The Backstreet Boys: September 5, 2013

"I'll be the one to hold you, and make sure that you'll be alright."

Pop stars are the saints of this century, and BSB is Jesus. I'm not trying to be funny. Those boys worked their buns off last night. They seriously danced (in miraculous sync) for two solid hours. While singing. While singing five part harmony. And while sometimes wearing those stupid fedoras from 1995 that I'm positive they tried to talk their costume designers out of.

Shellz and Meep witnessed three hours of my fan-girling.

This was an event. This was big. Larger than Life. And I've really got to hand it to them. I suppose I could say I shelled out a lot of scrilla ($70) to scream at Brian Littrel from my very mediocre seat, so I deserve to want things. These men have made their living off of me after all. But, truly, what I expected of these guys, what everyone expected, was not what they wanted to do if they truly had it their way. I want it that way. I wanted them to sing every hit, nothing from their new albums, dance just like they did in 1999, and generally be charming, and thank me for, you know, just standing there. And for the most part, that's just what they did. How could you not despise "We've Got It Goin' On" after singing it for literally 20 years? And, yet, it was their first single. They do the body rolls, the exaggerated "AhHhH!" Their cross to bear.

The PR work for this concert was phenomenal. This was not just a comeback tour. The dudes have all learned instruments--stating they're not "just a boy band" anymore. And we're like, uh. Yeah you are. They were good to us! They would do a huge laser-light shooting, ground-stomping hit and then explain a little about the success of their new album. (I mean, it got to Billboard Top Ten...their 8th consecutive record to do so. Only two other musical acts can brag that in the world.) They'd give a sentence about what the song means to them (so we can try to care) and say which guy wrote it (they wrote this whole new album themselves, and, frankly, it shows). But, the audience still would sit down, literally be checking e-mails, go to the bar. If we had it our way, they would just perform Millennium in full and never progress. Our saints aren't supposed to change. That's the point. They're saints. We change, and they ground us. And when AJ and Kevin talk about being dads? We're like, "Uh uh. No way. You're not a dad. You stick to that chair routine from 'As Long As You Love Me.'" Which, by the way, was done extremely well--the backdrop looked just like the original music video, all those metal fans and bluewhite waves.

"Jam on 'cos Backstreet's got it." 

The truth is I will always love BSB. Incidentally, I actually don't know who they are, where they're from, or what they did...but I still love them. And as long as I (collective I) do, they'll still be poppin' out from backstage in that unified "Alright!" and doing the exact same typewriter arm movements I mimicked off MTV when I was in fifth grade. I mean, it was hilarious to me that I was there...and then I'd look around and realize...there are literally thousands of people here, arms raised in worship, chanting, taking pictures, feverishly trying to document the moments. We have come to collect something we think is ours. We clap at the alter, and the saints perform the same garbage city to city year after year lest we lose our faith.

They sang it on their first album, and they couldn't have known how true it would be:
As long as there'll be music, we'll be comin' back again!

Sigur Ros (3.12.13)

Bisque took me to see the Icelandic sensation Sigur Ros. I don't know very much about SR. My first introduction was my junior year of college watching a music video that featured mentally handicapped people dancing to their music. First impressions, y'know?

Truly, I would describe the concert better as an experience. It stimulated all my senses--fog, a giant television screen with images and some itunes visualizer-esque film, tiny lightbulbs foresting the stage glowing and dimming in unison, and, of course, the incredibly instrumental lead vocals.

Photo by Bisque

I say instrumental because the vocals are what make the music the music. I mean, there was a symphony on that stage, which was lovely and all, but MAN, this guy (Jonsi Birgisson) sounds like his own instrument. So clear, so pure, so (for lack of a better word) pretty.

It was a big theatre, and it was filled filled, and that is saying something because you can't really sing along to SR. The lyrics (if not in Icelandic) are in a made up language mash that encourages the listener to interpret her own meanings. As someone who loves lyrics, this Hopelandic (the language) thing is not my jam. I own one SR album, and I use it as, like, studying music. If I'm bumping tunes, I want to be singing. Objectively, this is a fantastic concept, and I can see SR going down in the post-modern history books as a champion of Fish's Reader Response.

In terms of the lyricness live, I have to say it felt interesting to not be able to sing along at a concert. I've done it before when I just haven't know the words, but it was particularly strange to look around and see no one singing. There was a wild man in the middle of the theatre waving all his limbs around in a semi-religious tongue-speaking experience. So, maybe we just weren't doing it right.

It has been a busy week, and if there is a concert to see at the end of a busy week, it's SR. Bisque and I were basically lounging standing up. The pit provided room for a little dancing at a couple appropriate times, but was mostly filled with couples puddled on each other swaying. Every long day should end as such?

My favorite part of the whole evening was a song (and I couldn't tell you which, because even if I knew the album and track the titles are all, y'know, "HarvaheimmIceland" or whatevah) that was cool, slightly dark, mellow. The TV projected black and white waves crashing against the camera. There was something off-setting, uncanny about the imagery to me, but something attractive as well. In the moment I remember thinking to be grateful for the moment. I couldn't understand it, but there's nothing we can ever do about that.