Weekend at the Cradle

Concerts can be so tedious. Every time you hand your cash over to the greasy-haired hipster at the ticket window, you're gambling with the unpredictable, uninsured world of live music. If the artist you've come to hear fails to suck you into that invisible vacuum between your body and the sound, you're stuck bobbing your head listlessly in the heat and smoke, just praying to God they won't come back out for an encore. But since I was feeling rather risky this weekend, and the offerings at Cat's Cradle were especially promising, I decided to take my chances, hoping that a weekend at the Cradle would renew my faith in the art of the live show.

Friday: Underground hip-hoppers Anti-Pop Consortium (who opened for Radiohead at five of their European shows) came to the stage with an energy that nearly overwhelmed the small crowd gathered at the front of the room. Without so much as a "Word!" of warm up, the trio broke into an a capella flow that got its only accompaniment from the sound of jaws dropping right and left. Unlike hip-hop acts who feature one or two star MCs paired with strictly beat-makers, every member of the trio was a wordsmith in his own right, each with a distinctive showmanship and style. But APC wasn't content to let their mouths do the talking. Every sound was live-sourced, created from a combination of a tiny beat box, a keyboard and some other gadgety things the few heads in front of me kept me from seeing. Words can't describe how fun it was to watch M.Sayyid tap out every single beat on his box, all while spouting lyrics about positive energy and the rebirth of hip-hop. The fact that I'd never heard a single one of their albums didn't matter--I left the show ecstatic and would have easily stuck around for another hour just to savor the experience.

Saturday: The Triangle three-pack of Work Clothes, Crooked Fingers and Superchunk were on the bill for Saturday night. For me, seeing Superchunk in concert is something like walking in on a roomful of people laughing at an inside joke--the vibe is great, but I'm not sure if I get it. But for the crowd gathered at the Cradle Saturday night to catch Superchunk's hometown stop on their current tour, the show was like a college reunion, complete with a 30-year-old-filled mosh pit. Balding heads across the room jiggled in unison as Superchunk churned out one tight, guitar-steamed track after another. Everyone around me was absorbed in the show, singing along and cheering at the beginning of each familiar tune. Meanwhile, I found myself digging the sound but glancing at my watch in spite of myself. As I stood toward the back of the room, wondering if my ears were actually bleeding or if I was just getting old, a slightly pudgy, balding man in jeans and a faded Superchunk T-shirt passed me, bouncing his way eagerly toward the stage with his slightly embarrassed wife in tow. He was in his thirties, beer-bellied and undoubtedly uncool. But seeing him hop and shove his way toward the source of the sound like that as I stood quietly at the back of the room made me realize: When it comes to a live show, whether it's hip-hop or indie rock, it's not entirely up to the performer--it's what you bring to the stage that counts.