It’s a sure sign of winter coming that I crave warmth.
I saw The xx at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery tonight with a couple of friends. It was one of those moments when the artist perfectly matched the venue—the stripped down arrangements of the band took on new life in an open setting, where the artists’ voices were allowed to resonate with the landscape and the bass was given free reign to undulate through the crowd in suffocating waves of sound.
This was especially obvious with songs like “Crystalised” and “Infinity,” where The xx just builds and builds way past the constraints of the recorded song’s boundaries, culminating in gorgeous cascading fades when the songs finally reached their climaxes and ebbed off. Another highlight: transitioning “Intro” into “Tides.” This, ladies and gentlemen, is why I love live music.
Listening to that kind of music though, in the thin cold of Los Angeles’ autumn, surrounded by swaying couples smoking joints and swigging wine out of the bottle, with The xx’s dueling male/female voices ringing with plaintive undertones—a feeling that seems a lot like nostalgia and a little like envy appears.
For something had, for something not, for something lost, for something