Article and Photos By: Steve SawyerView all of Steve's The XX photos
here.
It's only been a couple of weeks since I wrote so glowingly of The XX, and their similarly named debut album "XX", so understand that I was very close to having a sudden heart condition when I learned that they would playing at The Music Box with the equally amazing Friendly Fires. So feeling slightly intimidated by the thought of superbly dressed (read: potentially British) fans, I donned my favorite oxford, and blazer, dragged out my favorite pair of jeans (read: never seen the inside of a washing machine) and made my way to the theater. After a long wait outside that involved watching some skateboarders eat it about a hundred times, the line finally moved inside, and I made my way to the most important section of any concert hall. The bar. After equipping myself with a delicious oat soda, I killed some time, and wandered around the venue for a bit.
If you've been to The Avalon, or The Mayan Theater, then the seemingly ubiquitous design should be very familiar, with a balcony overlooking the floor, and stage, and exits on either side of the theater. The only difference being that The Music Box is slightly smaller than it's counterparts, which worked to it's credit that much more if only because the bill was demanding an intimate performance.
So when the lights dropped, and the curtains pulled back and revealed a very nonchalant Holly Miranda, it really did feel like it was the beginnings of something special. And as she began to audibly display the intricacies of her relationship with her guitar, something slightly strange happened. Everyone was quiet. Not the uncomfortable quiet that happens when someone is being so horrible at something that no one in the room has the heart to tell them. But rather the kind of quiet that is usually reserved to display reverence to someone or something, like a quiet affirmation of accomplishment.
The audience was captivated, and the crowd of the typically distracted Facebook generation was temporarily pacified by her delicate and soft lulling voice, and her steady and dreamy guitar work. And while she breezed through her set, I almost didn't realize that she had performed every single song from her EP “Sleep on Fire” but I suppose that's the hypnotic power of her performing ability. Also I would like to point out that she played the tambourine by stomping on it, and while I don't know the significance of relaying this information to you, I thought it was cool.
After a brief intermission that included repeat trips to the bar, and restroom it was time for The XX to take to the stage. I hurriedly tried to find my way into the press pit, only to be denied by my new arch nemesis Carson Daly, and his ragtag gang of expensive camera wielding thugs. After narrowly escaping with my life, I managed to get a pretty decent vantage point from the balcony to take some pictures and catch The XX's set. I suppose I should get the elephant out of the room right now. Baria Qureshi is gone. Now while this may not be news for some, there were definitely plenty of surprised people at the show, so maybe it was that sense of trepidation that prompted Oliver to warn the crowd. “We're just getting used to playing as a three piece so if we fuck up a lot, we're sorry.” And with that out of the way, they wasted no time in diving in headfirst, starting with the intro from “XX” and segueing flawlessly into VCR, and after hearing the now familiar chorus “Watch things on VCR's, with me and talk about big love, I think we're superstars, you say you think we are the best thing” it was rather obvious that these guys are going to do just fine carrying on as a trio. The crowd continued to sway and swoon along through the amazing set list, that saw them doing equally amazing renditions of fan favorites like “Shelter” and “Crystalised.”
But my favorite moment of their time on the stage came in the beginning of “Islands” where the band momentarily found themselves off time, laughed it off apologized for “fucking up” and only moments later made the recorded version of the song seem laughably unimportant, managing to encapsulate what makes them so special in one single song. This may seem a bit off point, but I happened upon someone's blog who also managed to catch the show, and they made mention that the crowd seemed absolutely dead. In my mind there's two ways to look it, while yes, the audience was exceptionally low key for the bulk of The XX's set, it was most certainly not for a lack of interest, or because the band itself was anything other than perfect, which they were, but rather because the majority of the people watching the show were doing just that... and doing so intently. So I took it for what is was, a sign of people enjoying something remarkable, and make no mistake, that's the word at play.
With The XX's departure it was now time for something completely different. And that something came in the form of Friendly Fires. If you haven't had the chance to check out Friendly Fires yet, then you must not be a big fan of your ears. Their unique blend of disco, electro, and rampaging African rhythms is an amazing bombastic wall of sound that's just teeming with energy.
And while I thought that their eponymous album was already bursting at the seams, their live show is that much more vibrant. Singer Ed Macfarlane exploded onto the stage and danced almost twice as much, and nearly twice as hard as he sang, which was no small feat considering that he still managed to be pitch perfect through all of it. So I guess it's totally understandable that girls (and some boys) utterly lost their minds when they heard the deep bass grooves of “Lovesick” the bands opener, a song that also just so happens to showcase what's so special about Ed's voice, an almost Kele Okereke, and still manages to find a space all his own. That same presence of strength was definitely on display through their performance of “Jump in my Pool” which was backed up by the equally capable drumming, and guitar extravaganza courtesy of Edd Gibson and Jack Savidge, and while I know that Macfarlane handles the bass duties on their albums, they did have an amazing bass player for their live line-up whose name I can not seem to find.
So with my apologies to him for not knowing his name, I would also be lying if I didn't say he did an excellent job at filling in in Macfarlane's stead. Still no sign of letting up they moved into another fan favorite, and one of their most well known songs “Skeleton Boy” and tore through it like it were mere child's play. However it's safe to say that the song that defined their performance was “Kiss of Life” a song from their recent re-release of their self titled debut. The song's undeniable dancing power was indisputable, and even the most distracted of kids had to momentarily glimpse up from their iPhone's viewing screen to watch the show with their own eyes, and hell some of them even danced. If there was anything to take away from Friendly Fires time on the stage it was this. These guys are much better live than their recorded selves. And by the time they rolled out the encore performance of “Lover Boy” I had gone from simply impressed to full blown school boy adoration.
As I think back on the night, the one common thread between sets was that each and every one of these artists puts on a live show that is far superior to anything that they have committed to an album. Which last time I checked, was kind of the point. It's just nice to see that some people still get it.
Written By: Darwin Green 
Once in there I walked down to the pit area, where I waited through the opening acts, who were pretty good. The first one, Dead to Me, caught my attention as an emerging punk band with the same insouciance and irreverence that any good punk band should possess, particularly toward the heckling crowd shouting insults and throwing drinks. The singer boasted a song with lyrics “stolen from Charles Bukowski.” A man after my own heart.
I mustered on. The band took breaks between songs to tell some Jewish or Mexican jokes or crack wise at the audience, and then launched into some such song as “Murder the Government.” The great thing about punk is that the songs all usually last less than three minutes, if that, which means the band can pack thirty or forty songs into a set. NoFX knew how to space the energy. Just when one thought it was safe, like with the slow opening of “Reeko,” they would immediately pick up the energy, and the musty, massive bodies would start crashing into each other.
