Good Grief!

Finally there’s an online review (Inky: registration required) of Wednesday’s Futureheads show at the TLA.* I was worried that I’d have to write one myself instead of implementing the original plan: wait for someone else to do the work, link to it, and call it a day. Says Patrick Berkery at the Inquirer:

when [they] clicked (as in the show opener, “Le Garage”) it dispelled any notion that the Futureheads were merely another set of finely pressed art-pop nostalgia buffs with nothing new to offer.

In addition, the reviewer notes that some concert attendees “broke indie-cool decorum and slam-danced.”

What exactly is slam-dancing, anyway? Also, the Inquirer guy forgot to mention the buildup to the Futureheads’ appearance on stage, which involved purple spotlights and Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. And let’s not forget the most important thing: the guy named Ross was sick and couldn’t sing. Though the rest of the band did a great job of filling in, they had to cut the set short (e.g., no Carnival Kids).

The harmonies, one of my favorite Futureheads’ features, suffered somewhat because the group was down a vocalist. However, it was a fun show, short and energetic, and I’ll go back for more whenever the band is next in Philly. Just think—all that excitement for the price of one (admittedly delicious) mojito martini at Alma de Cuba.

*My concert companion works for an alternative weekly paper here in Philly and claims that no one from said paper would see the Futureheads because the band is “too mainstream.” As in, non-punk-rock-grrrls such as myself have heard of them. Perhaps he was exaggerating, but this kind of snobbery is a sad way to live, people.