Wolf Parade – No One Saves The Day [ Live]
When I saw Wolf Parade at the Showbox in Seattle on Monday, I killed some time before the show started by smoking a cig out front of the venue. My addiction’s been acting up lately.
Most of the members of Wolf Parade did the same. At one point a scalper approached guitarist Dan Boeckner and tried to sell him a vastly overpriced ticket. Boeckner declined, mentioned he was in the band, and they seemed to joke about it for a bit.
I’m not a big fan of going to shows alone. The shared experience of concerts is pretty ineffable, so having a friend you can turn and look at after the show and see the same gleam in his eyes or upturned corners of his lips helps cement the memory. That’s the same reason I usually dislike bootlegs; too much is lost.
Flying solo for this show ended up working out pretty alright, since I spent most of it with my eyes closed dancing my little white boy dance. It was the most cockrocktastic show I’ve ever been to. I’m pretty sure my penis grew two inches just from feeling the vibrations from those cockrockin’ tunes.
Some of the cheering after songs was louder than the music itself, and Dan mentioned that he enjoyed the “house party vibe” going on in the audience.
During the jam at the end of closer Kissing The Beehive, a guy named Page, who I had met out front, approached me with his hand extended. I went to shake it, but he moved it out, so instead I went in for a hug, figuring we were both drunk and that’s what drunk people do.
“That’s not what I was going for,” he yelled. “Spin.”
So we clasped hands above our heads and spun each other, awkwardly, self-consciously, like ballroom dancers.
Dan should have bought a ticket. Whatever he spent would have been worth it.
[Buy EXPO 86 and download Pardon My Blues.]