Ghostland at the Opera

Remember how I was gonna be a music critic? Well... I still am. I just can't resist. I saw what I would comfortably describe as the second worst band ever, the worst band ever naturally being the Plastic Ono Band. I'll be somewhat lenient and suggest the possibility that, because I had seen them once before, my negative views on the Black Angels are mildly excessive, but I say that without any real conviction. Any six-piece band should be able to, if nothing else, produce one hell of a wall of sound. But oh no. Not this six-piece. For two of the members did absolutely fuck all. One fellow on the right spent near the entirety of the set, barring two songs he was allowed to play bass on, beating a single floor tom, to the exact same rhythm as the real drummer, while on the left side of the stage, some chick on the synth took part in about three songs, the extent of her playing being to press one note and hold it for the duration of the song, performing some intricate fag dance behind her machine. Chicks don't fag dance. Right. Fine. Go tell it on the mountain. I could further expound on the inadequacies of this bands set, but then I'd be forced to take a frying pan to my face, and I'm just not in the mood for self-righteous martyrdom.

Happily though, and I say this with an exceeding amount of excitement, happily, the Black Angels were not the headliners. And so after they surrendered the stage, and thirty minutes of house music had lulled us, the world suddenly became a magical, wonderful place full of... magic and wonder? Yes! Correct answer. Five points for Gryffindor. Ghostland Observatory were gods, are gods, and will forever be gods. An hour and a half drifted by with the world in a state of grace and I forgot entirely about the disappointment of the beginning of the night. The sound was brilliant, the dancing was hilariously bizarre, the superhero cape cheesily classy, and the light show... Ahh, I wanted to throw myself from the balcony and surf through the blinding colours, and I say that in the best possible way. Felt as though I was in a Windows Media Player random display skipping along to the music. And trust me, I've always wanted to be in one of those.

Funny how I feel as though I have more to say being critical of one band, than praising the other. Maybe that's why critics are such jackasses. It's easier to write negative reviews than positive. Easier to trash talk than idolize.

Or maybe I'm just cynical.