On Neither Architecture Nor Football.

Look. I enjoy living in America most of the time. I think it's pretty great. I think it offers me many opportunities that I might not have if I were to live somewhere else. There are, however, many, many things that I dislike about the home of the brave. I've probably gone into a few of them on this outpost at some time in the past, but I will try not to go into them again here. Except for one. This post is about one thing and one thing only: The general attitude of blase exhibited by the American public at certain moments where emotion actually IS expected and appreciated. Why is it that in this country, people are either happy and giddy when there's absolutely no reason to be (see: Jeffrey Eugenides' The Virgin Suicides, or our President's continued optimism after each of his reasonings behind initiating war with Iraq was deemed either initially flawed or invalid due to discovered realities), or stonefaced in the arena of thrill and enlightenment (see: the guy standing 18 inches in front and to my left at the Bloc Party concert at the Hideout this weekend on Chicago's Northwest side)?

So, my bro Kramer and I go to this show, right? We get there early, some good and some not so good local bands are playing on alternating stages for a couple hours before bloc party hit. So we had the ingenious idea to basically forgo enjoying the show prior to bloc party's so that we could get a killer location to stand while the headliners played. So that's just what we did: While everyone was looking towards the left stage and repositioning themselves to see that band, we moseyed on up, about 20 feet back from the right stage, so that when Bloc Party took the right stage, we'd be in prime position to dance, mosh, bounce, whatever the crowd felt like that night. Whatever was going to happen once the pure adrenaline rush of Bloc Party's guitar-laden, experimental precision-rock took hold of us all, I wanted to be sure I caught a piece of that action.
So the opener played - not very good. We were psyched that not only were we going to have great views for BP, but we also didn't really miss much in the opener. So we all kind of hung around for about 20 minutes, it became more crowded, and excitement was in the air. Not for a long time had I been around such youth, such energy (see: Dave Eggers' A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius).
Then came the moment that everyone knows - the moment when all the potential begins to accumulate into little moments which you've previously imagined in your head. Some of which are exactly as you pictured - some are complete surprises. You've had these moments. The moment you're at the top of the roller coaster. The moment you're about to sneeze. The moment it hits your lips. You know these moments. These moments are what gives life its CRACKLE.
The nameless guy walked up on stage and figits with the mike, making sure not to ruin his 8-seconds of glory and worship. The crowd, sensing what the means to the cadence of the evening, grows from an excited murmer to a spattering of feminine yelps and heavy applause. He leans into the mic, and with far too much breathy overtone, he says "Hi I'm whoever from whatever radio station. It's awesome to see everybody out at the Hideout tonight [or whatever he says - nobody remembers this part. Nobody.] and HERE'S BLOC PARTY!!" The crowd, at this moment, absolutely looses it. [This is the best part of the night] Hands are in the air, people making various noises, the die hards are feeling it, the midways are feeling it, the fairweathers are feeling it too. Everybody's having a great time because we're all here, half of us are ripping drunk, and we're all going to have the greatest night of our lives tonight.

And then the music starts.

And it all goes downhill from here.

For roughly 25 seconds, the die hards start to jump up and down with the beat, some clapping with their arms high in the air, some pumping fists. Everyone else immediately SHOVES their hands in their pockets and look up at the flashing lights and say to themselves "oooooooooooohhhh......these guys are making sound.......please entertain me." They stand there quietly. I don't know if they're trying to soak in the atmosphere or play the tortoise part in a reenactment of "The Tortoise and the Hare" with a sloth as their co-star. So while I'm jumping up and down like an idiot, I look over to the guy next to me and think to myself - what a moron. Everybody else is here having a great time and he's ---" and that's when it hits me. It's not just this single moron. I turn my head and see that roughly 95% of the crowd has completely deadened once the action on the stage started. I look around to see that it's me, Kramer, three people in the front row, one guy way to the left of me, and two people behind me (excluding Kramer.) I can actually, literally count, on both hands, the number of people still dancing or moving after a full minute of music. So I think to myself. "Okay - they're just getting their balance back after such a WICKED start. Once the chorus hits, it'll be OFF." So then the build up to the chorus begins. The drums intensify. The singer starts to belt off the chorus, and for about one stanza, I'm right. The crowd shows a bit of life and begins to sing the words that they know. Then, when those words have passed, the hands go back in the pockets and they're content with themselves. While I'm still jumping about like a madman and becoming embarrassed, although I don't know why. I begin rationalizing. "Okay. Am I wrong for trying to throw caution to the wind and let it loose for an evening? Am I the one that people are laughing at and will write blog posts about tomorrow morning? Should I care? NO!" So Kramer and I and the six others thrash and bounce, and continue to do so for the remainder of the show.
The show goes on at a blistering pace for the next 60 or 70 minutes. They play old songs. They play new ones. They talk to the crowd. They scream at the crowd. And, they grow increasingly, VISIBLY irritated at the lack of enthusiasm they receive. Roughly every song, the lead singer(about as svelte and sociable as you could imagine for a PERFECT front man of a rock band) would lift his hands and start clapping, pleading for the audience to join him. And they would. Until he had to stop clapping and actually start PLAYING HIS GUITAR again. Then they would stop. Except for me and Kramer and the six others. We'd continue for another minute until we determined it was useless, and that this crowd would NEVER get it.

So, the "end" of the show comes(like nobody knows there will be yet another pre-determined encore) and we all clap and applaud like we would if someone had just done a really great card trick. And they leave the stage, and about 15% of the crowd continue to cheer, because we actually think that Bloc Party is so pissed and bored, they're going to leave and never come back. And we wouldn't blame them. The other 85% just basically turn to their bro's and say how "f'ing kick-a$$" that show just was and how their totally going to text their buddy from college and tell them to catch them the next time they're down in Winston Salem or wherever. And then the inevitable happens. The moment that I NEVER thought I would see, but I ALWAYS knew I would see at this show. The moron in front of me (who I bumped around 40 times while bouncing during the show - the same moron who had his hands shoved in his pockets the whole show - the same moron who was wearing a striped Ralph Lauren shirt, backwards white hat, torn off khaki shorts and stupid flip-flops to a ROCK SHOW showcasing one of the most angst-laden, socially-driven vocalists in the past 10 years) gets a phone call from somebody. Somebody calls this guy and his phone starts to ring. Not his fault, right? Well, HE ANSWERS IT AND BEGINS TO TALK. This, while 15% of us are still PLEADING for Bloc Party to come back on, instead of going on their bus. So Kramer and I, the jerks that we are, start to redirect our feminine howls from the general space to DIRECTLY INTO HIS EAR. This was fantastic. One of those moments where we knew we shouldn't be doing this. We knew this is EXACTLY what we rail against all the time. But this time - we just had to. So anyway, we're sitting there, hands cuffed, screaming into this guys cellphone-ear of his, and he's just sitting there, chatting away. Couldn't care less about whether he's at a rock and roll show or an art auction or a Presidential briefing on POD's. He'd still be talking to his frat brother from Texas A&M or wherever.

So anyway, the band comes back on, people clap, people stop clapping, they play three more INCREDIBLE songs, and we all go home happy.

But only roughly 8 of us TRULY went home happy.