ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE is scrawled in blood red lettering on the side of Jacoby’s as we walk into the pub strictly to use the bathrooms and Loretta Scarr turns to me and maybe says, “I’m freaking out,” but I am already on another planet thinking about possible press passes and sneaking in beers, even though I probably won’t, and I give her a quick glance and then turn back to the general public in the bar and the look on my face tells the audience, “I have something to show you.”
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I exit the men’s room carrying a flier for the Detroit Music Awards which excites me to no end because the JCM is nominated twice this year and I see that Loretta has the same flier in her hands and I shoot the prop guy a curt look and mouth, “Are you for real pal?” but it was off camera so we didn’t have to re-shoot and we walk back to our $10 parking spot and I make sure that the Indian working the lot sees my shirt (Spare Me) and we’re back in the car and she successfully convinces me not to smuggle the 16oz plastic beers that I have brought and I’m fine with that because I’m already on another planet so I sigh, shrug, whatever and we are getting ready to attend the Julian Casablancas solo show at St. Andrews on behalf of MotorCityBlog.
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Slow fade, as I hop out of the car carrying the large plastic coke bottle filled with pennies that I snuck into the vehicle and the soundtrack is unironically playing “Is This It” by the Strokes and I run to a corner particularly populated by bums and I emit a shrill, whistle noise that may even sound like a fog horn as I throw it directly into the center of the homeless community, startling them, and my shrieks turn to cackles as the bums begin to dive for the change and after a minute, one of them mounts another and starts to tear what looks to be floral printed tissue paper from his neck and I turn to Loretta, who is not looking at any of this, but the look on her face says, “I’ve seen it all.”
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Jump cut to the entrance of St. Andrews and I listen as security berates a young guy for repeatedly leaving and entering and I am thankful I left the beer in the car and he is very cordial with us because my license incorrectly says that I live in Dearborn Heights but maybe because I casually have my Bryan Metro card out as well. However, the Mayer Hawthorne look-a-like working the guest list (I was on it) really stressed me out. He was working the whole elitist “I work with the guest list table at a medium-sized venue” attitude, you know, and I just stifle a giggle and move on. The main hall looks packed which is interesting considering it’s a Monday and I can’t even begin to deal with it so we go downstairs and buy expensive domestic beer from a dykey, but not too dykey, barmaid who refuses to read me the large board listing all of the available beer so I stiff her on the tip leaving a pre-made dollar which says, “I’ll see you in hell,” in not quite blood red lettering. We meet up with –jr and co. and I just try to be cool, chill. I have a few conversations.
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Fade out and fade in followed by us all heading up because we think that the show has started. We find our spots where we can get a good view of the show but also allowing everyone else to see us as they mingle in and out. Actual reviews of music and shows aren’t really my thing but what I can say is that the sound was….cool (?), Casablancas was suitably reverbed out and he performed most of his solo disc, I think maybe, but not totally sure, because I haven’t actually listened to the whole disc while sober. Having seen the Strokes in their heyday the first time they rolled through Detroit, I was pleasantly surprised to hear him dust off a song from the debut disc, but I’m not too good with titles. The encore occurred around 40 minutes into the set and it included a solo song followed by a Christmas song which really seemed to stress Loretta out and I was dealing with my own anxiety issues after observing the large heap of confetti that was swept to the side of the stage.
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The crowd dynamic was interesting as there weren’t as many hipsters as we thought would be there. It just seemed like your normal Nickelback crowd. Over the past year or so, I have listened to a lot of people complain of how Detroit crowds are sparse and un-fun. I am undecided if this applies to this crowd, but then again, I saw the Strokes get booed off the stage in New York which resulted in this Casablancas gem, “You can boo all you want. We’re still going to play,” which I need to steal for a future JCM show. I also distinctly remember some tool in a red coke shirt who was trance dancing with some slag and I spent a good five minutes staring at him, thinking of the things I could do (my favorite involving a car battery and a work out bench) and I look up to see –jr glaring at him also and suddenly all was right in the world.
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Overall, I had a decent time at this show. The music was…solid (?) and St. Andrew's is a decent place to see a national act. It’s sad that the crowd wasn’t into it more because I really wanted to rage but at least I didn’t get punched in the face. I left the venue wanting more, and that “out” is the new “in”, and apathy is the new black. I spent the remainder of the evening mingling at the Lager House for the City Center show but left before City Center went on and I closed out the night going through various stages of reality, sitting in the car in the middle of a thunderstorm, listening to mix cd’s and during a particularly ‘interesting’ moment, I hopped on the roof of the car and pretended that I was an owl who was freaking out because it was trapped in a tornado and at that point a giant flash of lightning occurred and it illuminated the sliding windows of the apartment I was staring (“Who’ing”) at and, for a split second, the window became a giant billboard with the lightning acting as flashing lights and I slid down the surface of the car, walking towards it, only able to read the words, “That’s Entertainment”.
Julian Casablancas/St. Andrews 04/06/10- Solid B
Bryan Metro is the anti-show reviewer for Detroit’s anti-blog. When he isn’t too busy, he is also the lead vocalist for underground quasi-celebs on the cusp, The Jesus Chainsaw Massacre. Follow his Twitter here or e-mail him here. Disappear here.
