Below is an actual, literal diary entry from Vanyaland writer Cory Lamz, who transported himself back into teenage form to review the 1975’s show at the House of Blues in Boston.
Dear Diary,
The date is Friday, Dec. 4, 2015.
Last night I had the absolute pleasure of crossing another life goal off my bucket list: seeing The 1975 in concert. In the flesh. Right before my eyes. My man-crush on Matty Healy — singer, songwriter, frontman extraordinaire — only grew stronger with every shake of his hips and drink on his lips.
The show began five minutes before it was supposed to. No one realized what was happening until it happened. Not even the “woo!” college girls that must have waited an inordinate number of hours before doors to claim their spots at the House of Blues immediately behind the barricade that separated the floor from the stage (doors, by the way, were at 7 p.m.; I arrived at 7:34 p.m. and still had to wait to over an hour to get in; I hadn’t seen a line this long since I waited in the same cold Boston weather 14 months ago when Sam Smith came to town).
Anyway, around 8:55 p.m. a monotonous droll started to spill through the House of Blues speakers. Another soundcheck? Likely. But when the lights faded out just as slowly and unnoticeably as the sound faded in, louder every minute, it started to make sense. This was it. Matty, Adam, Ross, and George were near. My fist pumps were ready.
Adam and George bounced on stage first. After George (whose button-up is entirely opened) settled into his drum kit, there was Ross. Oh, just get on with it! Where was Matty?! The guy made us wait a beat before he sauntered in. Oh, his strut! What a guy, that Matty Healy, in his classic frontman ensemble — Chelsea boots, black jeans, no shirt, leather jacket. It was as if he was daring us to stare at his chest tattoos (too detailed to appreciate from afar) and swoon a bit (too late). If I had the same swagger he did, I most certainly would not have had to attend the concert by myself.
Here we go.
The boys were chatting with each other for a minute before the lights fell. Boom. The opening riff to “Love Me” ripped through my ears. I don’t drink Red Bull, but, damn, this must have been what it feels like when you down two of them like it’s college and you just got iced — pure adrenaline.
I will also say that I have heretofore underappreciated “Love Me” on record. A great song, and an exciting comeback single, especially after rumors of a break-up (could you even imagine?). And don’t get me started on the antics in the music video. But “Love Me” never quite clicked. It wasn’t as brooding. It wasn’t as sexy. It wasn’t the same The 1975 as the one on my Spotify sexy time playlists. But how wrong I was, Diary. In live form “Love Me” really hit another level. I never got to see Michael Hutchence live, but seeing Matty pop his arms outward in perfect time with the drum breaks and flashing lights indeed felt like a new sensation.
Four minutes in and this concert was, as the “woo!” girls might say, giving me life. I discovered The 1975 on the heels of “Heart Out” and have been a huge fan ever since. (I can’t wait to see them again when they come back to Massachusetts next year.) For the boys to hit me with “Love Me” and then “Heart Out” is just. Too. Much. Someone should have taken my vitals, but of course not before watching my Snapchat Story.
Anyway x2 (sorry I keep getting so distracted; I want to rip my heart out it’s still beating so fast), “Heart Out” was great. Just as good as I would have hoped. Though, if I had to air one grievance of the entire night, it’s that the “Heart Out” lighting was a bit drab. I mean, I’m no lighting engineer, but when you bound onstage in fluorescent pinks — the same pink theme that has colored The 1975’s sophomore album campaign so far — and then follow up with a downtrodden, dungeon-like green, it’s almost too much to process mentally. (Post-script: Matty commented on the “seriousness” of this portion of the concert later in the show, more or less acknowledging how straightforward it was, and how excited he was to move beyond it.) Light or no light, the live saxophone solo (a welcomed recurrence throughout the show) was extraordinary. I wondered, where did the saxophone solos in popular music go? The last one I could remember was in “Last Friday Night (TGIF)” by Katy Perry.
It was at this point, following “Settle Down” (great) and during “So Far (It’s Alright)” (an absolute favorite, particularly because of Matty’s rap-singing and because this was the song, as a deep cut, that separated the casual fans from the super fans like me), that I noticed the obtrusive Olivia Pope-sized wine glass on Ross’s keyboard. I worried about the guy. There must have been half a bottle of red in that glass, and I couldn’t help but think, “Shit, what if that spills all over his keyboard?!” Boom. Show’s over; cancel the tour — and on the first night of The 1975’s U.S. tour dates, no less. It would have been entirely messy and Shakespeareanly tragic. I could just imagine the headlines and the Boston tea party puns (ugh): “The 1975 forced to cancel US tour because Boston forces wine overboard” or something more cringe-worthy.
