Last night was the saddest show I’d ever been to. Not sad in the way that it was terrible and embarrassing to watch, and no one died or cried or anything, but still so sad. I’d only seen the Brunettes live one time before this, and that performance was amazing. It was their show and, even though there weren’t a lot of people in the audience – which made things awkward when one drunk girl decided to stripper-ish dance around the dancefloor – they played to their little hearts’ contents. Last night, they were an opening band for whatever-the-fuck band and you could just tell things were bad from the start.
For starters, the road for about a block in front of the venue was closed because the pavement was, basically, off. So, I’m sure everyone had a great time maneuvering around all of that to park and get their things inside. Then, it was nearly ten when we arrived (doors opened at eight, show started at nine) and the first band was just then finishing. The Brunettes came on and tried to rush set their things up, all the while Jonathan Bree (boy Brunette) was looking around the floor of the place in search of something (I could’ve sucked up my nerves and just asked if he needed help; not that we’re buddies, but still!). Finally, they began and we hear that Heather Mansfield (girl Brunette) has been losing her voice. The sound guy was sort of awful and Jonathan asked a few times to have certain things turned up (in the middle of the songs because sound guy, apparently, doesn’t understand the point up to the ceiling to “turn the sound up” gesture). Then, when his guitar just didn’t work at all during one of the songs, he admitted afterward that this was (sarcastically) a “dream gig” and let us know his amp had been stolen from the building sometime that evening. You could just tell he was so angry and upset and just wanted to be finished. And, unfortunately (and you could tell they were sad about it), he got his wish when they were closing in to eleven o’clock and they’d only gotten through three songs.
There are no buts in what I’m going to say: I can completely understand Jonathan’s frustrations with the whole thing. I’ve run down the list of things I thought would be of bother to anyone, let alone a band that had to pay and fly all the way from New Zealand to play a somewhat small bar to a very small crowd that wasn’t there for them (aside from me, but we’ll get to that). It was annoying enough for me driving to the place and parking before we reached the rough terrain, and then dealing with everyone talking loudly during their entire, short set. I understand you’re at a bar, but take that shit downstairs or in the other room. You don’t talk louder because the band has started to play, you shut the fuck up.
So, this band has been together for ten years now. I think I’ve written here before (or somewhere before) that I was a little late to the whole “indie” scene. I’ve been a poptart my whole life, and then high school brought about the emo tendencies high schoolers tend to have. It was only, maybe, six years ago that I’d even heard of Rilo Kiley, and they’re just about step one into the scene (well, if you’re a girl and especially one with red hair). But not long after that, my friend Jenn introduced me to the Brunettes. I forget what took my interest, or how I’d even come to know of them (like, I don’t remember if she mentioned them or I asked her about them or what), but she sent me a copy of Mars Loves Venus. (I’m sorry I didn’t pay!) I was hooked immediately and would listen to the rest of their stuff on their label website. Of course, I got Structure and Cosmetics when it was released and kept my eyes and ears open for any upcoming shows. I don’t know if I’d just missed any or they hadn’t been around for a while, but I didn’t get to see them live until last year, I believe? Oops, nope! The year before that!
Well, I was so happy to see them again last night and I can’t help but feel so disappointed, but not at all in them! Everyone is entitled to have a bad day (or, not so much as have a bad day, but we’re all allowed to be affected by them and not act as chipper as we usually are because of them), and I don’t hold any attitudes or short setlists against them. I was mad for them! And I know that they’ve been around for a while, and they obviously have enough recognition to get over here and tour and make videos and continue to make records, but I feel like I need to be their own, personal street team! I’m sure they have official ones, or unofficial ones already, but it’s just not fair that so little people know about them or care about them. They’re not the Beatles, and they don’t make funny songs and wear animal-faced sweatshirts (I’m looking at you, Flight of the Conchords), but they’re a great fucking band and everyone should like them. They’re like a Frankie Avalon/Annette Funicello movie, but wearing more clothes.
And, because I’m six years old, I was just overcome with so much sadness at how sad and frustrated they must’ve been about their “dream gig”, that I had the urge to write them a letter. A member of their band was standing at the bar near-ish me and I began cranking out a little apology on behalf of their night. I wrote in all lowercase and cursive letters (remember the six years old thing?), and the only paper I had was a tiny piece from my Catwoman notepad (which has a little Catwoman in the corner and her mask on the back). If memory serves, this is what I wrote:
Dear the Brunettes:
I’m so sorry your time in Philadelphia wasn’t that great. I know this won’t get your amp back, but I was only at this show to see you guys, if that makes you feel better! I hope the rest of your tour is great! I love you!
♥, Jasmine
While I was writing the letter, the dude from their band went back into the backstage area, so I hung around their merchandise table, hoping someone else would come buy to collect money for things (I also, finally, bought their old EPs and their recently released EP; now, I still just need Holding Hands, Feeding Ducks and I’ll be Brunettesfull until their new album is released in October). Their drummer went to the bar to order a drink, but he seems young and he was hitting on girls and getting two beers and counting his money – add in my awkwardness – so I didn’t bother him. A few minutes later, their (new?) backup singer came to the bar to order a drink and I felt comfortable enough to attack. Plus, she was adorable with a short, black bob and flappers-esque look all around. She was so nice and said, in her New Zealand accent, “I’ll just get this drink and I’ll be right back to help you out! I’m sorry no one’s there!” So, she came back, apologized again, sold me some CDs and I nervously handed her my folded Catwoman note and asked if she could pass it around the band. She said, “Did you want me to give it to anyone in particular?” I wanted to say, “Yes! Delicious Jonathan needs a cheering up!”, but I refrained and just said everyone should read.
I kind of regret not sticking around or leaving any contact information on the note (what if they wanted to hug me for being so nice?!?!), but that’s ok. Maybe it cheered them up and that was enough. Maybe she ripped up the note as soon as I turned my back. I’ll never know. I hope she didn’t, though. And I hope they all read it and appreciated it and then also made fun of me for being so weird.
Ok, I’ve officially listened to Holding Hands, Feeding Ducks ‘88 ten million times off your page,and I’m starting to feel rude.
Why aren’t they selling that E.P. here!
You wouldn’t think New Zealand music would be so hard to get a hold of when you live here.
Oh, that really stinks!! I hope they get their stuff out to their own home country soon. Is it on iTunes at all?
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