It’s been quite some time since I last attended a gig – I suppose it would technically be MSTRKRFT last year. What a way to kick off my gig going for 2009 with Bloc Party at the Burton Cummings Theatre last night. Despite the bitterness of not getting floor tickets (read here for further huffing and puffing), I really felt like it was worth my five year wait (punctuated by my watching them play numerous English festivals on television) to see them live. I would like to explain how my first balcony experience usually goes – I stay seated and watch from my okay vantage point while cursing the people swarming in front of the stage below me. This time, I left feeling like I had been directly in front of the stage; my voice was ragged from screaming, my body was exhausted from dancing, my limbs were pumping with endorphins, and my face had that goofy smile I get when I’ve just witnessed a fantastic show. Bloc Party managed to project such an incredible energy and intimacy way up to my balcony, and likely to the second balcony above me, that I could even forgive the rather idiotic girls doing erotic dancing in front of me. Bloc Party is one of those rare bands that really means something and is consistently wonderful with both musical composition and lyrics. They have outrun and outshone all of their peers, meaning the British bands that were touted as the next British invasion back in 2004. And they continue to rock even as more and more electronic influences creep into their post-punk sound.

The opening act was Canada’s own Hot Hot Heat, a band I saw as a headliner in the exact same venue back in 2005. I only attended that Hot Hot Heat show because I wanted to see the opening act The Futureheads, and they reminded me why all over again. It actually felt like I fell through a wormhole back to the earlier show as the lead singer tottered around the stage with his lollipop body and kept nearly going face-first into his keyboard, and I still only recognize and remember the song Middle Of Nowhere. Even though they tick all the right indie band boxes, I don’t feel anything from them. Their forty minute set seemed like an hour.

Bloc Party strode on to the stage roughly forty minutes after Hot Hot Heat vacated the stage and kicked the show off with One Month Off, which nearly blew my head off (those opening chords still remind me of Klaxons’ Atlantis to Interzone). It was the last show of their tour here and they made sure it counted as they included a fair helping from their latest record, Intimacy, including a heartbreaking performance of Biko, a mind-melting Talon, a scratchy, vulnerable Trojan Horse, and Mercury, which was even more deliciously disorienting live with the reverb and overdubbing bouncing and scissoring through the fog machine mist. The moment in which the audience really came alive and broke out of their indie hipster detachment was when the band flew into the windmilling, twitchy Banquet – from there on in the entire audience was with them. By that point, Okereke’s comment “put away your cameras and start dancing” was superfluous. I was pleasantly surprised that they also played Price of Gasoline, Blue Light and Positive Tension (which elicited a hearty “nothing ever happens” from the crowd). And we were treated to stand-alone single Two More Years, which Okereke prefaced by saying that the real fans will know this song (by those standards, I suppose I’m well beyond real fan status). The only time when the acoustics or levels didn’t seem quite right was for Hunting For Witches. The set proper ended with a cardiac arrest-inducing pairing of The Prayer and Like Eating Glass.

Throughout the show, Okereke easily launched back and forth between impassioned desperation, emotional violence and intelligent sensitivity, his leg pumping like a piston, while guitarist, Russell Lissack, took his customary head-down stance while shredding on his guitar at lightning speed from under that distinctive angular fringe. Even though there was always the possiblity for the sound to be muddy from the amount of rhythms and parts flying around at any given time, the sounds remained crisp, angular and precise; even when the audience couldn’t quite work out how to clap to the crazy syncopation, the music remained tight through the supersonic speed. There’s something machine-like about Bloc Party’s cohesion, but at the same time, they generate white-hot intimacy and honesty that soar through Okereke’s vocal chords like blood-red butterflies.

Despite the serious impression one gets of Okereke, he was one of the warmest, liveliest frontmen I’ve seen; between half-runs and some shuffles backwards when not encumbered by his guitar, he kept grabbing people’s hands, talking to audience members (including a girl named Aretha, to which he asked if we should give her some RESPECT), and addressing people as “sweetheart.” Drummer Matt Tong even indulged the audience’s request for a drum solo with some bashful fills. And the entire band had that same attitude I get from British bands every time I see them here; it’s that seemingly surprised delight that people in this far-flung location actually love them and their music. Okereke kept thanking us for being so generous, and he ended the entire show by shaking the hands of some fans up in the front. Another rather brilliant moment was when two girls leaped out of the crowd and onto the stage to hug Okereke; as they were placed back onto the floor, I was reminded of the way Morrissey is often accosted by loving fans. In many ways, Okereke is a similar figure for this generation, full of wit, sensitivity and insecurities. As he sings in Uniform, he is a martyr who just needs a motive.

Returning to the stage for an encore, they continued to ignite the already explosive audience with a blistering rendition of Ares. This came after Okereke told us that he had read up on Winnipeg before coming and that he discovered that we had the fourth highest crime rate in the country. He then goaded the audience to violence, and during the ensuing song, I definitely felt like I was sparring with all of my frustrations as we bounced to the sound of sirens. Bathed in flashing green light, Bloc Party continued with Flux, their fabulously cathartic dancefloor anthem. The energy came down to a hushed intensity as they began This Modern Love, which Okereke dedicated to the two girls who had accosted him earlier and classifed as “steamy.” The epic conclusion was the spinning, jagged Helicopter, which whipped its way through the theatre via blindingly stunning guitarwork, especially during the interlude in which all three guitars play off each other in a spectacular show of precision. The entire group also made the rather charming gesture of taking a bow together. With “are you hoping for a miracle” still echoing in my mind as I stumbled out onto the street, it felt like my prayer had been answered – I was unstoppable for one night, and after five years, I had finally gotten my miracle.

NOTE: Because I was nowhere near close enough to get proper photos, I’ve used images from the Winnipeg music blog Painting Over Silence.

Two More Years (MSTRKRFT Remix) – Bloc Party

Flux – Bloc Party

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