This was the first show I’ve been to at The Blind Pig that sold out. Considering the way Protomartyr has been steadily gaining popularity, fact that The Blind Pig is not a particularly large venue, and that this was on Friday night, this does not come as a surprise. But still, it was a great contrast to the show I went to only the night before. We got there at 9:20, 40 minutes before the first of the opening acts went on, but still, all the seats were taken and people had begun to congregate in the middle. The crowd was predominantly male and many were older than the typical college student–clearly this show had drawn individuals from outside the Ann Arbor bubble. But more on the crowd later.
Despite the crowd, my friend and I managed to squeeze to the front once the first opening band, Deadbeat Beat, got on stage. Deadbeat Beat, as their name might suggest, played songs with a strong, steady beat. They’ve got the kind of sound that just makes you want to groove in your own little bubble, to dance it out. They also have a lovably bumbling stage presence. However, outside of the occasional head-nod here and there and some respectful clapping, the crowd simply did not seem to feel it. Like I said, this was dancing music–loud, rocking and throbbing dancing music, but still only dancing music–and this was a crowd here to see Protomartyr, rising rock gods, not a jamming little band from Detroit. So the crowd listened, as more and more individuals poured in, as each passing second the space grew a little more cramped, tightening and constricting and packing the people, and they did not do much more than listen. By the beginning of the second opening act, Rebel Kind, most of the crowd had arrived.
Rebel Kind, a three-piece all-female ensemble, started softly, with Autumn playing the acoustic guitar and singing a song she wrote for a friend who was in NY, all alone on stage. After, the rest of the band joined here, but for that second song, they all played on a different instrument than their usual–it’s good to see bands comfortable with switching it up and musicians who are capable of playing more than one instrument–it suggests that the performers are well-rounded and talented. Much like Deadbeat Beat, Rebel Kind has a softer sound with a steady beat, and their music makes you want to shake and move. Still, the crowd was stubborn and stiff and although a few more had begun to loosen their necks and head-nod, many more stood and stared. While this problem is not idiosyncratic to this particular crowd and, in fact, is a problem with most crowds, the bigger the name of the main act, the worse the problem is. For many concert-goers, there exists no one but the biggest name on the ticket, and opening acts are hurdles to be overcome to reach the pinnacle of their nights. Only the most engaging and capable opening acts seem to be able to get through to these dead-eyed, closed-minded listeners–unfortunately, though their sound was solid and their performance good, neither Deadbeat Beat nor Rebel Kind accomplished this. Part of the blame can be pointed towards the difference between their sounds and Protomartyr’s, but part of the blame must be put on the lack of fight these two bands had–they performed fine, but they need to learn how to get the crowd on their side.
And then, finally, Protomartyr performed.
By this time, those in the front had been pushed by the eager crowd right against the stage and The Bling Pig was filled to capacity. And once on stage, Protomartyr didn’t waste any time, they jumped right in to it and started shredding on their instruments. It was loud. It was violent. It was rock. Everything was going fine.
But as I’ve already discussed, this was a crowd that didn’t know what to do with itself–and oh, it was a beast of crowd. Throughout the opening acts, they had been like dead men at the height of rigor mortis, and while I expected them to loosen up a little, I wasn’t entirely sure they wouldn’t just stand in holy terror, in reverence. And for the first song, they did little more than that–sure almost all of them began to bob their heads or tap their feet or even move their bodies a little, but there wasn’t any rollicking movement. But, something reached a breaking point in the second song, something snapped in this crowd, this packed, little crowd.
Directly behind the front row of people, a mass, a group, a clusterfuck of individuals began to run around–well, more aptly put, to run into people. They threw themselves at both each other and those on the outskirts of their bustling body. The very front-line of individuals–those who moments ago had been standing looking up at Protomartyr as if they were their martyrs, as if they were basking in their light, their sound–were suddenly like a rowboat entering stormy waters: they were thrown this way and that way, they were lurching forwards, onto the stage, onto the speakers, as the bodies behind them took turns slamming into and squeezing between them, they were battered, they were broken, they were profoundly annoyed. In between songs, this wretched running would cease, only to return with greater power and greater ferocity at the next crescendo. For certain unfortunate individuals, it was a long set.
I was in the front, but on the edge, against the wall, and I was mostly protected from this insanity. I cannot say whether those people were wrong to enjoy the music in that way, but I can say that the difference between these two types of people ruined the night for some. And to be honest, I’m not sure Protomartyr is the kind of music that this thrashing is meant for–to me, their sound lends itself to a more careful listening.
And let’s go back to Protomartyr. Now, if you don’t know, Protomartyr is the baby of Joe Casey, an old man by rock standards. As photographed above, he dresses like what he is: a middle-aged man. I appreciate this personal style and I think if he attempted to dress like one of his band-mates, it would seem phony. He does not have the energy of younger performer, as is clear from the way he stood at his microphone throughout the whole concert without prancing, without riling the crowd (of course, he didn’t need to do that). While his singing did not seem to suffer, he was also clearly inebriated. To be honest, while I can appreciate the music, Protomartyr’s performance had we-are-too-good-to-be-here written all over it. As is tradition, when they “finished” their set, they ran back stage, only to emerge a minute later for an encore. They played two more songs and in typical rockstar-snob fashion, they disappeared backstage for good. They didn’t stick around to greet fans or sign autographs or even to reap praise from their devoted followers–no, they said goodnight and left.
