David Byrne, Benjamin Clementine
Paramount Theatre - Seattle, WA
Xtoyvv48qaphccmhfhvc?policy=eyjlehbpcnkiojmxntu3njawmdasimnhbgwiolsicmvhzcisimnvbnzlcnqixx0%3d&signature=11e150cf8f9eda6d535978740033af44dc4ecf534e6994e68f6745335d09cb60 Bo_Doogley Terrific concert, wretched audience.

Terrific concert, wretched audience.

A spectacular show. The production is ground-breaking. The musicians first rate, and choreographed meticulously; the set design simple but stripped of all the accouterments of a rock show. No cords, no Marshall stacks, no drum kits nailed to the floor. Empty space wonderfully lit and filled by a spry 65 year old and around a dozen young musicians all dressed in silver/grey. The setlist is heavy on the new album but also chocka’ with Heads’ tunes from Fear Of Music and Tongues. A terrific entertainment in all aspects but one: the audience. I saw Talking Heads on their first UK tour in May ’77 supporting the Ramones. Then, I was happy to stand shoulder-to shoulder on a beer-sticky student union floor with a crowd of a thousand intent on pogoing themselves into delirium. The price of admission was probably $2 or $3. Last night I paid $130 plus all the extras for a theatre seat and felt ripped off by the encroachments of all and sundry. Obese, inelegant hipsters and their constant need to wave their cell phones in front of my face. Perhaps my tolerance of people has gone the same way as my hair and urinary stream, but I might have preferred to see this terrific creation in the comfort of my own home, on a big screen, filmed by the likes of Jonathan Demme.
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