Young Star exclusive: The devil on your back

NEW YORK — Dalit. It’s a term used for people who are regarded in India as “untouchable.” But while there is a whole sociological standpoint to be observed when slicing into the underbelly of India’s caste system, it is a term I use very loosely (and out of context, really) when describing my mired state of operating in the Big Apple.

 Being the cultural locavore that I am, whose diet consists mainly of catching both matinee (afternoon) and gala (evening) performances on Broadway during Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays, I end up refusing commitments with friends and family (which explains my state of being dalit or “untouchable”) to try and satiate this seemingly insatiable theatrical obsession. After all, I’m only in Mecca once a year. And I might as well ensure that my pilgrimage unfolds exactly the way I want it.

Last Saturday, however, I gave up two opportunities on Broadway to catch an entirely different kind of show — a live performance by English indie rock band, Florence and the Machine. Admittedly, I’m not that big a fan as compared to, say, Adele. I watched the latter live (yes, alone) the last time I was here. But there’s something about seeing a live musical act in a foreign land, with not-so-foreign yet like-minded friends, in an even more foreign and relatively remote location that can be quite the thrill (Remember Laneway?)

Off to the hinterlands

The 34th Street Penn Station in Midtown became our portal to the Nikon at Jones Beach Theater where lead singer Florence Welch and her band were slated to perform. With Young STAR’s Paolo Lorenzana, NY-based Glasnost designer Stacy Rodriguez and Supreme’s Gabbie Tatad in tow, we took a 30-minute train ride from Manhattan to Long Island, followed by a cab ride to a Coney Island-ish location, harbor-side and all, which was everything Coney but the carnival fare.

We arrived earlier than expected and decided to amuse ourselves over rounds of beer and diner food that, in its lack of culinary aplomb, made our midnight meal in Korea Town later that evening, 10 times more savory. As night fell, we made a short trek to the Nikon Theater, an open-faced amphitheater that had a modern industrial finish to it, and found ourselves in the company of Florence fanatics who also made the voyage to see their idol.

Lining up for some merchandise with my pal Gabbie, I thought the concert might have started actually. A live band had been playing in our vicinity whose lead singer sounded an awful lot like Florence Welch. I discover later on that it was Laicia Lenki, an up and coming chanteuse who had a great sound and an Old Hollywood look about her. Girl had her own arsenal of catchy tunes and hummable lyrics. Stacy turned to me and said, “I wish there would have been more experiences like this back home.” I assuaged later on, telling Paolo after we had our photo taken with Laicia, that part of the mystique and experience of this all might have been the fact that it was cold, and that you had to travel outside of a city that in itself, was magical to begin with. Alas, Florence was waiting.

The maccabees

Climbing three flights of stairs, we found ourselves entering a stadium that was gloriously open-faced — the stage by the water, the steps made of cobble, and the seats like those you’d find on a Yankees stadium. Being relatively distant from the stage, the video screens on both ends made for a more intimate access to the singers — the first of which would be UK band, The Maccabees.

An indie rock band from South London who Paolo described as having a surf-rock sound, The Maccabees performed a slew of their hits from their recent album, “Given to the Wild.” On name alone, you would have thought them a religious rock band. After all, they got their name by flipping through the pages of the Bible. But their verses sat on a darker, almost atheistic tone, which was the perfect contrast to Florence Welch’s goddess sound.

On a clear night you could hear forever

Beneath a tapestry of stars, the stage was lit in sapphires and the occasional crimson. And then it came. Like a wave of patchouli that diffused sharply into the air, Florence Welch emerged from behind a white screen, her silhouette titillating us for what would be an evening of great music to remember.

As she revealed herself, she took to the mic and glided across the stage, belting hits from both her first album (“Lungs”) and second album (“Ceremonials”) — the latter, also the name of her US tour. At times, it seemed like she was levitating, given the Morticia Addams-inspired garb she had on. She twirled on many occasion, as though in act of worship or ritual where audiences were allowed a fascinating peek, and later on, direct participation.

“This is the part of the show were we demand human sacrifices,” whispered Florence into the mic in her frail, mellifluous voice. “This is the time we subvert the venue,” she continued as Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up) started to play. Then and there, women and children were asked to perch themselves on the shoulders of the men as the stadium swayed and the venue transformed into a festival.

The cultural renaissance

Rocking out to Florence’s dark beat, my friends and I rode the undulating wave of her ethereal sound, whether she was warbling about love and death or heaven and hell — all of which themes that she attributes to Renaissance artists such as herself. In fact, Rolling Stone describes her music as classic soul meets midnight-on-the-moors English art rock. Yes, there was so much art in it, so much so that when she finally sang Shake It Out, the hairs on my spine stood and there was no turning back.

That we were under the stars and that Florence was singing against a backdrop of the ocean made moments like Spectrum or What the Water Gave Me even more hauntingly brilliant. I swear, you could’ve heard a pin drop during those verses where she sang without the music and just allowed her voice to sit on the powerful reverb.

On the reality show So You Think You Can Dance, producer Nigel Lythgoe always talks about the “perfect pair”: coming together with the perfect choreographer, with the perfect concept, and the perfect song, so that magic like a Mia Michaels Emmy award-winning routine happens. Well, this night was just that — magic. It was the perfect artist, the perfect songs, the perfect venue, and the perfect company coming together to make the perfect experience. It was truly one for the books and in retrospect, worth giving up Broadway, if only for a night.