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There is very little these days which
inspires me to write a concert review. Most concerts I attend leave
me feeling a combination of disappointment, envy, and frustration.
But there is, however, one band that leaves me feeling none of those
things; and that band is Daikaju.
For the uninformed, Daikaiju is a
Japanese-inspired surf rock band from Huntsville, Alabama. The group
tours non-stop all around the country and even makes trips to Europe.
Some might call what they do a gimmick, but I just call it pure
rock'n'roll fantasticness.
When the band plays, they not only play
to the audience, but they play with the audience. Often times the
guitarists jump from the stage, run about wildly, and hand off their
instruments to wide eyed concert goers and joust them into playing.
The whole affair plays out like a maniacal-psycho-carnival-opera. I
was amazed the first time I saw it, and was unsure if they could ever
top that first performance which ended with them gathering the
audience onto the stage, making us the performers, and the band
sitting before us as if we were meant to entertain them.
When the two guitarists ran into me
during their off stage escapades I could feel the fresh sweat
dripping through their uniforms, and smell the weeks of of dried
perspiration as they flew past me. In fact, as I recall, their has
seldom been a time when my Facebook's event invite box was not filled
with a slew of upcoming Daikaiju live dates. They simply are always
on the road.
But this performance was somehow
different from the others had seen. It brought for me a new
perspective after having met lead guitarist “secret-man,” as he
likes to be called on the Daikaiju website. Slightly small in
stature, skinny, and bearing grey tattoos on his uber-tanned skin,
the wild affroed frontman of the group is, in person, nothing but a
joy to interact with. After seeing him perform live, there is little
left to be said in a traditional conversation, and as I am already
generally opposed to the notion of small talk (I much prefer
big-talk, harahar), was perfectly happy to simply shake his hand,
exchange a smile and give a few words of encouragement. Yet, it was
upon this latest viewing of the band that I realized the depth of
this band's commitment. To me, the psychotic live act is no longer
new, or fresh, or whatever synonym you want to call it. It's simply
Daikaiju. It's simply the best rock'n'roll five bucks can buy in an
indie-hipster town such as Athens.
The life these men have chosen is an
honorable life of rocking. As lame and corny as that may sound,
perhaps there are real life dilemmas that come with it. Things that
we average joe's take for granted, such as showering daily and having
lasting relationships with loved ones, must be put on hold as the
deluge of a tour takes precedence. I sometimes wonder if I, myself a
musician, could handle such a life, and with so much abandon as
Daikaiju exhibit? I don't know the answer to that question, since
I've honestly never had the opportunity to test it. But perhaps in
the meanwhile I'll let Daikaiju hold the torch for the rest of us
bedroom rockers searching for a way out of the dismal mundanity of
watching Netflix, cooking Bertolli, and training for half-marathons
every day. At least while they are in town, I can feel a sense of
hope, and a sense that all is right in this always revolving world.
At least from my perspective, Daikaiju is timeless, living the dream,
and will always be there to show me a good time on a Wednesday night
in downtown Athens.
See you guys next year. Rock on. \m/
