BY JAMIE MANN I went to a Passion Pit show last night at The Mann. Now, let me tell you, Passion Pit fucking blow. Lets be honest. They’re basically a bunch of Berklee School of Music grads, who found out how to sound like the eighties and sing like an android who regularly shoots up helium. Now, perhaps I’m going too far, say you, people of the world. “Sleepyhead is a top tune,” you might say. “That wobbly synth riff after the chorus is sweet,” you might say. You could say all these things, and you would be half right. It is catchy and danceable, yes, you can sing along and bob your head, yes, but that riff has all the panache of someone falling down the stairs, and making white people dance probably isn’t a great reason to exist either. (Case in point, frat kid in front of me doing the double fist bump, alternating hands, which gradually climbed upward until he was passionately humping the air, at which point he noticed what a dickhead he looked like and stopped.)
However, this power to make white people dance is the source, methinks, of all their world-conquering villainy. The last time I was in a venue the size of the Mann Center I was watching The motherfucking Police, not four afro-ed hipsters looking like Disney Channel refugees aping Flock of Seagulls. And, the last time they played Philadelphia they were in the basement of The First Unitarian. This band has grown to such gargantuan proportions so quickly we can only assume that they must suck; which reminds me of another thing that pisses me off, which is how all these indie hipster little shits run around in their superiority, trashing bands like Jonas Brothers or Katy Perry or Lady Gaga, all the while jizzing their pants over whatever shitty, badly record indie synth-pop is being made this month. It’s like the minute a band is catchy, but don’t sound like they used a cardboard box as a studio, they become trash.
Now this also leads me into the openers of this evening of fun, Brahms and Tokyo Police Club. Brahms took the whole eighties schtick much too far. They performed as a trio, no drummer, in front of bright orange clear plastic triangles, dressed all in black, and then they would bang out some chord changes on the synth and switch between singing, blasting out some shit beat, or playing some shit guitar part over it. Now, I thought this was funny, until Passion Pit came on and did the exact same thing for their first song. Tokyo Police Club then, were left as the only band on the bill who actually managed to behave like rock stars, with the proper haircuts, guitar moves, killer breakdowns, stuff like that. So props to them for not sucking. Now don’t get the wrong impression, Passion Pit were energetic live, some guy tried to tip the singer a twenty, that was hilarious, and Sleepyhead got every fucker in the place going, including me. It was a fun night. Now if you’re a passionate Passion Pit person, (Aha!) you’re probably a bit annoyed with me. But be warned universe, one day, not long from now, people will look back and say, “Remember Passion Pit, and how they played The Mann, while The Arctic Monkeys could only fill the Electric Factory? That was fucked up man, Passion Pit blew.” And I shall be vindicated.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jamie Davis just graduated from Kimberton Waldorf High School. He enjoys Blink-182 more than any Thom Yorke fan should.