All his old girlfriends lined up in the sky
So. Dir en grey.
Diagnosis: amazing.
I'm always fascinated by how bands play themselves on stage. Joseph Arthur, scruffy and shirtless under a lime green suit, owned the stage the moment music started oozing out of the speakers. Blind Guardian played with the mellow power of twenty one years' experience packed under their metal studded leather belts. The French Kicks lead singer stood with his legs crossed and his eyes firmly closed during the entire set, while Quit Your Day Job's lead would frequently look up at the crowd and grin hugely as the keyboardist spat at things and kicked his leg out to the side. Fair to Midland's lead shambled about the stage in an awed stupor, sometimes Ok Go was something of a foil to The Decemberists; Ok Go was laid back and chatty, while The Decemberists gave an impression of benign indulgence, as though they were altruistically humoring the audience as they allowed them to observe, like an adult daintily sipping make believe earl grey at a child's tea party.
Dir en grey doesn't have Damian Kulash's charisma or Colin Meloy's class. It doesn't have Joseph Arthur's absolute command of the stage, or Hansi Kürsch's command of the crowd, or even some lunatic Swede taking off his pants for no good reason.
Dir en grey doesn't need them.
Dir en grey has Kyo.
Every other concert I've been to has felt, to some degree, like a concert. I pay my money, the band acknowledges that by putting on a show to watch, everybody goes home happy. But watching Kyo wail and shriek and howl, alternately sobbing and screaming and standing in eerily peaceful silence and then just as suddenly back to barking, it didn't feel like a show. I didn't feel like I was standing in an audience so much as a mob of voyeurs watching a one-man descent into madness, set to musical accompaniment.
Sometimes he would stand up on the box at the edge of the stage and stop, eyes closed as though in meditation, as the single spot lit his hair to gold and illuminated his composed features. Sometimes he would shake and scream, or cover his eyes with his hands and sob like a child, sometimes he would suddenly open his eyes and stare at the crowd in something akin to shock, as though he was seeing us for the first time. He stood on his box, tore the chain from his belt, twisted a link open with his teeth and slashed at the skin of his chest with it. And I swear, during one song Kyo looked straight into my eyes for two heartbeats before letting out a primal scream, holding my gaze all the while.
It was bone chilling.
Diagnosis: amazing.
I'm always fascinated by how bands play themselves on stage. Joseph Arthur, scruffy and shirtless under a lime green suit, owned the stage the moment music started oozing out of the speakers. Blind Guardian played with the mellow power of twenty one years' experience packed under their metal studded leather belts. The French Kicks lead singer stood with his legs crossed and his eyes firmly closed during the entire set, while Quit Your Day Job's lead would frequently look up at the crowd and grin hugely as the keyboardist spat at things and kicked his leg out to the side. Fair to Midland's lead shambled about the stage in an awed stupor, sometimes Ok Go was something of a foil to The Decemberists; Ok Go was laid back and chatty, while The Decemberists gave an impression of benign indulgence, as though they were altruistically humoring the audience as they allowed them to observe, like an adult daintily sipping make believe earl grey at a child's tea party.
Dir en grey doesn't have Damian Kulash's charisma or Colin Meloy's class. It doesn't have Joseph Arthur's absolute command of the stage, or Hansi Kürsch's command of the crowd, or even some lunatic Swede taking off his pants for no good reason.
Dir en grey doesn't need them.
Dir en grey has Kyo.
Every other concert I've been to has felt, to some degree, like a concert. I pay my money, the band acknowledges that by putting on a show to watch, everybody goes home happy. But watching Kyo wail and shriek and howl, alternately sobbing and screaming and standing in eerily peaceful silence and then just as suddenly back to barking, it didn't feel like a show. I didn't feel like I was standing in an audience so much as a mob of voyeurs watching a one-man descent into madness, set to musical accompaniment.
Sometimes he would stand up on the box at the edge of the stage and stop, eyes closed as though in meditation, as the single spot lit his hair to gold and illuminated his composed features. Sometimes he would shake and scream, or cover his eyes with his hands and sob like a child, sometimes he would suddenly open his eyes and stare at the crowd in something akin to shock, as though he was seeing us for the first time. He stood on his box, tore the chain from his belt, twisted a link open with his teeth and slashed at the skin of his chest with it. And I swear, during one song Kyo looked straight into my eyes for two heartbeats before letting out a primal scream, holding my gaze all the while.
It was bone chilling.
posted by Betsi at 8:11 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home