The Night that Almost Wasn't, with CWK

"... Something is not right with me,
how was I supposed to know?
Something is not right with me,
... I'm trying not to let it show."

-Cold War Kids, Something is not Right with Me




Corpse pale, his eyes were open wide in a blank stare but there was no breathing. Clutching the head of my friend who had just collapsed I felt lost and alone in a sea of people. Panic over-took my buzz. I was scared sober. What the hell was going on? One second he's conversing and sipping beer like nothing is wrong. The next he turns white, begins feeling woozy and boom! He folds like a house of cards in a hurricane. WTF!!

"Is he having a seizure!" someone asked. It was taking everything I had to remain calm and I could feel curious eyes gravitating towards us which only magnified the gravity of the situation.

"Go get help!" I yelled.

Every second was precious. I prepared to administer what I remembered from my high school level CPR instructions. Tilt the head back and make sure airway is clear. Check for a pulse at the neck. Still strong. Thank God. I gently tapped my open palm against his face hoping to get some response. Nothing. A little harder. Still no reply. Finally I cocked back and slapped him harder then I'd ever slapped anyone in my life. Even over the music a smack was audible. I could feel the sting for hours. He took a gasping breath, color returning with the out-line of a hand print reddening on his face.

"Whoa. How long was I out?" he asked in shock.

It'd only been a minute but it'd felt like a lifetime to me. Instinctively the crowd had made room around us. Now they stood motionless, fixated; still curious. After getting him to his feet we passed through for some fresh air. I sat him on the window ledge away from the masses and went to the bar for some water. The warm-up band had finished up so the line seemed unending. Everyone wanted to grab another drink before the main event. I waited for a bit but had to check back with him before too long for fear he'd gone under again. I found him fading in and out of consciousness but still upright.

"I gotta get out here," he said.

I could tell by his expression and body language that he was dead serious. He was freaking out. Sure enough, "The Fear" had gotten a hold of him ... and in a bad way. He was not right and needed to leave immediately. Maybe two joints and half-a-dozen beers each before hand had pushed his limit. Countless other variables leading to the collapse crossed my mind but now was not the time for contemplation.

It was obvious what needed to be done. Fresh and clearheaded thanks to my intense adrenalin high, my instincts took over. I helped him to his feet placing his hand on my shoulder and told him to hang on no matter what. We came to the steps which were a hodge-podge of scene kids, average Joes and yuppies. Rude groups of people taking up too much space. Passer-bys going up and down in no discernible order. Getting him down through the throng unscathed could be difficult.

"MOVE!" I shouted with purpose, bracing him and raising my right hand out in Heisman-esq stiff arm.

Using my considerable size and power to push through, I parted the crowd like Mosses did the Red Sea. They seemed to sense my urgency. There were no protests; everyone simply got out of the way. I felt like I was a body guard escorting a VIP through a mob of paparazzis. When we got to the exit with the 'no re-entry' sign I cursed under my breath in disgust.

Despite the rules, I planned on making sure he got home safe and was willing to fore-go the concert we were both supposed to be enjoying. He saw the literal writing on the wall and pleaded with me not to ruin my night as well. It was obvious he was embarrassed more then anything. He just wanted to go home and go to bed. He seemed to have his wits about him again but I wasn't quite convinced.

"I'll do it man," I assured him. "I'll bail! I want to make sure you're OK."

"No, no, no! I'll grab a cab," he said. "You stay. There's no point in both of us missing out. I'll be fine, trust me ... trust me man."

After a fair amount of protest I handed him a ten dollar bill for cab fair and he was on his way. At the last moment I almost followed him anyway but after sweating bullets for 20 minutes I finally got the text that he was safe. Wonderful news but now what? I'd gone from terrified a friend was going to die on me to being the creepy guy by himself at a concert (not that it would stop me from raging). I'd been looking forward to Cold War Kids for months, so I said 'fuck it' and did the only thing I could do. I got in line and ordered a strong drink.

**************************************************

"Your joking right?"

"It all happened less than 45 minutes ago," I explained to my friend Leslie and her boyfriend. I'd been lucky enough to see them in line at the bar so I wouldn't have to go it alone.

"That's crazy and kind of scary," she said. I was in full agreement.

After rehashing my evening up to that point I pounded a third shot and ordered a 22 ounce monster beer. I still felt juiced and shaken. Heavy drinking is usually a good way to get back in the mood. After the lights dimmed we wondered off to find a spot. It was my first show at the LC's indoor venue and I was not impressed. The view from ground level was dismal. The floor was without incline so it was tough to see the stage. On the second floor, the best balcony spots were roped off. They have movie theater style chairs in these areas reserved for big spenders. The bar up top is also in a terrible position in relation to the stage. Vast areas of prime concert-viewing real estate are guarded by security; no loitering (to help bar traffic). As a rule, I prefer open air shows and LC's outdoor stage is top-notch but the inside just plain sucked.

Aesthetic gripes aside, the sound was amazing. Nathan Willett's vocal's translated live extremely well and almost every song was near digital quality perfection with just enough live feed back on the instruments to assure everyone it wasn't faked. They opened with a tidal wave of songs from their latest release Mine is yours which I actually like less the more I hear it. If I initially like something (which I did in this instance) usually I grow to like it more over time, so this is very dis-heartening.

After waning interest, they got everyone's attention with 'The Song' that turned me on to Cold War Kids, Hang Me Out to Dry. Everything was kicked up a notch from that point on. As the crowd's energy rose so did the performers. A little flat at first, they were no hitting their stride. During Mexican Dogs I pulled out the spliff I'd hid in my sock and lite up. I instantly became the most popular guy in a ten person radius.

Within minutes, five young and varyingly attractive women approached me and made small talk in an effort to get closer to my drugs. They weren't pushy but it was obvious why they wanted to introduce themselves and once you let one hit the weed there was nothing stopping them from inviting two friends each. The joint was gone before the song was over but I made sure my people and I got our money's worth.

My favorite part of the entire show was when they brought out a Baby Grand Piano. The logistics of transporting it on tour alone is impressive. The entire place went pitch black other then Willett spot-lite on his ivory keys. They ran through a set of their best songs that culminated in Hospital Beds. Reoccurring chills raced along my spinal column. Closing the encore with Saint John checked every song I wanted to hear off my list.

Collecting my thoughts on the hike home, I felt it'd been an above average night at best. The venue, a tour in support of a sub-par album and the whole bit about my friend almost dying made it an up-hill battle from the start but CWK did not disappoint. However necessary the pop album hiatus is, I miss their older 'indie' sound that earned them the modest following they currently enjoy. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for cross-over success. I only wish the best for the bands I love but let's hope Mine is Yours is the exception and not the new rule when it comes to a Cold War Kids album.

All that said, I still look forward to catching them at Bonnaroo 2011. Lyrics some call preachy are meditative and insightful to me and they've always struck a deep chord. An outdoor venue with a larger and more diverse crowd could make a huge difference. Their premo Sunday afternoon time-slot will help too. So until then, I'll reserve my final verdict. Stay tuned and hopefully none of my friends will pass out there or at any other concert I attend from now on.


-J.R.