my body is a cage?
last night, G and i made for montreal to hear the arcade fire play their sold out hometown gig at the maurice richard arena. we were psyched in that i'm a seventeen-year old groupie going to hear her favourite band kind of way. the whole enterprise involved (for me) a hipster t-shirt, (for G) some bitchin' black boots and (for both of us) copious amounts of black eyeliner a la napanee native avril lavigne. we both dug out our black leather jackets, fortified ourselves at the pub st-paul in vieux montréal and hopped on the métro with other devoted fans, intending to dance the night crazy and rock out to our favourite tunes -- you can read G's version of our plan here.
were we ever in for a surprise.
from years as a sort of working musician, i know that it can be tough to warm up a crowd. sometimes folks come and have other things on their minds and can't exist in the moment with the music in that way that makes for an amazing experience for all, both performers and audience, involved. what we experienced on sunday night wasn't quite that. the arcade fire were outstanding. it was a big space, larger than their usual venue, but they worked it, and though the acoustics left something to be desired, their energy was infectious. one song into the first set and G and i were on our feet, grooving and dancing like silly people. in the midst of our full body contact with the music, we both glanced around and were greeted by a strange sight: an auditorium of rock lovers dead still. i'm not speaking in my usual hyperbole when i say that these folks put some classical music audiences to shame with their decorum. neither G nor i understood what was going on, and after exchanging a few snide remarks about the stuffiness of our seatmates, who barely bopped their heads in time with the afire's complex rhythms, we went back to rocking out. this strange dichotomy of energy and chill characterized the atmosphere for the rest of the evening.
i'm still genuinely puzzled. how does one listen to a live performance of songs like "(antichrist television blues)" and "neighbourhood #2 (laika)" and not experience the music with one's body? or put another way, how does one listen to/make music, and keep one's body out of it? one of the first things i learned as a classically trained singer is that your body is your instrument. these questions were only intensified for me this evening when i holed myself up with my flute and beavered away at the swirling, swarthy melody of brahms's sixth hungarian dance transcribed for solo flute. i can't play that piece and not move my body as part of my musical expression any more than i could listen to win and his bandmates race through "keep the car running" and not be jumping and moving in time to the giant wall of lush sound.
needless to say, as the second set wound down with "my body is a cage", the final song of the afire's new album, neon bible, the lyrics hung heavy in the air with irony. "my body is a cage/that keeps me from dancing with the one i love/but my mind holds the key", indeed.
were we ever in for a surprise.
from years as a sort of working musician, i know that it can be tough to warm up a crowd. sometimes folks come and have other things on their minds and can't exist in the moment with the music in that way that makes for an amazing experience for all, both performers and audience, involved. what we experienced on sunday night wasn't quite that. the arcade fire were outstanding. it was a big space, larger than their usual venue, but they worked it, and though the acoustics left something to be desired, their energy was infectious. one song into the first set and G and i were on our feet, grooving and dancing like silly people. in the midst of our full body contact with the music, we both glanced around and were greeted by a strange sight: an auditorium of rock lovers dead still. i'm not speaking in my usual hyperbole when i say that these folks put some classical music audiences to shame with their decorum. neither G nor i understood what was going on, and after exchanging a few snide remarks about the stuffiness of our seatmates, who barely bopped their heads in time with the afire's complex rhythms, we went back to rocking out. this strange dichotomy of energy and chill characterized the atmosphere for the rest of the evening.
i'm still genuinely puzzled. how does one listen to a live performance of songs like "(antichrist television blues)" and "neighbourhood #2 (laika)" and not experience the music with one's body? or put another way, how does one listen to/make music, and keep one's body out of it? one of the first things i learned as a classically trained singer is that your body is your instrument. these questions were only intensified for me this evening when i holed myself up with my flute and beavered away at the swirling, swarthy melody of brahms's sixth hungarian dance transcribed for solo flute. i can't play that piece and not move my body as part of my musical expression any more than i could listen to win and his bandmates race through "keep the car running" and not be jumping and moving in time to the giant wall of lush sound.
needless to say, as the second set wound down with "my body is a cage", the final song of the afire's new album, neon bible, the lyrics hung heavy in the air with irony. "my body is a cage/that keeps me from dancing with the one i love/but my mind holds the key", indeed.
posted by Amanda Bonner at 8:50 p.m.
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