Who: Elkland • darling down • Harbor
Sometimes I wonder if I can properly convey through words how
absolutely amazing my life is or if it must be experienced first-hand to truly be understood.
Case in point: I just tucked one of my favourite new bands into bed
tonight. Their name is Elkland, they're out of New York, and unlike a lot of bands who seem to think that a dash of cologne erases a week's worth of gig sweat, they do shower before bed after a show.
I saw Elkland a few weeks ago when my friend Aaron-who-I-met-in-an-English-class-last-year invited them to play in the studio that Sef, the bassist in Aaron’s band, rents. Aaron told me that I was going to like them, but what he didn’t tell me is that they’re neo-New Wave geniuses who make me want to dance. In a bad way. And let me tell you, folks—I don’t dance.
They had to leave town right after that gig, and because I piddled around too long and didn’t get the chance to nab their new EP, I’ve been stuck with some measly 30-second song clips from their website since that night. So, naturally, I was all psyched when Aaron informed me that he’d invited them back on the 16th of this month. At the same time, he told me that his band, darling down, was to play on the 11th, which is, of course, tonight. I planned to go to both shows, naturally, but told Aaron that I wouldn’t be able to make it to tonight’s when I was scheduled to work until 10.
I had completely rationalised that I didn’t even want to go to the show by 8:45, but it was just then that the event at work ended and I was permitted to leave. So, I changed into my favourite old Guster shirt, a pair of old painting jeans, and my no-longer-cool-since-Avril-Lavigne Chuck Taylors, and headed to the venue. Only, when I arrived, I found a gaggle of white trash hanging out in the parking lot. I’m talking about the bleachedblondeleatherpants, cleavage-flashing, drunk, pregnant sort of white trash. Figuring that I didn’t want to go inside even if I was in the right place, I called one of Aaron’s friends and found that the real venue, High Five, was one just down the street.
Figuring that I was about a hour late, I thought that I’d just drop in to hear the last of darling down’s set but was pleased to find that not only had the set not begun but that the only other non-band person there was the wife of darling down’s lead singer. It’s funny—I’ve been going to darling down shows and hanging out with the guys in the band for more than a year now, yet I’d never actually talked to Mary until we all went to see Radiohead in Cleveland a few weeks ago. Up until that point, I thought that we had nothing in common, that I go to shows for the music, while she goes to shows because her husband wants her to. But it turns out that Mary’s being with Chad is like me being with—oh, I don’t know—Jay Clifford. She totally thinks that he’s the most talented guy—which he is—and really hopes that he’ll go somewhere in the music world—which he will.
So, Mary and I chatted about tea salons and electrical engineering until Aaron came out of the secret ninja band-only sidestage green room and informed us that Elkland hadn’t yet shown up. Now, this was no surprise to me, since I was sure that Elkland wasn’t scheduled for Ohio until the 16th, but Aaron was convinced otherwise. And so Mary and I chatted some more. For more than an hour, actually, until Elkland arrived looking very weary and darling down began playing.
It was much like any other darling down set, which is to say that it was totally unique. The band switched from grungy to twangy to rocking out with every song, and quite honestly, I like Chad’s vocals just about as much as any I’ve ever heard. The only problem that I have with the band—and a whole lot of other bands, too—is that their drummer completely overwhelms the guitars and vocals. In turn, Aaron, Chad, and Sef volume up their guitars until the vocals are nearly nonexistent and the whole sound is muddy. I just don’t get drummers. I’d like to take away their kits and give them all practice pads for shows.
Elkland was also worth writing home about. Literally. The venue was horrible and the band was going on the four hours of sleep that they’d gotten before their tremendous drive from New York City, but their set was just right on. “Infectious” is the clichéd term for their songs, I believe. Catchy but not in a pop-y way. I was too young to appreciate the 80’s while they were happening, you know, but Elkland is like the Joy Division/The Cure of my generation. And you don’t know how much that pleases me. Especially since they’re such nice guys, which you don’t expect from a band-on-the-verge made up of 20 year-olds. To watch them onstage—their eyes closed, as taken with their own music as their audience is—in all of their New Yorkness, you’d expect them to have rockstar complexes, but as soon as they left the stage and I approached to buy their EP, guitarist Johnny abandoned his gear-packing to walk me to their makeshift merch table.
As he handed me a sticker and a button and my EP, I began to express my love for his band’s music in hopes that he could offer suggestions of other New York or New Wave bands that I might enjoy, but before I got out more than one second of gushing, two women—and I when I say “women”, I mean “women”—commanded his attention and every physical inch of him, which they insisted on touching as they talked to him for the next fifteen minutes. I pretended not to be waiting on him and took to Aaron, who asked me to grab a bite with him and Sef after the show. I asked if he planned to invite Elkland along, and he said, “Well, they are sleeping in my bedroom tonight.” That’s right; not just his house but his bedroom specifically.
The third band, Harbor, took to the stage after all of this went down, and all that I’ll say about them is that they have too much talent to be playing the sort of music that they are. Especially their vocalist, who’s Chad’s brother and definitely should not be singing along to anything that even remotely resembles a Creed song.
When the lights came on, I tried to convince Joel, Elkland’s synth boy, that the band wasn’t too tired to go out with us, but they took Aaron up on his offer to show them back to his house, so I followed in my car. (You know, to help them get settled; not because I’m a psychotic stalker or anything.) As I stood by their tourbus minivan, attempting to look helpful, I realised that they probably thought me Aaron’s sister when vocalist Jon said that he remembered me from the last show but thought that my hair was straight then. I suppose that I do look something like Aaron’s red-haired sibling with my new (ridiculous) red and blond highlights, and I suppose that I do talk to Aaron like someone who knows him as more than just a friend. My theory was further proven when Jon asked if I lived at the house and didn’t seem to understand when I told him that it’s just Aaron’s.
I hung back in the living room while Aaron took the guys upstairs to his room, but I couldn’t resist for long and had to see them in their fuzzy pajamas and matching slippers. Drummer Jesse was asking for extra blankets, so Aaron just told him to go ahead and take his bed for the night. Are you aware of how cool it is that Aaron’s going to be able to say that Elkland slept in his bed? Too bad Aaron’s too cool to ever use that to his advantage in picking up chicks.
We left Elkland at the house and picked up Sef back at High Five before stopping at Mac’s Café. After twelve buffalo wings, 120 onion rings, and more music talk than should be allowed between three people, we handed our carryout box of leftovers over to a random homeless man on a street corner and headed for our homes. Right then, I decided that even if Aaron wouldn’t use his bed full of Elkland to pick up chicks, I would. You know, in a non-lesbian sort of way.
Where: High Five • Columbus, Ohio
When: September 11th, 2003