Here is a video of a live show on Queen’s Night in Amsterdam that they did in conjunction with the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra:

I can say that the show we just saw was in every way as inspiring. Another gorgeous showing of two sisters and their handpicked cronies, all dripping with talent and creativity. Another full house that wanted nothing more than to scream the walls down with adoration when the music ended.

But the profound, fuzzy-warm feeling I came home with was wasn’t entirely due to the band. While we were waiting for the music to start, entering the venue, filling in with the other concert goers, Juniper and I started to notice something. The crowd was for the most part, entirely younger than we were.

The venue was the stately Regency Ballroom. We made our way into the huge, dimly lit room hearing and feeling the pre-concert buzz. As we looked around, we saw younger and younger looking people. There were teens of every age and stature, sporting fashions of every scene. There was an eighties contingent. There were some goths. There were some sharply dressed swing kids. There were two girls, probably fourteen years old, with painted mustaches (caught later by Juniper as they generously poured a flask into their coke). As I walked, memories of some of my first concerts flooded in. I was elated.

So yes, there were many “kids”, and it was a joy to see them so excited. But it brought up a question in my mind. Juniper and I are not exactly old fogies. In our thirties, we still totally enjoy going out to see live music, and of all the times we have in the last few years, this was the first time we felt older. So what does this say about the music?

To be fair, CocoRosie is an oughts band, formed in ‘03, seven years old. Many of the bands that we love have been around for longer. And I have to admit that I love seeing a band that I have known and loved since it’s heyday. But why would that mean that people like us aren’t enjoying the new stuff? The heyday of today. Is there some kind of limit to the amount of heyday people like to have in their life? I wonder.

One of my favorite heydays was that of the noise music scene in Denver Colorado in the late 90s. It was probably 1999, the setting was a small storefront on legendary Coflax Avenue, and aside from being a stone’s throw from the State Capitol and the Denver Basilica, it was unarguably East Colfax, home to junkies, hookers,  and crack heads. But unknown to both Riffraff and Authority, there thrived, in the basement darkness of a one room gallery, one of the most terrifyingly cool arrangements of dark noise-rife music ever.

The space was the Chernobyl Tone Gallery, and the artist was a Mr. j.frede. On hot and electric nights in Denver, an eclectic collection of heads would gather to hear j.frede and other local noise musicians play. The gallery itself was respectable, curated, lit, and hung in a manner that could most always pass as legitimate in the “art world”. But the shows were held in the basement. After walking past the paintings or sculptures of the gallery, fans of the noise scene would be ushered through a trap door, down a rickety century old staircase, and into the damp and hidden basement.

Upon arrival subterranean,  feelings of professionalism and legitimacy became moot. The otherwise exposed brick walls were clad floor to ceiling in black plastic. The furniture was hand crafted out of raw bed springs; couches, and chairs you could see right through, and still sit quite comfortably in. And then there was the music. Employing seriously amplified samples and loops run through heavily digitalized effects, the artists who played this venue (often in complete darkness, sans a few LEDs or equipment display panels, which themselves lent the slightest stage lighting to the performer’s disembodied face) cranked forth exceptional, intentional, and psychologically marginal sound scapes into the ears and minds of the captive crowd. We were enamored by this and a handful of other scenes going on in Denver in those days. We felt so terribly fortunate to be there.

The music of j.frede of course was much more extreme than that of CocoRosie. I wouldn’t call it inaccessible, because the shows were open to anyone, but not many people would ever choose to access it. This being as it may, I feel like there is still a similarity between the two. That of the age groups. Equally, in Chernobyl Tone as at CocoRosie’s latest, I felt the average age was early twenties. Equally there were people far younger at both. And equally, there were a handful of fans who were older. Just not many. Which brings me to my point.

When I was sitting in the dark of the noise shows of my twenties, there was a certain oldster who always seemed to know were the good shows were, despite his obvious age difference. I would see this guy filtering in with the “kids” at noise shows, and many other underground concerts.  As it turns out, I became very good friends with this guy eventually, and we are still in touch today (although, yes Dave, I owe you a letter! you traditional bastard). But certainly one of the main reasons I ever got to know him to begin with, was that I was totally inspired that he had made the decision to keep up with what was going on.

Maybe it isn’t something that most of us even want to do, after a point. Maybe, for many, other parts of life that correspond better to our particular age group become more interesting. But I remember, clearly, sitting in that scene that I loved so much, feeling the buzz of excitement around me, seeing this 50-something cool dude hanging with the younger crowd (unafraid of any labels that could be assigned), and I thought to myself: I really want to keep up with what’s cool, because, let’s face it, music doesn’t stop getting good. There will always be new and better music.

I am glad I said that to myself back then, and I am glad that I still, from time to time, find myself among the oldsters. I feel like I have decades of it to look forward to.