I feel a little irked that my first posting (already overdue) is one borne of misanthropy. Actually, that’s a lie. I relish it, you know it and I know it.
Basically, I attended the Fleet Foxes gig at the Roundhouse earlier this week. They were great. The venue was fantastic (my first time). But the crowd, oh God the crowd – an intensely hateful gaggle of obsequious, cloying, sycophants and public-space “comedians”.
Am I just being grouchy to get pissed off with people shouting “We love your hair!” or “I can’t grow a beard!” or “We love your hair!” (yep, the same person said it twice) in between songs? No, is the answer. Fleet Foxes’ trademark vocal harmonies are things of great beauty, especially live when they totally nailed them. To then have some Jo Wiley-esque flake shatter all that with a shrill ‘we love your fucking hair’ was akin to letting go a massive fart during tender post-coital minutes – hugely inappropriate and rather bespoiling of the moment.
Coincidently, Jo Wiley was abused for being a “Wanker!” by some anonymous joker in the dark. The band mentioned her for some reason (she was probably being all middle-aged gushy-flakey with them before making a note in her blackberry to remember to tell the adoring nation of this brand new band she’s just discovered and that we should feel so eternally grateful that she somehow, single-handedly, unearths these gems time and time again. And all while dealing with the menopause. Amazing) and the response was aired. While I agree with said statement, again, I was more annoyed with the fact they shouted it out.
You see, such behaviour implies a personal relationship with the band that clearly doesn’t exist. That person, anonymous and estranged from the Fleet Foxes in all ways save being in the same room as them, couldn’t resist that window of ‘opportunity’ to share a joke with the band, their ‘mates’. As if to point out to the rest of us “Hey, look at me for a second. I’ve got SUCH a special relationship with my hombres FFs that I can just riff during their sets and they love it. Sure. We just connected – did you guys notice that? Oh no, I’m SO embarrassed.”
Fuck off!
Fleet Foxes were a bit reticent to engage with The Crowd to start with but warmed to the task. However, the band, en masse, erupted into a fit of activity after a front-rower shouted “OBAMA!” (ok, great that he’s President but seriously, it’s just inane pseudo-political posing to shout “Obama” and simply leave it at that, surely?). Cue some opinions from the band. Fantastic, now we really are all starting to have a relationsh… Oh no. Hang on. Yeah, some turd just shouted “Get on with it!” at them, totally interrupting the guy and creating a few seconds of genuine awkwardness. Cheers, no really, thanks a million.
Like I said, Fleet Foxes deal in wonderful, soaring, harmonies that ring out like bells of great value and sonorous beauty. To spoil the mood and sully the environment that such precious things are expected to exist in with the tawdry and the boorish felt like an affront. Perhaps I should have sidled up to one of these “fans,” told them that I liked their shoes (during a song, obviously) and then, just as they were about to thank me and elaborate on where I could get a pair, shat in their drink?
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