A few weeks ago, I started reviewing shows at dailycamera.com. One that I reviewed on Friday was Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. Read the full Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros review if you’ve got time, but here is the relevant passage:
They are everything that the Polyphonic Spree should have been. It’s ten people on stage playing and singing their hearts out in some kind of semi-worship of their eccentric frontman, but in this band’s case, the eccentric frontman looks like Jesus and dances like he’s wearing poison ivy underpants.
One of the people who bought in wholesale early in the show? Ebert’s dad. In a mind-blowing turn of events for a show that already felt like a crazypants family affair, during the first song, Ebert waved at someone in the crowd and acknowledged him as his father. As the tall, white-haired man made his way toward the stage, Ebert mysteriously continued: “I’m sorry, Dad,” and they shook hands to kick off the show.
OK, so you’re thinking it sounds like a weird show, and maybe like I’m making some of it up. But then there’s the lone comment on that story:
Thank you, Dave, for checking out this wonderful, intimate venue, and writing such a thoughtful, unique review of the Sharpies and my son Alex. After years of struggle, Alex and I are once again as close as we were when he was in his pre-teens. Hope you get a chance to read his lyrics on their website – full of passion and poetry, just like his performance. An intense, dedicated band indeed! Best regards, Michael
Wow! That’s great. That’s just fantastic.
Now maybe you’re thinking I made that up. Let me tell you — I didn’t. But let’s say that, for the sake of argument, you don’t believe me. Fine. Fine. I’ll let that one go. Because this Sunday I reviewed a few shows at the Monolith Festival. One of the shows was Monotonix, which I’d heard quite a lot about from friends, and sure, I’d watched videos, but I was not prepared for what happened. Again, I really recommend the full Monotonix review, but here’s the relevant passage to this story:
In a few moments, Fershtman would be pounding out a rhythm at the kit, Gat would be chunking away at the same riff and Shalev would be standing, one foot on Fershtman’s seat, one on a railing, one arm on my shoulder to steady himself, his pants pulled down, rubbing his bare, hairy behind on my concert buddy’s chest. (Later, she’d tell me, shuddering, “I saw more of Israel at Monolith than I saw on my trip to Israel.”)
Don’t believe me? Well, if you’re prepared — I mean really prepared — to believe me, check out this photo that someone snapped at the show, featuring said bare, hairy behind. (You’ve been warned. If you clicked a link that said “bare, hairy behind” and did not expect to find exactly that, I don’t know what to tell you.)