They started off on a very good note (literally) for me by playing my favorite track off their Oracular Spectacular album, Weekend Wars, but settled into what I'll describe as a swirling toilet of sound, meaning they were mesmerizing for a while, but then the toilet just kept running. It's not supposed to keep running. It wasn't bad, per se, just dull.
I was simultaneously lucky and unlucky enough to be about three people back off the end of stage right, which was a near-ideal location to see the band, but it also meant I was surrounded by high-schoolers who first encountered MGMT on Gossip Girl (not that there's anything inherently wrong with that, it just makes for some super annoying "fans"). I also happened to run into some
There was one 'chebag in particular that pissed more than just me off, although I was the instigator in the situation (natch). First, his presumable rhinoplasty-gone-malpractice-lawsuit-wrong girlfriend shoves in, pushing me out of the spot I had staked out for the past hour. She was drunk as all hell, her Juicy couture is stained with what I'm hoping was just beer all down the front (i.e. not vomit) and she's standing there texting like an asshole. So, me, not being one to shy away from picking a fight with a douchebaguette, tapped the bitch on the shoulder and informed her of her concert-floor faux pas. Of course the she-douche just looked at me retardedly because I spoke a whole sentence to her, rather than "liking" and "umming" my way through sentence fragments. Luckily for her, however, it was at that exact moment that her Jersey-style d-bag of a boyfriend rolled up and further crowded out more people who'd been staking out their spots.
"What's your problem?" asks the he-douche.
"My problem is your girlfriend and now you have come in last minute, shoved me out of the way and are expecting to stand here for the show. That's rude. You should either move somewhere else or move over."
"Maybe if you ask politely..."
"That wasn't nice."
"You're a douchebag."
At this point, the ladies to the other side and in back of the double-douche couple started chiming in too about their doucheosity, which I took as my cue to step out. Why should I do the work when others can, after all? (I apply this philosophy to all aspects of my life, by the way. It works swimmingly.) And so Operation Douche-B-Gone began. There were f-bombs dropping, arms flailing, at one point the douche even tried to place his beer in a girl's bag. This kid was honestly one of the most ridiculous douches I've had the displeasure to meet in DC. (And I've met my fair share...).
But finally, after much cajoling from all sides, the obnoxious douchetastic duo got the hint and left. Probably for the bar. Operation D-B-G was a success.
Anyway, apart from the high-school contingent and the Shaming of the Douche, the crowd was actually pretty cool. Before the encores, I ventured upstairs to rejoin the crew that I knew and was pleased to see the crowd go absolutely ape-sh*t crazy during the song Kids, for which the drummer, lead guitarist and bassist cleared out, leaving just the two main guys, Ben Goldwasser and Andrew VanWyngarden, on the stage to sing along with the crowd. That was the proverbial jiggle of the handle that fixed the toilet that this show needed. Too bad it was the second to last song.
And like other concert experiences I've blogged about, I took along my camera and snapped some really sh*tty photographs. Voila!