In Concert Review: Bahamas
“Committing To You Is Like Committing A Crime”
I might or might not own a T-shirt that claims, "Good Girls Go to Heaven, Bad Girls Go Backstage." I might or might not have worn this T-shit to 30 seconds to Mars concert, when I was 20. I might or might not be cheesy like that. I might have contemplated wearing that T-shirt to a show last night, but chose an 8-year old washed-one-too-many-times green button-down, because frankly speaking that shirt never got me places. But this article is not about my frustration. It's about appreciation. It's about the music and Bahamas' concert that took place at San Francisco's Fillmore last night. One of those historic venues, where you feel honored to have your boots stuck to the floor because the beer has been spilled there since 1954.
Bahamas concert is one of a very few concerts that I attended, when not only, in the best traditions of San Francisco concert halls, my ego was checked at the door, but also my ability to sing along was. Except for a famed Lost in the Light song, which predictably played the instance I went to the bathroom, I knew no other song. Intentionally so, I had no drive to fix that before the show, allowing myself to get immersed in the music, and let me tell you, I wasn't disappointed.
Afie Jurvanen emerged solo on stage, dressed accordingly to San Francisco mellow uniform: a pair of gray loose-fitted jeans, a gray loose-fitted t-shit, left sleeve tastefully allowing glances of a tattoo around his bicep. Cascaded in a sharp triangle of light, mystified by the smoke machines, he opened the set with Your Sweet Touch, having the rest of the crew join him mid-record at the band's signature extended bluesy riff, with lights turning from neutral to turquoise and lavender. Being a sucker I am, for the fog trapped in colorful shapes and raspy voices – I was sold immediately.
Bahamas is something you'd imagine playing a mid-indie film, a dreamy film, your Captain Fantastic or The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, which, to no wonder, their music were a part of a soundtrack to; or a Free People commercial, where a beautifully dressed female protagonist is in a passenger seat having her hand kissed by her equally handsome companion driver as they fade into the sunset casted in appropriate lighting. Or if you are, like I am, an old-school fan of the show Scrubs, you can imagine Bahamas to accompany JD on the voyages to his dreamland or to serve him as a fuzzy blanket when something sad happens. And while nothing sad happened at the concert, Bahamas did wrap me in a fuzzy blanket. But again, the moment I thought that thought, a guy next to me said the melody gave him a Sponge Bob tune or Glass Animals vibes.
The vibes can be a subject to an argument; what's undeniable, though, is Afie Jurvanen's adorable stage personality. Afie doesn't use it to compensate for the absence of talent, as so many other musicians do these days, but quite the opposite – he uses it to amplify his performance, being charming all around, making jokes, making faces, contracting and expanding his torso as he strikes the chords, which in turn feel like they are striking you deep to your core, and every time he hits a D-sting, it feels like he hits a hidden nerve in the intertwines of your spine. A rare feeling. A different one. Your body unavoidably moves to the tune, becoming one with the rhythm but so does Afie's, and it's different when you move to the music you hear and when you move to the music you produce.
Jurvanen's vocal range is phenomenal, but it's complemented and amplified in juxtaposition to Felicity Williams's soft vocals, who reminded me of Mina Tindle. Not in voice but rather in vibe and of Florence Welch in features.
The intimacy of the Fillmore venue allows for a concert experience like no other. It's one thing to have your face cascaded in stage lights directed to the crowd; it's another to have that and also have a glimmer from the chandeliers and disco balls reflected on the faces surrounding you. It's one thing to have your set close with the crowd singing along; it's another to hear the 'shooby dooby' aimed at you from all the corners of the venue. Especially considering how humbling the song is. Especially considering how humbled the performance was. A couple of songs before the final one, Afie exposes the act, 80% of the musicians I know of, pull out: the pretense of leaving the stage, the applause, the chant "One More Song!" You know the act too. Everyone does. Afie goes, "yeah, okay, fuck that." A song before the final one, he gets everyone on high alert":
"It's a final song; you all know what to do after that."
He steps into the shadows when the song is over and done with but doesn't leave the stage. It doesn't take long for the crowd to comply with the script before he plays the final tune. And then there is applause and a final chatter similar to the pre-concert one, but a little bit more departed and definitely more exhilarated. The chatter of people leaving the venue after a great concert.
It's my second show post-quarantine, it's my first one after I just had COVID, and in the midst of the craziness the world descends into, Bahamas is what you'd imagine them to be –judging by the name – an oasis in a desert of despair. As opposed to the Two Feet show, the first show I attended when San Francisco loosed its pandemic guidelines, this time I managed to keep my eyes open and what I saw was beautiful, life-asserting. The majorly unmasked population of concert-goers was not only sophisticated, dressed in slick jackets and fancy hats, but it was also wholesome, human. I saw faces light up with joy and child-like excitement when their favorite song came up, their lips curled up in smiles, their lips kissing other people's lips, I saw people happy, and for that reason alone, I'll give Bahamas' 5 start review.
