Frederick Foxtrott

Eagle Seagull
September 12th 2007 at Union Hall Brooklyn
September 14th 2007 at The Mercury Lounge Manhattan

This past week has been somewhat of a drunken debacle. I drank entirely too much alcohol, spent an unfortunate amount of money, and injured my dancing legs. I blame these mishaps altogether on Eagle Seagull’s impossibly impressive showings in both Brooklyn and Manhattan. Having seen them perform well in Nebraska and then brilliantly in Chicago, I was naturally itching for another fix.

Anyone who knows me well knows I love to dance. This is sometimes sad because I dance crazily and have trouble containing my convulsions and gyrations, especially when whiskey is involved. I imagine that it might seem odd to the musicians in front of whom I dance to see me move around like I do. On occasion I even lose balance and fall over. I know this is a problem, but I simply cannot help it. Just so I am clear, I don’t dance at every show I attend. I mean, usually I am not even compelled to tap a foot or nod my head, but when I do I become completely mentally defective. This happened not once, but twice during Eagle Seagull.

On Wednesday, September 12th, Eagle Seagull hit Brooklyn at Union Hall off the R train in Park Slope. I arrived at 7:30, started my tab at the bar, and awaited the presence of my lovely fiancée while staring at the slightly annoying bocce ball players clacking their pastel spheres. I had decided that my fascination with Eagle Seagull stems from a few different things. First, it is always great to have old acquaintances meet success. I come from the same town, played shows to some of the same people, and drank beer at the same bar. I had become jealous that they committed to their music, while I abandoned it and moved to Chicago. They toured Europe and have shared the stage with countless amazing bands. Beyond the role of home-town-hero hacks, Eagle Seagull have the talent to back-up all claims of greatness.

Hillary arrived and we ordered a few more beers, a Black Label, and a duck confit thin crust pizza. Yes, they serve duck confit thin crust pizza at Union Hall. The venue has a slightly contrived feel to it. The books and wood put in place to achieve an aesthetic of intelligence and sophistication. My spirits, however, were beginning to rise as my anticipation grew. Hills and I spotted Eli sitting with a few of his friends by the door. We said hello, wished him luck, and headed down stairs to lower level stage. It was a small dimly lit room with a cash only bar. A band was finishing, from what I could tell, a lackluster set, when an old friend from home who also migrated eastward appeared in the crowd. I was happily snared in a surreal moment.

As Eagle Seagull began I took a swig of my beer. Hills was all smiles and I began to dance, buzzing my brain with the occasional pull from the scotch in my plastic cup. I looked behind to see that the crowd had grown and people were moving. I danced to every tune with a sort of fanaticism. They hit every beat and every note. Austin asserted his own fanaticism on guitar as Eli performed with grace and conviction, all the while looking very, very hip. The band played all new material, except my preferred oldie Your Beauty Is A Knife I Turn On My Throat, all of which were played true to perfect form.

After their set, in my drunken stupor, I tried to get the band to drink as much alcohol as possible. I figured budgets were being followed and ordered a few drinks for them. Fuzzy clouds descend on my head. They had to go to Massachusetts for the next day’s show in the morning. They left the bar. Hills and I decided to stumble home ourselves, but not before getting on the wrong train and losing ourselves in Manhattan to alcohol induced confusion. We finally popped out of the New York subway system somewhere around Union Square at 5am, so we decided to eat breakfast at Cozy’s Soups and Burger. I had some combination of eggs, sausage, and cottage cheese. I have no recollection of Hillary’s meal.

The following Friday, September 14th, I prepared to re-experience the splendor that is Eagle Seagull. This time I was bringing friends from my Bushwick artist oriented apartment building to The Mercury Lounge. Ben, Dan and I went to the bodega to get some 9.5% alcohol malt beverages. They cost only $1.25 and pack quite the punch. We traveled via the L train and then walked down 1st Ave sipping our brews in brown bags. We arrived at the venue just in time for the first act. After buying more drinks, we stepped into the stage area to give them a listen, reminded by the crowd size that Interpol was contemporaneously performing. The first band didn’t really do it for me so I went back to the bar. It was about that time that I decided that beer alone also wasn’t really doing it for me so I ordered a shot of whisky to shoot before I pissed. We had begun the night off right.

Eagle Seagull has become a staple at many-a-party in East Williamsburg Industrial Park. I was thrilled to introduce my friends to some of the band members, almost as thrilled as I was to be seeing them play twice in one week. The thing about Eagle Seagull is that they are very, very nice people. One conversation led to the next, which ended with Eagle Seagull leaving to perform. My friends and I, faces aglow, went to the front of the stage beer in tow. As the music began, I felt a wave of intoxication flow through my body. The dancing had begun- the fanaticism, the defection, the insanity. The lights were pretty, and the music stunning. The next day, my friend Dan explained to me his impression of their live performance. If one were to cut the center out of a song one might suppose it was chaos. But that from beginning to end the song is constructed, directed, and orchestrated, so that at no time does the chaos seem jarring or does it lack musicality. This is a very apt description of Eagle Seagull’s performance.

As the set progressed I danced harder and harder, surely making those strangers unaccustomed to my wild ways uncomfortable. I myself am uneasy when I think about what I must have looked like. But damn it, I had so much fun. Perhaps it has been too long since I exercised* my dance demons at 80’s Night at Brick Top in Lincoln. Or maybe I simply had too much alcohol. As the show concluded we went back to the bar where I am sure many conversations took place, some of which I may or may not have been involved in. I might have smoked a cigarette. I am sure I tried to buy the band more booze (hey these kids have got to save their dollars for gas, Redbull, and road munchies). At one point near the end of the evening, my own friends long gone for falafel, I tried to convince the entire band that they shouldn’t go get rest. I tried to coax them into eating at Pastis. At 2:00am. Them being the nice folks that they are, they simply declined and bid me farewell.

I walked back to the L and went home, worried that I had been officious and sycophantic. The next day my right calf, more so than my entire body, was destroyed. I had danced with such vigor that I pulled a calf muscle. I wasn’t quite hungover in the classic sense. I had zombie-like vitals, and I did feel sluggish and head-broken, but I realized that my feelings of officiousness and sycophantism were misplaced. I was simply proud of this band of kids from back home who were doing things that other kids will never get to do. They dreamt it, and they did it, and what’s more they fucking deserve it. They have a new album coming out next year and are Playing CMJ in New York on October 17th, which coincidentally precedes fellow Nebraska native Head of Femur’s show on the 19th. Let’s see if I can’t keep my dancing legs in line and my liquor lips shut next month. I know it’ll be tough. For all of you out there who have the opportunity to see this band, do so at your own risk.

9/9

*I exercise my demons, I don’t exorcise them.

http://www.eagleseagull.com
http://www.myspace.com/eagleseagull
http://www.papergardenrecords.com