Concert Caveats: Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeroes

May 20. 8:00 p.m. Royce Hall.

Meet Jade.

She was convinced that Alex Ebert was a musical messiah sent down to Earth to purge humankind of all that was sinister and blasphemous in the world and remind them of all that was good and beautiful. Prancing barefoot in a wrinkled white suit, a loose red scarf, and a personifiable shaggy mane, Ebert created no hierarchy within the 10-member folk-rock band Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeroes. All was one and one was all with this hippie god. And the sentiment of collectivism was not exclusive to the stage: the audience, the staff, the ushers all fell under the unifying spell of musical madness.

She suspected Edward Sharpe appealed to the average college student because in both music and conduct, he exuded the ambiance of sixties counterculture rebellion, which, living in LA, she all knew too well. But who could blame them? They were all dependent children, on the verge of leaving the cuckoo's nest, and what better way to be individuals than by a means of "revolution"? She found this attempt at revolution ironically cyclic. In trying to break away from conventions of their parents, they ended up being thrown into the world of adulthood all the more quickly while all the more ill-equiped. Demonstrating their unsolicited valiance in raunchy and illegal doings were great fun at the moment, but it was short-lived. In the end, the consequences they faced for their endeavors at being unorthodox would become the catalysts to their adulthood and maturity.

In their safe beds and purely rhetorical classroom debates, they said they wanted revolution and change, yet when the time came, who but a few would rush to the front of the line eager to defend their cause? Who but a few would be strong enough to speak out from the safety of their numerous and nameless mob companions? Who, among the mass of college students, regurgitating what they heard on TV and preaching obsolete ideals from history no longer relevant, would be a martyr for egalitarian principles? Not one. The liberal front had become somewhat of a fad. And those who followed wore faux-vintage dresses and tees from Urban Outfitters and bought every single book about journal-keeping or peace on its shelves.

She was reluctant to say more. She loved Edward Sharpe nonetheless. He was the kind of man that made her jump out of her seat to dance while everyone else sat. He was the kind of man that could make every body in the audience of a 1,833-capacity theatre silent with a single request. She hated the idea behind him, but Ebert himself, she could not stop loving.

Hypocrisy is both a vice and a virtue.

Tactfully,
T.J.