atypical tuesday

“Hey Ben, have you heard of Phoenix?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard one or two songs, why?”

“They’re playing at Vega tonight, I have an extra ticket if you’re interested. It’s 250 kroners.”

“Nah, that’s a lot of money for a band I’m not too familiar with, I think I’ll pass.”

I knew instantly I was making a mistake.

“Actually, I changed my mind. It could be fun, I’ll take the ticket. See you at 8!”

Phoenix rose from the ashes of the French dance-pop craze of the mid 90s, in the same vein as compatriots Daft Punk and Air. They actually began as Air’s backing band before spinning off, acquiring a new vocalist, and inking new material. I spent Tuesday afternoon listening to them, trying to gain some familiarity, and I wasn’t entirely enamored. Besides the delightfully infectious 1901, other songs were mired in mediocrity. My expectations were tempered.

After an enjoyable but forgettable set by opener Noah and the Whale, Phoenix was due up. The house lights went down, the stage lights came up, and I was instantly atomized by a sensory barrage. Strobe lights, flood lights and spotlights meshed together in an ecstatically disorienting array. Blinding light interchanged with sheer darkness to emulate still-frame animation. The drummer appeared silhouetted, a primal creature bludgeoning an assortment of metal and animal skins in mach 4/4 overdrive. Thomas Mars' thin, swooping voice drifted from pitch to pitch as the songs themselves slurred together. This was a 90 minute mutualistic symbiosis between band and crowd, each feeding off the other’s energy in an emotional crescendo that climaxed with the performance seen in the video below. I came away exhausted but elated. My expectations were thoroughly exceeded and I was left with a singular thought: tonight Phoenix soared.