There is an indescribable sense of realness a person experiences while standing in the tight quarters of a concert. As I stood just 30 feet away from Bombay Bicycle Club at Cat’s Cradle I could feel the booming of the bass erupting against my chest with every bang of the base drum. I ran my fingers across my face, so aware of my presence. My feet hit the ground with each beat, pulsating to the rhythm. It is crazy how concerts can swallow you whole and entrance your body with each note. Bombay Bicycle Club removed me from my hectic life for just a few hours to join their story.
On stage behind them were five big circles with projected images on them to accompany each song. They were constantly changing; one was of a snake, while another was a running body. None of the images screamed complexity, but were rather just sketches. It complemented each song so simplistically, performing more as a frame for their music rather than detracting from the real focal point.
For some reason it is always so strange to hear an artist’s regular speaking voice. I always image their singing voice and just envision them constantly in song (I am very aware of the flaws in that thought process). When I heard the band’s lead vocalist, Jack Steadman’s crisp, English accent he became so ordinary to me. I always put bands up on such an artistic pedestal; so superior to me. Hearing their voice always reminds me that they’re just ordinary people sharing their passion.
I know that I say this at every concert, but I swear this one literally was life changing (and I am sure I shall say that about the next concert I go to as well, but bear with me here). Concerts have a way of transforming my state of mind for the following 48 hours after the last note ends. As I left Cat’s Cradle I was still mind blown by the performance, feeling so connected to artists who I have grown so close to, but yet have never met. There was something about them that screamed passion and genius.
Bombay Bicycle Club, your music is a force to be reckoned with.