You are invited, by anyone to do anything. You are invited, for all time.
Sounds of self awareness and belonging were ringing out through the Showbox Theatre last night, as The Dismemberment Plan resurrected a pivotal moment in time when underground indie-math rock culture thrived in Washington, DC. I was immediately slapped in the face with a flash back to the teenage feeling of being isolated within a group of spazzy, awkward cool dudes who seeped with stupid scene cred. This time it didn't matter, because we all grew up.
The Dismemberment Plan invited emotion and unity into the crowd with explosive bursts of urgency and freedom. Clinging to each other we swayed and sang,
I lost my membership card to the human race, so don't forget the face, because I know that I do belong here.
The old wave of off time syncopated drums scattered over syrupy guitars, resonating like red wires/black wires plugged into the right ends. Some guy in the audience screamed “Black Cat! Black Cat!”. This means nothing to no one unless you went to shows in DC at the Black Cat. There was always a debonair dude out front spanging with a top hat, saying Black Cat, Black Cat, in a smooth rhythm. I felt a piece of home here. Memory Machine, Gyroscope, I Love a Magician and of course The Ice of Boston were all on the menu accompanied by full crowd stage takeovers, a bra thrown at the band and um...Travis made out with a boy named Paul on stage.
-Jude Miqueli
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