Parquet Courts "Fucking Rocked" at Club Dada
With Swearin' and Radioactivity
Club Dada, Dallas
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
About midway through Parquet Courts' blistering set at Club Dada last night a trio of youthful looking concertgoers stood at the bar ordering cokes. The band had hit a lull in a song, then drove full bore into tearing the house down. One of the youths, seemingly overcome by the energy, took a plastic cup full of water, chugged the contents, and then turned to her friend and slammed it into his chest, a smile painted on her sweat-covered face.
The trio of friends had no idea who Parquet Courts were before last night. In fact Heather, Rachel and Austin (all aged 17) had never been to Club Dada before, but they heard about the show through "the internet" and decided to check it out. They were treated to a raucous homecoming from the Texas ex-pats on stage.
As if to quell any of the repeated debate over whether Parquet Courts were still a Denton product, the band took the stage and introduced themselves as "We're Parquet Courts, from Brooklyn." This didn't matter to the near-capacity crowd inside Club Dada, made up of Denton kids, Dallas punks and local music fans alike. The crowd was high on energy and many moshed; some even crowd surfed, a hell of an accomplishment in a room of less then 400 people.
The whole night Parquet Courts held court (excuse the pun) over the fans in attendance, never letting their energy wane while working their way through a set heavy on their new album, Sunbathing Animal. In a moment of levity Andrew Savage dedicated a song to his mother and father, who were in attendance, and then launched into the almost laconic "Instant Disassembly." That's fucking punk as hell.
Club Dada stank of body heat and sweat, and no one cared. Heads bobbed in time with the drums, arms waved at the front of the crowd, the band's pace seemed to quicken with each song. Outside those who were drunk and smoking would toss their cigarettes when they recognized a song and rush inside. The usually obnoxiously long lines for the bathroom were non-existent, as no one wanted to leave the dance floor. The group of music loving elder statesmen that are usually found in the back part of a bar during a show were mingled in the crowd, their faces wet and glistening just like the twenty-somethings dancing next to them. For once it felt like no one was there to just be seen, they were there to see. This is big for a Dallas crowd.
As the band segued from the anthemic "Light Up Gold II" to the their riotous album title track, and best song, "Sunbathing Animal," I turned and asked the trio of teens what they thought of the band. Rachel looked at me with glee in her eyes, and simply said, "They fucking rock!"
She was right. They did.