Seeing as I work for War Tapes’ label, I thought I knew what to expect come Monday night when I was to attend their San Francisco show at Regency Theater. I know their songs by heart, I’ve seen tons of videos and photos of their live performances. I know where they came from, and how they sound when they answer questions. I know who tweets on Twitter and how, and I even knew some of their character quirks, though I’d rarely spoken to them outside of the world of email. (Stalking is all part of the job, you know.)
Strange to meet them in person. Honestly, I felt some slight trepidation, as I consider myself a shy person and not a particularly impressive representative of our label. But Becca was all smiles and sweetness from behind the merch table, and before the show I had an opportunity to listen to Matt chat amiably with my Twitter partner-in-crime, Sandra. William had a great sense of humor. Gave Neil a hug. So far so good. Nice people. Now for the show. Now to be totally, utterly blown away.
To watch the music you adore performed live is always a thrill. How can it not be when you are in the presence of such amazing craftsmen? The fact that you’re surrounded by equally ecstatic fans only serves to magnify your elation. You let the music wave over you, embrace the thudding rhythms deep in your chest, and allow real life to drift far, far away.
At least, that’s how it normally works for me. But War Tapes had a surprise waiting for me, something else in store.
Before War Tapes’ set, fog rolled outward from the stage. To add to the mystery, the sillhoutted band members emerged with their hoods up, preparing the stage for their performance. And when I say performance, I mean performance.
BOOM! They start off with one of my favorite tunes, “She Lied.” I feel my muscles tighten along with the building tension created by the guitar’s pedal note. It grabs me, pulls me in. And then there is Neil. The lyrics are melodramatic, there’s no doubt about it, but he fills them out and they ripple from him, oozing self-indulgent misery. As Neil is contorting his body and thrashing the microphone wire around him, all you can think is, “Wow. I want his job.” But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Neil starts crawling along the edge of the stage. He looks down, gazing intensely into the eyes of his viewers. Oh, the drama! Instantaneously, feverish hands reach out, palms extended, fingers spread wide.
“I had her heart,” sings Neil, extending his hand outward. His fingers entwine with those of an adoring fan, then suddenly recoil as if burnt or scornful. The motion is abrupt, shocking. Hearts lurch. More hands reach out, compelled by an irrepressable desire to be captured in his gaze, to be recognized, to be made special for that one brief instant. They are his now.
In similar spirit the show continues. No one wants it to end. War Tapes don’t say much. They do their music, and they love their music, and they love the performing. You can see it in Matt’s thrashing guitar licks, in the throw of William’s head as he drives the music forward, and in the way Becca sweetly closes her eyes as she lets the music ring through her.
But no, this isn’t music that just flows over you. It grips you, and it draws you into a writhing, passionate inner world, untempered by self-consciousness. This, my friends, belongs on the stage. Buy War Tapes’ albums – they’re well-crafted works and it’s good for the band – but remember, simple recordings can’t come close to communicating the full power of this art form. You have to see War Tapes live.
I came in thinking I knew what to expect. I’d had no idea.
-Kara (internet marketer @ Sarathan Records)
