Two months ago, Ma'ayan told me she'd heard that Architecture in Helsinki was going to be playing at the 'Sco. My reaction went a bit like this:
You think I'm joking. I'm really not. This is actually a bit of an understatement.
My first boyfriend got me their first album four years ago; my devotion to the guy waned, but my love for the group has only grown with time, so saying that this news excited me is a colossal understatement. I am, in fact, still ludicrously overjoyed, and will probably remain in a state of permanent, stupidly happy flip-out-ery for the rest of ever, so instead of trying to force two months of exuberance and two hours of show-induced bliss into words, I have illustrated the experience to the best of my ability.
This is me, ready to doodle. (The paintbrush is figurative. The patience is not.)
A bit of explanation regarding the show itself: the openers started at nine. I got there at ten. AIH started at eleven thirty. It took me a good hour to finagle my way up to the stage until only one row of people separated me from the ground my beloved band would be standing on, but I made it. The 'Sco packed more and more people in. I was jostled, nudged, and boxed in until my absentminded dancing (Is it time yet? Is it time yet? Oh, the song ended, I should clap. Is it time now? No? How about now? Or right now? Now? . . .Now?) became nothing more than nodding and swaying with my arms folded up by my sides, begging-dog-style.
Just imagine that the space around me is crammed with bodies. I was too lazy to draw them.
In due time, of course, the openers packed up and AIH's equipment was unveiled. My level of excitement - as if that were even possible - took an asymptotically sharp turn upward. The 'Sco reached fever pitch just as the band members jogged onstage; a shrill and mighty scream arose from the crowd, like the embrace of a kraken that has been deprived far too long of ships and whales to chase. The Obies around me threw their fists up and began to jump like a sea that is being churned by said frenzied kraken - it was jump along or be crushed. My throat protested feebly at being treated like a chunk of meat being tenderized. Let's play a game, I thought to myself, is it possible for me to lose my voice in one hour?
Architecture in Helsinki started to play.
My voice died a swift and noble death.
To illustrate just how close I was to them, here's what the view was like when I looked straight ahead:
Ma'ayan is on the far left. She was at the VERY front.
And this is what I saw when I looked up just a tiny bit:
Cameron Bird Cameron Bird Cameron Bird Cameron Bird CAMERON BIRD. This picture is a pretty accurate representation of what I feel like I'm seeing when he performs.
And when I looked up and to the right, there was Kellie Sutherland:
LIKE A BOSS. Spewing a wall of fun and music like a beautiful, beautiful boss.
There were also four other people on the stage, but Cameron and Kellie were in the spotlight, being lead singers. In the interest of spreading the love, though, I also illustrated the others' contributions to the sweet and glorious aural ambrosia I ingested that night:
I don't know their names. Am I a bad fan? It's not like I don't love them with all my heart, I just don't know their names.
In sum - and I don't want to make any hasty judgments here - Oberlin combined with Architecture in Helsinki might just be the way to world peace, the end to world hunger, and the cure for cancer. Either that, or it's unicorns.