What the hell do you want from me? I'm just a musician!

Brittany Abbott recently checked out a Camera Obscura performance in Seattle. You can read her review here. While this band doesn't exactly write music that you would want to work out to, there's really no excuse for a tired live performance. Playing in front of an audience is the point where you're supposed transform your music, regardless of what it sounds like, into a full emotional and physical experience. People go to see bands so they can be moved.

I think.

But sometimes this doesn't work out. Tired band. Tired audience. But who's fault is it? If there is one thing I've learned in my 22 years it's that you can ALWAYS blame someone.

In a live show, the expectation is for a performance to improve on a recorded version, to take it up a notch, to add something that was missing from the album experience.

For the most part I agree with this statement. Camera Obscura has got to achieve some kind of transcendence when they play live. All bands do. But I wonder if live performance is really meant to provide something that is, as Ms. Abbott writes, is "missing from the album experience." Shouldn't they be two entirely different beasts? When we go to see a band live are we really looking for something more, or is it something else? I feel like it's the latter, but I could be wrong so perhaps this is worth exploring. By the way, this is the sort of shit I think about when I'm sitting alone in my room. And I invite you to come think about it with me. Hop on.

When you listen to a record, it's just you and the songs. Unless you happen to be doing something else while you listen, which believe it or not is going to have a drastic effect on what you think about that record. But for argument's sake we'll say you like to sit in the dark with headphones on. You're listening to the words and the music and ascribing them to your own experience. The images and emotions that they evoke are your own - entirely seperated from the performer of the piece of music. And yet you're still hearing their version of the song. That's art. Big deal, nothing new and nothing special. Get on with it.

The live performance is in fact a very different entity. So do we go to a live show to be connected to the performer? Or do we feel, somehow, that we can increase our own connection to the song (and all the feelings we've associated with it while sitting alone in the dark on a friday night while everyone else is out being social)? If we're going to get closer to the performer's take of a song, then clearly the most important role is theirs. Not only does Camera Obscura have to play well but they they have to allow their audience in - into the spectacle, into the emotion they put into the performance. What I'm talking about is the audience and the band becoming seamless. This, of course isn't going to happen when you start off like this:

"We've been on tour for four weeks," announced Camera Obscura singer Tracyanne Campbell, "and I've had a great time, but my throat doesn't like it."

I really think in situations like this one, it's best for the performer to pretend they are at the top of their game. It's all attitude anyway. Giving excuses isn't very rock and roll, and no amount of

...dreamy production, with layered harmonies, swelling organs, and lavish string arrangements...

is going to save Camera Obscura and their ilk from the traditional expectations of an audience coming to see a rock band. But maybe it's not the band's fault.

Let's take for example this precious little scene that one could just as easily find in every single NYC venue on any given night:

"I Need All the Friends I Can Get" cried out for the crowd to clap along, and they did so willingly at first, before dying out quickly. "You have to keep clapping," Campbell scolded, "or it doesn't work. Even the lazy people in the back." And she was right- the clapping died out again, and it didn't work.

Let's say the audience could care less about the band as people, or performers. They just want to FEEL these songs they love. After all, it's live so it's probably louder. You really CAN feel the songs if the venue has a half decent sub-woofer. So in that case the audience has a lot more work to do than simply sit there. Maybe they're the ones who have to open up to what's being thrown at them.

"What the fuck, guys? You paid money to come see us and now you're just going to STAND THERE? Don't you people know how to have a good time? We're trying our best here!" This is undoubtedly what was going through the band's collective brain. I'm not a mind reader but I'd bet money on it. If you've got a crowd that isn't exactly having the best time, why wouldn't they simply do whatever they could to make their experience better? Why's this so hard to do?

The beauty of Abbott's talent as a show reviewer is in her ability to really paint a full picture. We soon discover that there's maybe a third culprit:

Another possible strike was the new layout of the club. A policy of an all ages floor with 21+ bar in the balcony had been replaced by two noisy bars near the stage on the main floor and underage club goers relegated to the balcony area. The boisterous bar noise, usually reserved for the back of a club, was brought front and center and was distracting at times. Even the band took time to note the new setup, which changed since the last time they visited Seattle.

But I remain unconvinced. The most that a crap venue can do is obscure the line between band and audience (no pun intended... alright, that's a lie). Abbott is right about something missing from a recording, though it isn't loud volume and it isn't overpriced beer. It's a dialogue.

They have to take cues from one another. The audience has to be receptive to the band's performance and the band in turn has to be willing to push themselves hard enough to get that performance to be emotionally affecting. When this happens, you get something I like to think of as a brand new element to the music. It's not the fan's interpretation, and it's not the band's interpretation but it's whatever the fuck happened on that night in that venue. In this case, it was at Neumo's on Feb. 12, 2007. Seems like common sense, right? It shouldn't go wrong, but it does. Like all dialogues, things can get misunderstood, muffled, fucked up. The great thing is that all it takes is a tiny spark to set things right again.

The show ended well, according to the reviewer. At some point during the performance that seamless quality of a great live show ended up taking over.

It was a brilliant ending to an overall lackluster evening. If the old showbiz maxim is true, that you should always leave them wanting more, then Camera Obscura was a success. It's just unfortunate that we only wanted more of the last few songs.

Ends justify the means. Sure, sure. Or was it a bittersweet ending? And who's to blame?

Well, I think that's obvious.

This asshole.