They Might Be Giants In Concert
Did I never write about seeing They Might Be Giants live in concert? Gather 'round while I recount it, for like all classical stories, it starts off with the protagonist's world in equilibrium, something happens to break the orderliness, it keeps getting worse and worse, and then order is restored. This story follows the classical comedic structure in that there's a happy ending.
It was July 14 at the Majestic Theatre in downtown Detroit. Although we hadn't found out about the concert until that morning, Bill, Rachel and I managed to arrive earlier than the scheduled start time of 8:00 PM, and ate at a table on the sidewalk while singing They Might Be Giants songs at the line of fans who hadn't bought tickets in advance.
Arriving early was a mistake. The only seats in the theater were a few folding chairs at tables near the walls. We soon noticed it was uncomfortably warm. And then the show just... didn't start. Soon it was sweltering in the room. Rachel and I managed to fight for chairs, bought lemonade at extortionist prices just to stay alive in the oven, and by 8:45 were seriously considering leaving.
The opening act, CornMo, started at 9:00 and immediately began playing the accordion and caterwauling in German with no comprehension of backing down from the microphone on the loud high notes. His songs involved such topics as banging his 8th grade girlfriend, and people peeing on each other. Between songs he demonstrated good storytelling ability, but with the heat and noise I was too miserable to care.
We then waited until 10:00. I can count on one hand the number of concerts I have attended of any kind, so perhaps my expectations are not consistent with the realities of putting on a show, but 10:00 was when I expected to go home. These two hours were seriously awful.
The band redeemed it all. The theatre's speaker system is probably banned under an arms treaty somewhere, so Rachel and I spent most of the concert with our fingers in our ears to avoid physical pain (I am not exaggerating), but we pleasantly discovered doing so improved the sound quality. Flansburgh and Linnell were funny as usual. Flansburgh stopped between the first couple of songs to say, "Security? Can we get security? I need to report a security breach. Someone left a window or door slightly cracked somewhere, and it's letting a breath of oxygen into this place." Later, he said, "Now it's time for the audience participation part of the show. I want you to close your eyes and take a trip in your imaginations. Imagine that you are in an inferno of sweltering heat. I know it's hard, but you'll have to try."
They asked us to form a conga line to "No One Knows My Plan." I leaped out of my chair and joined the line. And I conga'ed! Oh yes, I conga'ed! "Get out there and conga!" Flansburgh cried. "This is your last chance to have fun for the rest... of your... life!" At the end, he called out Bill: "Guy in the 4th tour t-shirt, thank you for coming to our show." Rachel is now a fan of They Might Be Giants. She gets their humor better now that she's seen their faces while they are performing. It was a spectacular, high-energy show.
We left at midnight, sweaty, thirsty, exhausted, deafened, and accosted by vagrants, but happy.
Comments
cosette-valjean on Aug. 1, 2005 4:09 PM
The concert was a lot of fun once it actually started. I'm so glad that girl gave me a pony tail. I sooo wish I had worn a tank top and skirt. Oh well. At least my dress was sleeveless.
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