By Anna Marketti
Photos by Christine Varriale
“Wasn’t he just standing down here in the crowd?” someone leaned over and whispered in my ear as Guy Blakeslee strode out onstage at the Royale Wednesday night, pharm clad in an extra long white button down, order the bells encircling his wrist jingling slightly with each step. He approached a laptop mounted on a tiny table, hospital leaning over and pressing a few buttons, stirring up a white noise layer of electronic rainfall. I was skeptical at the sight of this, but what came out of his mouth stunned me as well as the rest of the audience into silence. In an attempt at a sort of a capella, one-man-band experimental pop, Guy Blakeslee shook both levels of the Royale with his haunting, echoing vocals thick with vibrato and reverb.
Everyone’s heart broke at once after a chilling, melancholy rendition of “Green Rocky Road”, a folk song you may recognize from the Inside Llewyn Davis soundtrack. We were all hesitant to break the heavy silence that fell after the song’s conclusion, but one audience member took the responsibility upon himself, shouting, “You fucking suck”, cueing astonished, disagreeing whispers throughout the crowd.
Blakeslee merely smirked and replied, “But you paid to be here.” This was met with unanimous, supportive applause. The show goes on.
The lovely quartet of ladies that makes up Warpaint stalked nervously onstage, slightly shook up from the jarring comment that one awful dude thought appropriate to make. Taking their respective positions across the stage, they ticked off the opening beats to “Feeling Alright” and doused a layer of sweet, sweet honey across the crowd as Theresa Wayman’s delicate voice battled with the equally delicate- in a different way- voice of Emily Kokal. Like a combination of lace and glass, Warpaint created a beautiful, dainty collage of sound.
Each song was a lullaby, and each audience member a dancing zombie, moving steadily to their sleepy, emotional soundtrack bathed in pink and blue light. Each member of the band looked so completely engrossed in their respective instrument, their faces pinched in pure concentration, that it drew me in in a way I never before thought possible, completely commanding the audience with each song selection.
Despite the mellow vibes their songs emit, the audience saw that as no excuse to not dance, twisting their bodies in time with the expressive bass notes plucked by the talented Jenny Lee Lindberg. Drawing influence from R&B artists, their songs contain elements of repetition and constant movement. The complex bass riffs essentially provide a secondary melody.
A healthy mix of old songs and new, everyone seemed to be up to speed on the set list. Treating each song as a pleasant surprise, the band grew more comfortable with the audience as they played on. Halfway through, they pulled out an unreleased tune- “No Way Out”. Of course, the more dedicated fans treated this song like an old friend. But the rest of us stood in anticipation. We were greeted with a darker side of Warpaint, Emily gripping the mic with both hands, closing her eyes tightly as she dipped into the lower half of her range. “No Way Out” is significantly slower than their other songs, focusing more on the overall composition of the song than individual parts.
The show came to a close, and as the four ladies crept off stage, thanking us profusely, sending the crowd into an uproar, demanding more. What felt like a mere moment passed before they were back in front of us, lifting their instruments up overhead, preparing themselves for a hefty 3 song encore. Beginning with their nearly 7-minute-long homage to Billie Holiday, and ending with the upbeat, lilting “Elephants”, Warpaint left nearly half the crowd lingering at the front of the stage after their final departure, frivolously hoping for just one more song.
One friend gripped the setlist proudly in her hands as we reluctantly descended the ornate steps back out to Tremont Street. Hordes of fans waited outside under the pretense that the band would eventually emerge to greet them. The Warpaint crowd evenly mixed in with the crowd from across the street, equally eager to meet Nick Jonas. Passing throngs of screeching, red-faced teenage girls, I couldn’t help but wonder who had had a better night.
Probably me.
