Concert Review | Tame Impala

I clutched my amazingly expensive borrowed lens and attached camera in hand as I marched through a back alley towards the stage door of the iconic Massey Hall. I was prepared. I was ready. Press ticket? Check. Photo pass approved? Check. Now all that was left was to walk through that stage door entrance to the venue, take my spot amongst the other photographers, and gain access to the stage through the backstage entrance. As I walked in through the door, the other photographers glared at me, immediately sizing up age and lens quality to gauge experience. Off in the corner was a young guy with lenses larger than I had ever seen in my life…my immediate thought went to overcompensation, but really I had nothing to say. We lined up as the woman in charge of press called out our names for our photo passes. But the strangest thing happened…I was never called. Panicked, I quickly went up to her. It would have to go through other people, she said. I was painfully left behind the red curtain separating “us” form “them” as she situated the already approved photographers. “Backstage Personnel Only” signs mocked me as I sat deflated on the stairs. Oddly enough, as I awaited my fate, I shared a moment of humility with Tyler Parkford of opening act Mini Mansions. He too was refused entry into the backstage area by the extremely elderly security guard, Jim, post-performance. Promising to get his guest pass and show it to Good Ole’ Jim, he was allowed entry to re-join his troops, but not without a few glances and awkward smiles my way; sharing a look that said, “Hey, I feel you.”

As he entered, the press woman emerged from behind the red curtain with a face dripping of pity mixed with stress. There was no photo pass for me. She suggested I get in touch with my contact. I tried everything, but even though my search led to me receiving the personal number of the Tame Impala tour manager, my luck had run out. He could not be found and I was left in the dust. But perseverance is key…and if you look the part and act like you belong somewhere, no one will really question you. I took a different entrance and found myself shown by security to the “stage door”. What I didn’t realize was that this was in fact the actual stage door. As in I turned a corner and up some stairs and almost walked on stage in front of 3000 people. Shocked, an immediate sense of fear came over me and I rushed back to my seat, camera in hand. And then it hit me: I still had my camera. Although *technically* you aren’t supposed to have cameras in the seating areas, we live in an age where everyone has a camera on them at all times…my camera just happened to have a longer lens. I posted up in my seat and the lights dimmed. Time to see what Tame Impala had in store for the sold out Toronto crowd.

Immediately I could tell we would be in for something special – and something worth blowing my eardrums over. (No. Seriously. This was the single loudest show I have ever been to.) Our society consumes mass quantities of churned-out, preservative-heavy, formulaic music, and Tame Impala are the antithesis. As the lighting came in full force accompanied by projected images and the dreamy sounds of “Intro” and “Let It Happen”, a complete audio-visual experience had begun. The perfect pairings flung the audience head first into what seemed like a performance art piece, as even the sound engineers were a part of the show, donning white lab coats, truly becoming scientists of sound. One of the greatest moments of the set, however, would have to be the free jazz breakdown in the middle of “Elephant”, complemented by an oscilloscope that matched every guitar string plucked, every time and key change, every improvisation. Followed by a ridiculous extended version of “Be Above It”, my senses were definitely stimulated.

Although Kevin Parker often turned his back to the audience and the rest of band played nonchalantly, they all hung their heads not in disappointment, but rather in a complete absorption of their music and of each other. At times they all looked to drummer Julien Barbagallo, as he was the driving force behind the music with clean and impeccably timed rhythms and fills. Jay Watson and Dominic Simper on synths blew my mind. The sounds they were creating and the timing of their melodies bridged the gap between all of the instruments, filling Massey Hall with a constant wall of sound.

As Kevin Parker and the crew returned to the stage for their encore, I couldn’t help but be disappointed by the sold-out Toronto crowd. There was no unanimous chant to get Tame Impala back on stage, just a general expectation that they would return. Feeling discouraged, I looked out into the crowd. A few rows up from me I could see my friend – the tallest man alive and biggest Tame Impala fan – bopping around enjoying what he declared was the best concert of his life. My faith was restored. I turned back to the stage as they played the first few notes of “Nothing That Has Happened So Far Has Been Anything We Could Control”. I smiled to myself. As a wise man said to me after the show, “It’s crazy how the music they make is so personal…but it’s not theirs anymore. It ours. It’s become personal to us in our own way.” And that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?

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