Live Music Review: Old Ceremony

Art has a hard time continuing to breathe and grow when in hostile environments. The competition of New York and LA are great places for artists to go once they are established so they can test their mettle against other established artists, but as for the original creation, that is best kept in the safety of a little supportive hometown. The indigenous culture of the south, unapologetically and uncontrollably comfortable in its own skin, fosters original voices as readily as the rain forests breed new forms of life.
Friday, I had the great pleasure of experiencing the proof of this influence in person. Reacting on a whim, after having heard Old Ceremony on the radio earlier in the day, I decided to venture into the rainy evening to measure their quality in person against the quality I heard on the radio, which was very high. They met and exceeded my expectations by a long shot. Having followed an excellent, upbeat band from Asheville called Floating Action, Old Ceremony had their work cut out for them.
The skinny lead singer, wearing a black suit with a red shirt, reminiscent of the cars front man Ric Ocasek, exuded the cool and his band backed him up with the musical chops necessary to fill out the show. The crowd exuberantly nodded in an uncontrollable connection to the melody driven lyrical prowess of the band and the small club connected by an invisible tether. Like their song "Plate-tec-tonics," the ground seemed to move underneath the club and everyone's feet rummaged against the floor in unison. The show escalated in intensity as the band fed off of the crowd and hands came out of pockets to clap to the beats. The diverse crowd slowly shook off their cool exteriors as they inched towards the stage in a hip grooving undulation.
The show climaxed in a cover of The Velvet Underground's "I'm waiting for my man," which fittingly cast a glance back to the founders of the music that allowed groups like Old Ceremony to exist. The final song of the evening was an acoustic, non-amplified version of "Wither on the Vine," that drew the crowd into an irish pub sing-along mode of comradery reverent of the The Band's Last Waltz or a good episode of Cheers. Satisfied with the expenditure of all of the 800 cents necessary to gain entry to this show, upon exiting there was a feeling that we had all experienced something that created a community. The crowd will see each other in other scenarios, wink and nod, with the knowledge that hey, that person knows what good music is, and I'm glad to say that I do now too.