The boys kept going. They ran through “The City” and “You,” another deep cut (and fave). I was still transfixed on the red wine glass. No one had touched it thus far. Stable as ever. How long had it been there? Why wasn’t Ross drinking from it?!
A hand picked up the glass — not Ross’s, but Matty’s. Ah, I understood. The man just keeps getting better! What a little shit, though, drinking wine on stage and asking, “I can’t smoke in here, right?” Matty is both Jim Morrison and Ziggy Stardust in one sip, and he was hypnotic.
The opening synth line of “Menswear” began to play. I know every word (the lyrics, about a wedding, helped me survive a particularly hard dose of reality and bachelorhood this summer when I was forced to attend two weddings in the course of a 48-hour period: “Well, I only brought three/What you looking at me for?/She’s dressed in white and putting off crying/Well, you’re the best man, so what’s the plan?”), but so few other people did. This confused me, because “Menswear” is such a gem on the album that I’m, dare I say, surprised the boys tackled it live. It went off without a hitch.
Matty, now drinking from a refilled wine glass, was seated atop one of the light boxes onstage. Legs crossed, looking pensive. Waiting for the approximately two-minute long instrumental intro of “Menswear” to end. As was I, Matty. As was I.
He continued to sip. If I were ever to front a rock band, this is the man I would want to emulate. He was both emotionally accessible but remotely mysterious. Man-crush developed into actual crush. Formerly Brandon Flowers, now Matty Healy.
He was singing now. Matty was shimmying, and kicking his Chelseas, and dancing everywhere on the open stage, too. All the while holding the sloshing wine glass. Not a drop spilled. There were moments when I swear the man was going to stain the stage several times over, a Rock n Roll Red Sea, but nothing.
Another sip.
Matty had started to touch his lips with his fingers quite a bit now, too. I began to wonder what kind of red he drank and where the grapes came from. California, maybe? I promise I was sober, Diary. Though, how fun it would have been to split a bottle of wine with Matty and sing The 1975 catalogue to a sold-out crowd. Look at me now, world.
Even more fun was hearing songs from the new album. The boys roared through “A Change of Heart” (I bopped to this one) and “She’s American” (perhaps inspired by The 1975’s recording sessions in L.A.). Every other fan recorded these on video. I won’t lie to you, Diary, I watched a few of these from the Livepool show a few weeks ago when I first got home. They don’t match the live experience.
Glass now emptied, Matty directed fans to put down their phones. Was he annoyed with us now? I would be, if I looked out and all I saw were phones. (The man doesn’t miss a beat; I counted two annoying people FaceTiming friends in on their big-ass iPhone 6XL so they could share in the experience. Matty saw one of these people, too, saying, “Don’t FaceTime them. Maybe they should have bought a ticket instead” — rock god of the 21st century.) Matty then said, playfully yet obstinately, “I want to talk about me,” and the boys launched into the deep cut, “Me.” They also played “fallingforyou” before Matty allowed us to bring our phones back out. Just in time for “Somebody Else,” another new song from I Like It When You Sleep, for You Are So Beautiful Yet So Unaware of It (and most certainly going on my sexy time playlist).
Matty had more wine now. I hadn’t been compelled to count how much wine he’d had, nor did it matter. Mostly I was still curious to know how he was still awake. Wine makes me sleepy. I would have been dead asleep, in front of 2,000 people if I were him. Good for you, Matty. Bad for me.
He introduced the next song: “Will you go crazy for this one? I’m going to look like a fucking plunker if you don’t.” Of course, me being the good friend that I am, Diary, I went crazy. So did everyone else around me. We didn’t want Matty to look like a plunker, whatever that is. The song in question, “The Sound” was a jaaaaaaaaaam. I would be surprised if it didn’t get the single treatment, being instantly catchy (I was singing along by the second-go-round at the chorus) and pulsing to what sounded like a piano track nowhere else in the 1975 catalog.
Ten minutes later, after “Robbers” and “Girls” (a crowd favorite), and the show was over. The wine glass was taken off stage. Surely this must be it, but really? I was in disbelief. There were still so many songs to play, like “M.O.N.E.Y.” or “Antichrist.” Neither.
To my delight, the boys did return for an encore of three others: “Medicine” (a pleasant surprise!), “Chocolate” (an obvious encore), and “Sex” (the most exciting song of the night and another favorite). But wait, what happened to Matty’s leather jacket? He was completely shirtless. Tattoos on blast. Ugh, is that what it felt like to be obsessed with Elvis in his heyday?
Upon the last riff of “Sex,” the boys took to the front of the stage to greet the fans. The energy of a Matty stage dive was palpable and possible but short-lived. Still, to be so close to such a legend in the making was electric.
Until next time, diary. Thanks for listening. I’m off to listen to The 1975 again.
Follow Cory Lamz on Twitter @coryhadalillamz
