LCD Soundsystem show my age with All Points East headline set
Since moving out of the city last year, I’ve resented returning to London. Not because I dislike the multitude of riverside frolics, the warmth of wooden-clad pubs baking in the August sun, or the fearless ability of its inhabitants to have a good time under almost any circumstances. It is, after all, where most of my friends live and where most of the music in my life happens. My problems with London arise for the very reason I left in the first place: I’m just getting a little bit too old.
While the mid-30s may not seem like the ancient age it sometimes makes me feel, it does have drawbacks that, ten years ago, felt like the murmurings of a white-haired future I had yet to catch a glimpse of. Some aspects of that ageing mean I reject the kind of nuances that are widely seen as simply minuscule obstacles to overcome while having a good time in London. The transport is uncomfortable, the drinks and food are wildly expensive, and, in general, there are simply too many people.
Of course, there is another aspect of getting older that is almost impossible to shake — an unwillingness to accept new things. What’s even harder to jump on board with is an old band that you never really connected with before. That was what happened as I somewhat begrudgingly made my way to Victoria Park in East London to catch the latest edition of All Points East, one of the captial’s most vibrant outdoor offerings.
With more than a few years attending the festival under my belt, I was quickly at ease making my way to the one bar that was usually quietest (BBC 6 Music stage) but felt the urge for a comedy spit take arise as the price of a 330ml can of pilsner was delivered without comment. The aged urge to condemn grew intensely within me, but a chance to see a band like the Pixies was too good a chance to turn down.
The group stood firm as a well-drilled outfit faced with an adoring crowd. They moved through most of their biggest hits (though ‘Debaser’ was a notable loss) and added to raucous renditions of ‘Monkey Gone To Heaven’, ‘Caribou’, ‘Where Is My Mind?’ and ‘Here Comes Your Man’ with some expert covers of Jesus and Mary Chain and Neil Young. A professional performance, if ever one was seen and heard, the group are masters at delivering a show.
While The Kills provided a welcome interlude with their brash bunch of guitar-heavy tunes as we found ourselves in a queue for another overpriced drink, the real buzz for the evening was LCD Soundsystem. Led by James Murphy, the group inspire true devotion. Bursting onto the music scene as the indie explosion enveloped both me and most of my inner circle in the 2000s, the electronic pioneers of ‘sad boy house’ somehow bypassed me. I’d always felt like the group had simply caught their audience in the midst of a killer comedown and snagged their undying love forever in the process.
Judging by the age range of the crowd and the tears of joy and sorrow in the eyes of my companions, it seemed as though I had not only missed a sizeable boat but a juggernaut cruiseliner with my name in neon lights waving me aboard. But, sadly, as their biggest tracks passed me by, they did so without inspiring much thought in my brain other than “my feet hurt quite a bit” and “that hot dog really was sensational, despite the price”.
It’s one of those moments that, as a journalist, you feel eternally guilty for. Here was an expert performance from a truly adored band, and one space near the front of the stage was being occupied by a lumbering man who was cordially swaying with the beat and being asked continuously by his friends what he thought and hoping for a different answer. But, as the band paid tribute to restauranteur and Murphy’s longtime friend Justin Chearno, things changed.
Chearno had been a figure in the New York music scene that Murphy and his band had cut their teeth in. The former worked with the band to create their breakthrough LP Sound of Silver and, most notably, contributed the solo to ‘New York, I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down’. Naturally, as the band geared up to take things down a notch, Murphy paid tribute to their late friend and delivered arguably one of the most poignant performances I’ve witnessed in years.
Though it was the penultimate song, the connection finally started to emerge in the pit of my stomach. The loss of a friend, coupled with one of the better songs written in the 2000s, made an impossibly potent cocktail that swallowed me up and took me on a (relatively short) ride. Then, as ‘All My Friends’ — one of the anthems of a generation — began to power out of the PA system and the swirling energy of a combustible audience finally took off like an untetherable rocket and I bounced with glee in a circle surrounded by my pals and a mesh of flags, lights and that one beautiful hot dog vendor everything became clear.
The reason we get the dusty train into the smoggy city. The reason we stand on hardened grounds for six hours at a time with expensive, often warm beer. The reason we go to watch bands. The reason we bother trying to live at all. Friends. When it comes down to it, that is all we really have, and all we really need, and that is a pearl of wisdom that only really comes with age.
