Finally, we were there at the show, and the lights went out. Strange sounds echoed from the stage when suddenly these creatures came slinking out of the darkness into the crowd. We realized they were dancers, with jeweled masks covering their entire heads and faces. The show had begun; the band started to play.
I immediately felt like I was in another space. They were already doing a spot-on job at creating a world that I was more than willing to fall into, but that also frightened me a little.
A world of glam rock and mystic pop mixed up in a Harmony Korine film. Zach and I started dancing.
Now, you must know, it takes a lot to get me to go out, see a band I don’t know, and even more so, actually like them to the point where I can’t help but flail around in front of strangers. I couldn’t tell you why the music spoke to me so deeply at the time, but something about the sounds resonated. It was touching a place in my soul I didn’t think anyone else knew about. I recognized something in them that was also in me. It was quite profound.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, Jordan opened his mouth and started singing. He started high, something that might remind you of The Scissor Sisters until he completely flipped it on its head, in one breath, and dropped down to a deep, Bowie-like, Talking Heads-esque tone. Zach and I exchanged looks of confusion and pleasant surprise.
The band played on. It was so refreshing to hear all their different influences flow together in a way I hadn’t really heard before. It was fun and childlike, yet dark and full of intense vulnerability, somehow managing to keep an underlying tone of what I can only describe as hope.
They played through their set and I never wanted it to end. When they were done, Taylor (my other good friend who was with us, also thoroughly enjoying the show) and I yelled out, "Nooooooooo!” The audience began chanting, “One more song! One more song!”
The band complied and said this one was called, “Little Man.” I looked over at Taylor and said, “Whatever this is, it's your song from now on.”
I was entranced. "Little man," featuring lyrics written by Gunner, ended up being one of the most deeply moving and powerful songs on the record. A song Taylor and I would both grow to love and that opened up parts of ourselves we were afraid to face. After the song was over, we turned to each other and almost in unison said, “We have to be friends with these guys.”
I feel like I can separate people from their art. I can geek the fuck out over someone’s creations, but still be able to see them as flawed human beings like the rest of us—at least, I hope. So I decided to pursue this quest. And what better way to get someone’s attention than to send them a dubsmash of you mouthing one of their songs on Twitter?