Four young men strut onto the stage to the tune of I Want You Back by Jackson 5. They all sport varying lengths of floppy, middle-parted hair: the bassist’s goes to his cheekbone, the lead singer’s and the other guitarist’s reaches the jaw-line, and the drummer’s is just past the chin. Lead Singer steps up to the microphone center-stage and addresses the crowd with his heart-melting accent:
“We are Peace. We come from the United Kingdom. We are here to do things to you. With music.”
Cue enraptured screams. Is this the next British Invasion?
Lead Singer is a skeleton figure in a form-fitted shirt and pants; in fact, his long-sleeved shirt is so tight that, under the harsh glare of the spotlights, one can clearly see the nipples on his concave chest all the way from the balcony seats. His confident mannerisms are captivating: easy/unaffected twirling, quick flicks of the wrist and waves of the hand in between chord strums on his electric guitar, hands clapping briefly and rapturously behind his head during an interlude. He is lost in his own music. He breathes “thank you” into the mic after each song.
The band members experiment with sounds, making their guitars mimic the snarls of a wildcat or the thin island sound of a ukulele. Their lyrics range from cutesy pop – “I wanna get lovesick,” “You vibe so hard” – to cleverly sexual – “You could be my ice age, sugar/Lay me down and make me shiver” – to dark and convoluted – “We spit blood in the sun,” “If you don’t climb atop the Eiffel,/You’ll never fall or die.” Every so often, Lead Singer will dedicate a song “to the leddeeezzz,” and the female crowd-members accept it ecstatically.
Near the end of the set, Lead Singer whispers into the mic: “Well. It’s a Monday night. Anything could happen…” Indeed. Or perhaps something already has…
Posted on December 13 by Cassie