Flight of the Conchords @ Chicago Theater 5/14/08

When it was announced a couple of months ago the comedic folk duo Flight of the Conchords would be playing in Chicago, the show sold out within minutes. On the day of the show, several people stood outside the Chicago Theater holding signs beseeching people for tickets. With the sold-out audience consisting of hipsters declaring, "I liked them before the HBO show," to middle-aged attorneys who'd paid $400 to a broker for a pair of tickets, FOTC's appeal is perplexingly vast. Not even a year after its debut on HBO, the TV version of Flight of the Conchords has become an American phenomenon. Comprised of Wellington, New Zealanders Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement, the real life musicians play everything from acoustic guitars to a digital horn and sing idiosyncratic songs about angels “doin’ it”  and a racist dragon. The guys started off as a band then evolved their shtick into the HBO sitcom last summer. The show follows the daily lives of the transplanted musicians struggling to make a living in New York. Music/comedy duos aren’t anything new, but these guys pull it off in a big way. Maybe it’s those sexy accents, but they are genuinely witty and talent comedians and musicians.

Download: Flight of the Conchords - "Robots"

Stand up comedian Arj Baker, a.k.a Dave the pawn shop owner on the tv show, opens. He performs a funny 30 minute topical set discoursing the ozone layer, “It’s the Earth’s way of letting some air out,” Pluto being dismissed as a planet, how horrible it is to have kids and that maybe global warming is the sun’s fault.

Bret and Jemaine come out and settle into their chairs and plug in their guitars. They speak to the audience, “You guys are sitting there in the dark waiting to ambush us, but we caught you in time.” They start doing robot voices and play “Humans are Dead” from their latest self-titled album. The song ends and they tell the audience how the show is going to go: a song and then some banter. They look over the setlist unsure what to do next. They point out two songs are listed simultaneously and that may be difficult to accomplish. They joke they’re taking care of “band stuff.” Jemaine interjects he received 50 blowjobs before the show trying to convince the audience they are indeed a real band. Next, they segue into “The Most Beautiful Girl in the Room,” a song about a girl attractive enough to be a part-time model but not good enough to quit her day job. Their songs meander just like their sometimes improvised and sometimes premeditated conversations. On the next song, Jemaine sings about girls in “88 Lines about 44 Women” way namedropping all his ex-girlfriends. He messes up the lyrics and picks up a sheet of paper for a refresher. The self-effacing Kiwis spend most the time engaging in their dry self-effacement and self-deprecation. We have to wonder if it's almost--dare we say it--calculated. The scribbled setlist on crumpled paper, the even more crumpled lyrics to a song they'd recently composed, the whispers of which song to do next, could two such hapless, run-of-the-mill college funny guys be worthy o a sold-out tour, a BBC radio show and another season? Well, yes.

Jemaine and Bret bring up their next topic, issues. They rail on poverty (“It’s people who don’t know how to manage their money.”) and quip about saving whales, “What would you do with a whale if you saved it?” Bret takes a moment to model the band's t-shirts, about five times in fact, peeling off shirt after shirt to reveal various FOTC emblazoned swag--one of which supposedly has a logo so light that according to Jemaine it appeals to "people who like us, but don't want people to know it." The audience tells them to take their tops off, but Jemaine says only if the entire audience does. Then, a male audience member shouts for them to take their pants off. It’s one of the funnier non-scripted moments during the hour and half show. The guys take a few minutes to discuss the ridiculousness of the statement before playing another song. One of the best songs comes next: “Albi” about a racist dragon whose tears turn into jellybeans. The lyrics encompass Albi charring an Albanian boy and the hilarious line: “No Albi, you didn’t kill me with your dragon flames. I crawled to safety! But you did leave me very badly disfigured,” laughed the boy.” But in reading the words, the joke is likely lost. Trust them to turn a "Lazy Sunday"-style white boy rap into something as hilarious as one of their more famous songs, "Hiphopopotamus vs. Rhymenocerous," with the lyrics, "They call me the Hiphopopotamus/My lyrics are bottomless."

As the guys decide on the next song and tune their guitars, the audience continues to scream statements to the guys but they aren’t having it, “We’re ignoring you Chicago,” they fire back. They play one of their most popular songs “Business Time” and then another fave, “If That’s What You’re Into” as Jemaine breaks out the portable xylophone. After a longwinded story on time traveling to meet a young David Bowie and Tina Turner at a party and putting their best Bowie impressions on the song "Bowie," the guys  “sneak” offstage only to reconvene a few minutes later. They both sit on the edge of the stage with their guitars and discuss how they’ve grown close to the audience. Bret mentions he’s made his closet friends in Chicago tonight. They tell the audience, “It’s just Bret, Jemaine and Jesus. Jesus is our drummer." It’s a set up for the song “Angels” about angels doing promiscuous things in the clouds.

What's so special about the Conchords is the inexplicable attraction when Jemaine and Bret's lyrical genius is experienced live (or on the screen, as were). Their deadpan, their sincerity, their whimsy all combine into an effervescent mixture of giggles as we watch them wrestle with the English language to convey frustration with girls, robots and ATMs.

(Co-written by Theresa Winters)

Comments

[safar]

interesting, i will let my friends know about this at http://community.broadcastkings.com