I expected this place to be full of dudebros drinking tallboys, so go me on that front. I did not expect Biffy Clyro to be shirtless. Then again, this is the hottest room in the free world. Scottish rockers Biffy Clyro isn’t known at all really in this country, but Team Biffy is one of the more dedicated groups in rock and there are a few of them here, tiny individual pockets of fans with arms raised and rocking out. A band an ocean away from home still has fans to cheer them on. And that is the wonder of the internet. The downside of the internet? I know only two of their songs, from internet radio, including the brilliant “Glitter and Trauma,” and they play neither. :( However, they set the tone for a night of intense, manly as hell rock.
Between the bands, when everyone leaves to refresh their tallboys, we race forward into the breach and wind up behind a load of 18 year olds sitting on the floor. I really hope they weren’t sitting during Biffy.
I seriously appreciate how nicely the Features are dressed. Any one of them could be an assistant professor at a crunchy college. The lead singer is in a sweater vest! Also, they’re teching their own shit.
I think I am getting too old for three bands I don’t know terribly well on my feet at the end of a long week. I want a vip pass just so I can sit down.
I will say that this band is intense. The drummer is a wild man, but with expert precision is in awe. The lead singer makes a pained noise when he screams that makes it look like he’s getting stabbed in the stomach.
There’s one guy here, tall and keeps fist pumping and pointing at people and dancing all crazy. I hope he’s on drugs. Otherwise he’s just obnoxious.
The pot smoke is getting overwhelming. I am tempted to crouch because GI Joe taught me that smoke rises and fresh air is near the ground.
Didn’t work. Still smells like fire-breathing skunks down there.
You know that guy in college who partied and drank like he was in a frat, even though your tiny liberal arts college didn’t have a Greek system? That is Manchester Orchestra’s core fanbase.
Four hundred drunk white guys cannot sway in time to the music as a unit. Can’t be done.
The guy next to me texts a friend that this is the worst possible set Manchester could have chosen. Admittedly, I don’t know Manchester’s canon very well, but the set seems unusually slow. Jessica opines later that they shortened the fast sections of songs and stretched out the slow ones. You know when bands have a slower song and then throw a fast, thrashing section in the middle for emotional oomph? That only works once. When every song seems to have that same setup, it loses it’s power. Also, hilariously, that just confused the drunk faux-frat boys, who had formed a sad sort of circle pit (I dunno, one guy was skanking? And there was definite rave hands action). They had to dance their hearts out for about 90 seconds, then mill around for three minutes.
It’s probably also important to note that we were standing below a special extra VIP section (roped off from regular VIP) that turned out to be for the Followill brothers (upon whose imprint the Features rest) and the Followife, singer-songwriter Jessie Baylin, who obviously adored Manchester Orchestra. It gave me something to look at when I wasn’t getting anything of note from the band.