[show_avatar email=julie@iwenttoashow.com align=left avatar_size=50]The Firebird, Midtown, St. Louis.

A cold, soaking rain plops on a line of grinning kids that winds from the door of the club all the way back to the gargantuan tour bus, the biggest one I’ve ever seen at The Firebird, and according to Foursquare, I’ve only been there like 25 times, so I’m not even an expert. As we rush to get in the back of the line a couple of drenched fans scream my name. Because I’m wearing an I Went to a Show t-shirt, and I have a fucking umbrella. It’s 8:00, the doors haven’t opened yet, and the sold out crowd all showed up early. What the hell is going on? British dance/math rock band Foals is playing, supported by New Zealand’s The Naked and Famous and some band from New York. More on them later.

Auckland’s electropop-shoegaze five piece, The Naked and Famous, is mint-in-package, having just released their first record last September, but they commanded the stage like old pros. They didn’t say too much, but that was okay, because they were seriously beautiful. Alisa Xayalith looked like an L.A. ingenue and even the bassist’s classic-rock mullet had a healthy, shampoo commercial shine.

Their beats were fantastic, the bass was intoxicating, and plenty of dancing went down, even though we knew the AC wasn’t working and it was going to be a long night at The ‘Bird.

Then Freelance Whales played and, two songs in, thanked Kansas City for having them again. A round of passionate booing ensued and the crowd went from being patiently forgiving of their weird sound issues and breath control/harmony problems to having full-volume conversations with each other, causing a few people to leave as soon as their set was over. Which was really, really unfortunate, because the instant Foals came on stage, the crowd immediately stopped being assholes and started paying attention again. You guys know, I’ve gone to a lot of shows. That has never happened to me before. Even the most road-weary touring band can remember what city it’s in. You can go back and read my indignant tweets if you want to, but I’ve said my piece, I’m moving on.

Doris Cellar playing the harmonium after Judah Dadone shit the bed

After TNAF left the stage, I fistbumped a buddy of mine and vowed to hang out with him during Foals’ set since neither of us thought we liked them all that much, but I kind of forgot he ever existed after front man Yannis started singing. Holy shit, you guys.

Foals tore into the “Blue Blood” and gone was the distant reverb that held the emotion of the song back on the record. We were entranced. Three songs in, he stopped to tune his guitar and we were a little afraid he’d ruin everything by calling us Cincinatti or something, but no. Yannis thanked us and complimented our space and said they liked it, and that they didn’t say that everywhere. Someone screamed HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YANNIS!!! (Alisa of TNAF had cued us that it was Yannis’ birthday) and the whole crowd, once full of assholes, now teemed with sweaty angels who sang “Happy Birthday” like they were singing for their favorite pal.

Yannis took periodic swigs  from two water bottles, one filled with water, one with whiskey. In addition to singing his bad-ass heart out, he cracked his head twice on the overhead speakers. He jumped and stomped and freaked the fuck out, throwing his microphone to the floor. He escaped the stage to play his wireless guitar on top of equipment cases, then he climbed out across the high-backed seats, walked across tables, climbed on the Galaga machine, and plowed back through the crowd, then whaled on a floor tom like a boss.

By the end of the night, the entire band was drenched in hard-won sweat (with the exception of drummer Jimmy Smith, who was inexplicably dry as a popcorn fart, even though Yannis had shaken his sweaty hair at him like a dog). Yannis chucked one of his drumsticks into the crowd and left the stage with the rest of the band.

And the crowd went apeshit. Maybe this is hyperbole (I don’t think so), but no Firebird crowd I’ve ever been a part of has ever begged so hard for an encore. No Firebird crowd has ever been so uncool as to rhythmically chant the name of the band for a full three minutes. Foals came back on stage and bled out three more songs like they were just getting started. I’m sorry if you went home early, yo. Saturday night at The Firebird, history happened to a small sold-out club full of people who weren’t there because they thought this band was going to be the next big thing.

But I’ll be damned if they aren’t going to be.

I didn’t pay attention to a setlist, I was having way too much fun.

More photos from Laine Marschik on Flickr.