Driving at night in New Orleans is difficult business. Most streets are one way, don’t have proper signs, and are filled with potholes. Because of this I was an hour late and almost slammed my rented hyundai into oncoming traffic. By the time I reached my friends they had finished at least six 4Lokos, a nightmare combination of alcohol and caffeine, and were much more drunk than I was. I slammed a couple of shots of rum, and headed of towards Tulane’s auditorium to see Ratatat.
On the walk over, a kid with a beard asked me for a cigarette. I gave him one. He thanked me. Then he said: “Hey you want to get VIP, I’m the President of the club that’s throwing the show and I have an extra bracelet.” Excellent. So I sold my ticket for ten more dollars profit and headed towards the barricaded VIP area right in front of the stage.
The first opening band was from LA. They said so, and I booed loudly. It was just a dude and a guy on drums. The dude sang, and sometimes played guitar. He said his name was Bobby Birdman, he seemed much hipper than me. They were a decent band. Afterwords I learned they were on tour with Ratatat. Good for them.
The next band was a punk/grundge band from Woschester Massachusetts. They were worse than the first. The lead singer had a pink fender, and kinda looked like Kurt Cobain. Later somebody described them as: Masshole Jews. I took offense, being a Jew who goes to college in Massachusetts.
Then Ratatat played. They were intense. They both had long reddish hair, were pale and skinny, and had scruff. One was wearing a polo and skinny jeans, the other a button down and skinny jeans. I didn’t look at their shoes, but they were probably vans.
I didn’t really know what to expect. I thought they’d being doing electronic stuff, but they did everything with real live instruments. One dude shredded the guitar, talked to the crowd and was obviously the lead singer, though there was no singing. The other banged on huge drums and sometimes played guitar.
Occasionally they’d play keyboards, or both bang on big drums. Bobby Birdman ran onstage and banged on a big drum. They had great visuals playing behind them. A parrot, old people, a buff dude, a large Hawaiian women shaking her ass. Unfortunately, they didn’t really incorporate any of these into the songs, they just flashed randomly
across the stage.
They played Wildcat, I jumped around.
One fat girl next to me kept yelling “Seventeen years!” It was probably the only song she knew. Ratatat took a five minute break, to refill their cups. Everyone was disappointed they didn’t play seventeen years, and began mumbling. The President shouted at me to start an encore chant. I yelled back that I have no idea what that means. Then they ran back onstage and played seventeen years. The place went wild. That was the last song. Ratatat threw some glowsticks around, and walked off stage. The venue cleared out. I stuck around. I was pissed they didn’t play any of their remixes, especially the ones with BIGGIE SMALLS.
Ratatat came back out. They sat down right in front of me. I looked at them, unsure whether or not to say anything. Then a bunch of girls came up and said how awesome they were. The more social of the two flipped his hair and said: “What do you do for fun around here?” That was a stupid question, this is New Orleans. The whole city is fun. Anyways, the girls were probably freshman from Tulane and didn’t really know what to say. They go: “Bars are fun, and Bourbon Street.” Ratatat goes: “Bars?” and gives them a dirty look. They say: “Maybe the French quarter.” Ratatat goes: “Why don’t you guys throw a party?” The girls look embarrassed and skeptical. Then Bobby Birdman comes out and goes: “Whats going on” and Ratatat says: “We’re trying to start a party”. The girls giggled nervously.