As we turned towards the door of the club, Kimerly and I were assaulted by the piercing squeals of teenage? early-20s? girls. They all wore layers upon layers of American Apparel knits, gave each other exaggerated hugs, and exlaimed loudly that they had not been allowed in by the bouncers, “because they think we’re drunk.” Kimerly and I looked at each other, as if it were a mystery.
Inside, among throngs of strikingly similar flocks of girls (Me: are those the same girls from outside? Kimerly: Does it matter? They all look the same), we realized it was an all-ages show. Made sense, 6:30 on a Sunday, and we quickly learned the advantage of having someone much, much shorter stand in front of you.
Of Montreal took the stage after a while, and soon, I forgot all about the kids in the audience. The quirky band, with their slide projections, stage antics, and excellent danceindiepoprock, were superb, as were lead singer Kevin Barnes’ costume changes, from tight skinny pants to teeny shorts and fishnets. He didn’t quite live up to his reputation but was dazzling nonetheless.
After they closed their encore with a cover of the Fiery Furnaces’ “Tropical Ice-Land,” (Barnes now in some sort of metallic mumu, fishnets still there but shorts conspicuously absent) we filed out, and I found myself behind a mother and her daughter. What did mom think of Barnes’ fishnets, or the provocative animated slide projections, or the banana act at the end? Her daughter was dressed like a tart; I figured mom had enough to worry about.