THE CHARLATANS ( UK )

First Avenue.Minneapolis.MN

Thursday.25.May.2006

photo courtesy of guardian.co.uk

The First Avenue video screen slides up as the projected MTV clips and music spun and selected by the frumpy, middle-aged woman at the decks come to an end. The person-barren stage is almost as bare as the main floor of the club. First Ave, home turf to Prince and bosom-buddy to all Twin Cities music aficionados, doesn't appear quite so Minnesota-nice to the Charlatans (UK) tonight. The band take the stage in front of a scattered audience of …maybe 50 people, maybe 100 including the table-sitters up top. I am embarrassed, mostly for my fellow Americans and that we haven't got enough Madchester/Britpop love to appreciate proper bagginess when it were right in front of us! And I am also sorry for the band, mostly that the people who have shown up to see them are a bunch of 30-somethings in either drab, ill-fitting office attire or shorts and Tevas. Not much hair. It's probably safe to say that this is not the quantity or quality of audience they're used to having at home. The audience's head-bobbing is acceptable as a reaction to subdued “North Country Boy,” but shakin' gems “Can't Get Out Of Bed,” “One to Another,” and “Jesus Hairdo” should inspire a bit more reaction. Granted, yes, the drunks are dancing. But to be fair to myself and to my criticism of this audience, one: no one is singing along and two: they are dancing very badly, very badly indeed with close to a complete lack of coordination. I am nearly decked in the face by a flailing fist, and this is definitely an audience amongst whom I should not have been concerned for my safety. Frontman Tim Burgess handles it like a champ, though. I think morale increases with the steadily increasing First Ave population. By the time the band ends its set with “Blackened Blue Eyes,” there are at least a decent amount of people there, but still not enough to keep the applause between the regular set and the encore from being painfully forced and awkward.

“I'm almost afraid to stop clapping,” I mouth sideways to the guy next to me in a leather jacket and yellow-tinted sunglasses (indoors?!), “otherwise they might not come back!.”

“I know,” he answers, "there's like fifty people here. The lead singer might just go, ‘F*ckit' and leave.” With his sympathy, the two of us clap like nobody's business, simply in a lame attempt to both bring the Charlatans back out and save whatever face the Minneapolis crowd has left. Possibly (optimistically) both.

But the Charlatans can't leave First Ave without the evening including “Sproston Green” and of course famed “The Only One I Know.” I now realize that anyone reading this who actually wants to know any details beyond how I thought the band performed (pretty well) has good reason for disappointment. While in attendance, I didn't even scrutinize the show. Hell, I didn't even have a pen on me. Oh, wait, yes I did. But it was more a matter of pure (good-natured) apathy. I don't care how well or poorly they played. All I care is that, for my first night back in the states, I get to do something strangely very British yet very not-British all at once.

Harsh reality bitch-slaps me on the cheek. I am not in London anymore, it painfully reminds me. Indeed. I am not.

<<Kelly "Yes I am awesome!" Duoos>> had just returned from a semester abroad at the time of the show.