Jeff County, KSHE crowd to the Wash U./SLU, pegged pants and boat shoes crowd is an exercise in diversity. Strange how both genres of music appeal to me.
I bought into the Vampire Weekend hype when their album dropped in January and immediately I loved it. I'm not sure why though. It's definitely derivative of Paul Simon and a myriad of other African artists, plus the lyrics sort of glorify Ivy League education and the affluent lifestyle, two things I know nothing about. Nor could I ever hope to relate to them. Yet by wrapping it all up in a shiny new package of indie pop I grew strangely attached to it.

So going into the show I said three fateful things to my fellow concert goers Danielle and Vickie, two lovely ladies that I work with.
1. I think I'm going to like White Williams more than I do today, which today is very little.
2. I think I'm going to be disappointed by Vampire Weekend and not like them very much.
3. Vampire Weekend will do either a Paul Simon cover, an Ali Farka Toure cover, or some sort of medley involving both.

Nostradamus or Kreskin I am not.

White Williams started the show. The only song I know of theirs is New Violence which isn't a totally bad tune on vinyl. They opened with it and it was barely recognizable. It only got worse from there. Art bands are the late inning, defensive replacement, infielders of the pop world for me. I can appreciate their work, but they only bat about .110. Look, I like samples and I really can understand how playing live, sampling, looping it back, then playing against it is an art form in and of itself. I watched Avi Bortnick do it with John Scofield and it was quite mind blowing. I watched White Williams do it and it was irritating. How irritating was it? So irritating that a guy sitting in front of us played solitaire on his phone during the whole set. But it wasn't all bad. The drummer, who plied his craft standing up while he banged on a snare, two tim-toms, a high hat, and a drum machine, danced like a banshee while doing so. He was quite amusing. I had fun imagining him as Vijay, a mild mannered Indian programmer that I work with at Magellan. I surmised that Vijay, a devout Hindu to us during the day, had a secret life where he drank and swore and played loud music at night. And then there was the guitar player who had a very nice orange Fender strat. But apart from those two things, there was little of value to White Williams. Thirty minutes later, when they announced that they would be playing their last song, the crowd rejoiced. Mr. Solitaire even closed his phone and applauded.

And after a long wait, Vampire Weekend entered the stage. It was about time. I was tired of looking at Ezra's blonde, hollow body, Gretsch sitting there by its lonesome. The vibe was quite different than the night before. Sure the place was packed, but the stage was the complete opposite. Instead of two sides loaded with Marshall stacks, the stage had just a bare bass amp on one side, a small twin amp in the center, some keyboards stage right, and a modest drum set on a small riser dead center. And right from the start they hit a perfect rendition of Mansard Roof. The crowd went nuts. And don't get me wrong, I was impressed. But I didn't really get impressed until about the fourth or fifth song, a new one they were working out on the road. It was heavy on African rhythm and it was highly danceable. And of course they nailed it. At that point I realized that the band was incredibly tight. Compared with the loud, grizzled, looseness of Lemmy's bass the night before, this was bordering on musical perfection. And yet somehow it sounded organic. Yes, the rest of the set played heavily like the vinyl recording, but throughout it all one thing became clear. They didn't need many takes in the studio to recreate the sound. I know a band gets better as they tour and Vampire Weekend has had six months to hone their skill, but this sounded like a band that had been playing together a very long time. Even when Ezra broke a string, the band missed nary a note. And then they brought Ezra another blonde, hollow body, Gretsch. Rich bastard.
The band seemed to really take to the St. Louis crowd. If it was an act, it was well acted. They commented that it was the largest balcony they had ever played in front of and I'm guessing it was the largest venue they had performed in. It doesn't hurt that The Pageant is one of the premiere venues in all the country. The word gets around and Vampire Weekend seemed to be cognizant of that fact.
While they only had ten songs to play, plus the two new ones to trot out, the entire set was over in an hour. Sans Paul Simon. Sans Ali Farka Toure. No matter. They promised to come back and play more songs the next time around. You can bet I'll be there to witness.