It was a concert I’d been looking forward to since it was announced. And yet before it began it was hard to focus on what was coming. Last Friday night, I, along with dozens of others, packed in to the Marlin Room at Webster Hall to see Meg Myers, an enchanting, frenetic and intense singer. But while awaiting the chance to see my favorite new artist of last year, my mind kept flashing back to the still developing events in Paris.
Where as those of us in Webster Hall would, later that night, come out unharmed, across the ocean people following their love for live music, would not be so lucky. Their lives cut short or changed forever. Just because they wanted a night out. My mind kept trying to imagine what they had and were going through.
And during the set of the opening act, Northern Faces, I just tried to keep my camera clicking away. “Do something you love,” I kept telling myself over and over. And it helped. I didn’t manage to give myself unto the fuzzy guitar driven pop before me. I just kept snapping pics. Following their bassist as he bounded across the stage. I just tried to keep up. Not what a band you’re there to cover deserves, yet it was all I could muster.
Northern Faces
Northern Faces
Northern Faces
Northern Faces
Northern Faces
Northern Faces
Northern Faces
Northern Faces
What had happened in Paris, from the restaurant to the stadium and the Eagles of Death Metal concert wasn’t completely clear by the time Meg took the stage. But there she and her band stood. And during a night where she didn’t say much, what she said was enough. She began her show with a simple message. This show was going out to Paris. It was short and simple, and while I can’t speak for anyone else in the crowd, it helped me.
Meg Myers
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For about the next 60 minutes I was able to do what I couldn’t a moments before. I was able to watch this dark and brooding ball of energy belt out tunes full of mournful heartbreak, loss and desire. And it made me happy. And from the looks of it, it did the same for the others in attendance.
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I first came across Meg Myers right before the 2014 Governor’s Ball. I first saw her live the Monday after when she owned the Brooklyn Bowl. And by the end of the year “Curbstomp” was the number one rated song on my Spotify playlist. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised to see that “Sorry” or the new-wavy inspired “Bolt From the Blue” in that same spot in a little over a month.
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Myers, dressed in what looked like a black satin shirt and short shorts may look like the girl next door. But once her ferocious howl comes out and far off stare takes hold, you can see an almost demonic grin across her face. She bounces across the stage. Hair flipping, turning her back to the stage. Jumping up and down, almost as if she’s making sure her Converses’ soles leave marks all across the floor of the Marlin Room’s stage. It’s hard to take your eyes off her. Rarely breaking character, until she reached out to grab the hands of some fans in the front row. A physical connection on a night of emotional ones.
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Meg Myers
So much of Myers’ dark pop sounds fill you with a sense of a pain so raw that it sounds like she’s afraid when it goes away that there’ll be nothing left. From the obsessive stalker driven “Desire” to the lover who can’t come to terms with a romance that ran in its course in “Sorry.” Which is why it was nice to hear her sing bring out “Bolt From the Blue” early on. A song that shows that you can have hope, even when you’re falling. And for that night, while trying to enjoy myself while concert goers an ocean away had lost their lives, it was something that, I know I needed to hear.
Article: Omar Kasrawi
