The War on Drugs

Have you ever attended a (general admission) concert where you were afraid to go get that beverage you so desperately needed because you were concerned you would lose your spot on the floor/pit?  Amongst a few hundred other fans who claimed their spaces early to be as close to the stage as possible? This happened last month as I was otherwise enthralled with a performance by The War on Drugs at Revolution in Ft. Lauderdale.  It had been a long while since I was in such an intimate atmosphere for a show, a scene that became a longing memory during the pandemic. 

The band, these days usually playing much larger venues as their popularity has significantly grown, just kept playing.  For over two and a half hours.  One of the friends I attended with, whose fifth time seeing them this was, was also quite surprised.  "They usually only go for about an hour and a half." This was great, of course, but I was parched.  I was also feeling an increasingly desperate need for outside air; things got mighty stuffy.  Standing for so long in one spot was taxing on my back.  Guess I'm getting old.  What made it worse was seeing crew members handing the band drinks between numbers.  Like a scene out of a movie - cut to guy in a desert watching someone nibble out of a canteen while he struggles even to form spittle. 

Maybe a bit of hyperbole there, and every time I felt the urge to bolt the music and a dynamic light show kept me riveted.   This year I have slowly been getting into The War on Drugs, absorbing the albums Lost in the Dream and A Deeper Understanding over the summer months.  Immediately immersive, a seductive catalog of songs evoking singer/songwriter, indie, experimental,  Americana (maybe ala Springsteen), and more.  Layered, synth saturated sonic assaults may conclude a track (think Wilco) while lead singer/guitarist Adam Granduciel's dreamy vocal lends strongly emotional lyrics. 

Opening for The War on Drugs was a Seattle pop-rock outfit called Advertisement.  The lead singer appeared as if he just arrived from the '70s, maybe a shade of Robin Zander with his long blond locks.  Five of the six players played at the edge of the stage, barreling through an energetic half hour with a healthy dose of attitude (maybe glam-ish), but not too much.

We actually saw TWOD's guitarist/keyboardist Anthony LaMarca before the show, walking down the street as we exited a parking garage across from the venue.  He smiled at us before hurrying along.  

I recognized a few tracks from Understanding, but familiarity was not necessary to have a transcendent experience that October 3rd.  I at times forgot where I was (even in my thirsty state), so lost in the swirl of sounds, loud but rarely distorted.  I'll have to get back to you when I've heard these songs many more times to break them down.  But that night I felt as if privileged to a divine introduction to a new favorite band, all of whom are outstanding musicians.

P.S. - A poster of Warren Zevon was visible off of Stage Right.  Loved this.  I wondered if it was the band's doing, as they have covered "Accidentally, Like a Martyr" in the past.