Coco Rosie

One member of the band came on stage with a full feathered headdress and a white mask. I had expected a dramatic entrance. This particular duo could't get away with less. The other band-member strutted across the stage and picked up her mic. When she turned to face the audience, it was obvious that she was sporting a moustache. While the masked faux Cherokee princess wailed with an operatic vibrato, the moustached hipster crooned with the voice of a young child and a very old lady fused into one. Two cocky Frenchmen provided the backup--beat-boxing and eerie vocal accompaniment.

Really, the crowd obscured my view of the stage, so I mainly had to surmise what was occuring. The Cherokee princess removed her mask and began jumping around on the stage. She looked too old for this kind of behavior. The moustached sister remained calm on one side. I wanted an aerial view, but I was hemmed in by the crowd, and an escape to the balcony at the Great American Music Hall seemed nearly impossible. People were elbowing me from all sides. The boy behind me was drinking this beer that he kept on getting entangled in the hood of my sweatshirt. It didn't help that he was constantly commenting on the surroundings in a very loud voice to his friend. Considering that the music was on the quiet side, his commentary seemed excessively loud, and about innane subjects like when he would begin watching the World Cup the following day. Even if I couldn't see the stage, I could watch the video that was projected above the stage-- of the band-members strolling through trains in headdresses and running through border towns in masks.