Quick Concert Review: Passion Pit / Tokyo Police Club

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Oh, what a night.  The 9:30 Club‘s beyond capacity crowd was waxed ecstatic from the moment the doors opened. After Tokyo Police Club, (who in their own right did a pretty darn good Weakerthans impression with high pace and requisite tightness and precision), I remarked to a compatriot that the kids were clearly anticipatory and gettin’ juiced in a Canseco-ean way that set the proverbial stage for a fantastic evening.  Greater prescience I have never shown.

I’ve been to a few rock shows in my time.  Slightly more than a handful. In the course of human events, few have risen or ever will rise to the level of what I witnessed last night.  And this isn’t really a rock show, but there’s nothing to gain by quibbling with the genre of musical genius.  I really don’t know where to begin, so I’ll just skip to the beat: About three songs into Passion Pit‘s enthralling set, one of the two hot-as-heck sisters in front of me turned around and informed me that, “This is better than any orgasm I’ve ever had.”

My first thought was to pity her, (my second was to challenge her), despite how much I was digging the epically energized performance. But, by the end of their non-stop adrenaline-charged blitzkreig, I (almost) agreed with her assessment. I mean…it was definitely longer than any I’ve experienced…and off the top of my head I can’t think of any that were more satisfying. Sure, there was that one time in Beijing…but I digress.

Allow me to set the scene: beautiful young scenery, arms raised and pumping, bodies flagellating wildly yet with a unanimity of purpose, booze flowing like water, (two different attractive girls I didn’t previously know bought ME shots?!?!), limbs akimbo, rhythmic salutes to something or other, worries….erased.

A truly great show transports you out of time and place to your own Personal Jesus. One reaches a state of mind that is characterized by sheer unadulterated pleasure and a wanton disregard for any of life’s responsibilities or concerns.  In short, it is childhood, revisited. Although my personal view is that the Grateful Dead sucked, I think it was that sort of carefree bliss that allowed the THC’d masses to believe that Garcia and Company were worth following around the continent.  That and the weed.  And the acid.  And the ‘shrooms. If I were to suddenly become independently wealthy, at this moment in time I would have to seriously consider picking up to tour with Passion Pit as one of my better options in life. And why wouldn’t I, for it would be an endless summer of youthful bliss, plus a bottle and a Red Bull (without the sickeningly saccharin flavor).

Michael Angelakos is not that far removed from childhood bliss, as a 23-year old dude from my old stomping grounds. It appears that he has tapped into his inner Peter Pan, (in what is no doubt a sinister secret deal with the devil), to bring happiness to the masses and loads of cash into his pocket for producing (apparently, orgasmic) pleasure.  With this pact intact, he is achieving “Great Success!” in his falsetto-tinged revolution.

I’d love to indulge you with details, you know, the sort of local color that fleshes out the who-what-where-when-why-(and how) of the performance, but frankly my brain went comfortably numb in a post-coital fashion that sister #1 understood intuitively.  I seem to recall her giving me her number after the shot of bourbon she brought me.  I don’t remember her name, though, so no doubt I’ll stumble across it in my BlackBerry in 6 months and won’t know who it is and it’ll be for naught.  C’est la vie…I wasn’t going to one-up Passion Put anyways, (and neither was she).

And so, the show reached its frothy and sweaty conclusion and then there was the line-out-the-door afterparty at Velvet Lounge where members of Passion Pit DJd….I just can’t continue.

I also can’t imagine how sick their fall tour with Muse will be.  Seriously, that will be full-on sensory overload.  The current tour isn’t over, though, and if you have your head on straight you should run to the closest venue and beg, borrow, or steal your way in. My advice, look for the sisters looking to have a little fun and sidle up pronto.

Long story short…wow.  Top ten show of all those (well over a thousand) that I’ve attended.  Full. Stop.

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Behrnsie has a love for music that dare not speak its name. He attends many shows and can often be found counting out the beats for no discernible reason. He played alto saxophone in his middle school jazz band, where he was best known for infuriating his instructor when it was revealed that he played everything by ear, and could not in fact read music. He takes great pride that this is the same talent/affliction that got Tori Amos kicked out of the Peabody Academy. He does not live in his parents’ basement….except during the holidays.