Mirror! Mirror! played at the Old Blue Last (Vice owned London bar) last night and despite it being a free show, a Friday night, a very busy Friday night, the crowd reaction was a little underwhelming to say the least. It was like the 9/11 of enthusiasm. Dead-eyes rolling just enough to be able check if that was still the right thing to do. Such feigned indifference should perhaps be expected in a bar run by Vice, but at least that magazine is funny. I didn't see many people laughing last night. Maybe long time Londoners are spoilt by an embarrassment of riches? Maybe city life is too tiring to muster a simple clapped appreciation? And it wasn't the band's fault. They were typically awesome: the right combination of the visceral, aggressive and playful, fleeing the stage with bare torsos attempting to engage the crowd in some way, any way. And some down the front did dance, let their machismo spill over and got in a bit of a pissing contest. But as soon as the music stopped: silence, save the Tough Love contingent thrusting accentuated claps in annoyed faces. That was funny actually.
I think people need to purge their tired notions of what they think is cool, stop being so self-involved, so self-conscious. I can't think of anything more redundant than pretending not to like something. What's to fear? It's a little ironic that the Vice sycophants (although they'd never like to be classed as such, as that would constitute stating a preference, an affiliation that could be shot down) are so willing to blindly fit a mold shaped by a magazine that coined it's own distinct sensibility. But I can't blame Vice for the hipster Stepford Wives. That's like blaming the Jews for Hitler.