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The xx
I made it from Taylor Hawkins at the Field of Heaven to The xx at the Red Marquee on Friday afternoon in record time – in no small part due to the panel van driver with a case and a half of warm lemon chu-hi strewn across the dashboard and bench seat of his truck. Sometimes getting to the gig on time means taking your life in your hands. Thanks Dom – for flagging this dude down.
ANYWAY, The xx. I busted a move and risked my neck to see their set and honestly I have to look back and say, “Why?” Don’t get me wrong, I quite like The xx with their valiumy Cure bass lines and their telling-you-a-secret-in-the-middle-of-the-night singing, but at 6:30 on Friday night it’s a fucking downer. The sun is down, the moon is up, it’s time to get your cocktail on and reach for the stars (or at least the blinking lights) and this was more like falling asleep in your car and slowly succumbing to carbon monoxide poisoning. With a couple thousand other people. Who started ahead of you.
It’s not the band’s fault. This what they do. I could have chosen any other band playing at that moment at the festival, but I chose them. So really, I only have myself to blame. Oh, and the schedule organizers. Like, WTF?
Sorry Double X’ers. I don’t mean to be harsh. I like your music, but that set was just wrong venue, wrong time. You need a late, late set in a much more intimate venue.
The xx at Red Marquee
