Last night I saw Deafheaven at Crescent Ballroom. How was it? Let me reach into the ol’ bowl of critic buzz words for a sec. Ah, here we go:
Cathartic. Transcendent. Powerful. Raw Power. Fuckin’ Rad.
Yep, that about sums it up.
A few stray observations about last night’s show:
NO HEAVEN FOR FATTIES
They had some amazing looking shirts at their merch booth… but sadly no XXL sizes. Yours truly was out of luck in the concert T department.
MAKING AN ASS OF YOURSELF
There was an assortment of ecstatic, sweaty, thrashy moshers throughout the night. One dude had a unique ragin’ technique I haven’t seen before that I shall dub The Overeager Rentboy (aka The Buttram), in which he would pinball himself through the crowd by bending over and ramming himself ass-first at people in the audience.
TOUCHED BY THE HAND OF GEORGE
George Clarke cut a compelling figure onstage. Dude didn’t have to wear corpse-paint to look intense. He was super-engaged with the crowd, frequently leaning in to the crowd, throwing out high-fives and grabbing people’s hands and giving off a slightly more sane and composed Ian Curtis vibe. I will admit that I felt like a little girl when he gave me a high-five. “He touched me! How cool is that?” I almost shouted that, but then I realized that I was a 32 year old man wearing a bow tie and that would be an absurd thing for me to say.
“THIS GORGEOUS INTERLUDE IS BRUTAL!”
Respect to the moshers who were so committed to raging that they were even wrecking shit during the ambient interludes.
A lot of folks at the show who looked like this.
I doubt I’ll hear a more beautiful and moving piece of live music this year than the last few minutes of “Come Back”. The best way I can describe it was like spending time running through a dark forest, banging head first into hard trees and being cut by sharp branches, pursued by some nameless sweaty monster and then suddenly emerging into a wide open clearing bathed in golden light. Those last few minutes were that golden clearing. I wish I was back there now.