Hipsterpalooza

Ever heard of We Are Hex, Wendy Darling, or Cymbals Eat Guitars? If you're not hip to the scene, then probably not. These bands have likely flown so far below your radar that you'd need a seismograph just to detect them. Only a true connoisseur of Pitchfork magazine would have the resources to drill so deep underground. Enter Burns of We Kure Burns fame. With a finger resting perpetually against the pulse of the Indy indie rock scene, Burns can detect the slightest of rhythmic cardiac anomalies. Last night, all vital signs pointed south towards the Vollrath tavern on the near southside of town.

With the handsomest of flannel shirts, the skinniest of jeans, and the laceless-est of Chuck Taylors, I, along with Neddawg and Klecknasty, drove down to Indy's Sacred Heart neighborhood. Having never been to this particular establishment, I was in for some pleasant surprises. Nestled within residential squalor, the Vollrath is the epitome of a diamond in the rough. Inside, patrons are greeted with low ticket prices, a solid beer menu, and a haze of pretentious smoke. As per the times, modern flatscreen televisions adorn the walls (albeit turned off for the duration of our visit) of the historic tavern. As a bonus, the main bartender was undeniably hipster hot...body ink and all.

The first act, We Are Hex, came on at about 9-ish in the PM hours. Led by a scowling singer/keyboardist, the local band rocked surprisingly hard. With Fraggle Rock inspired hair, the lead singer spun out into the audience on several occasions. Each time, strong whiffs of patchouli filled my nostrils as she staggered about directly in front of us. The Great Burns himself only had one qualm with the performance: why did they say "We Are Hex" at the end of the show? If they truly wanted to identify themselves as the band We Are Hex, shouldn't they have stated "we are We Are Hex"? I guess we can chalk it up to semantics.

After a short interlude, Wendy Darling took the stage. Hailing from the bay area of California, the band consisted of a female lead singer and three dudes playing instruments. They had a nice sound, but to be quite honest, the band wasn't my cup of tea. So instead of dutifully listening to the entirety of the performance, Klecknasty and I chatted it up about cycling routes and mountain bike trails. Like I said, the group had talent, but I had trouble getting into their groove, so to speak. Perhaps a patchouli induced spin through the audience would have helped their cause.

At 11:30pm, the headliners graced the stage. Describing the appearance of Cymbals Eat Guitars as unassuming would be an understatement. The Staten Island quartet looked like a collection of typical college aged guys; although, I must add that they had a subtle hipster flavored edge about them. In fact, only when the lead singer/guitarist took the stage did I realize that he was the guy I had chatted with in the line for the bathroom earlier in the evening. Needless to say, it would be tough to pick the band's frontman out of a line-up of one. In stark contrast, their performance was far from anonymous. The group had fantastic sound and great stage presence. Their set was short, sweet, and to the point. It was by far the best performance of the night and a band definitely worth looking into.

So what did I learn from this evening? As much as I hate to admit it, Burns knows a thing or two about music. I also learned that the terms underground and obscure don't always equate to high levels of sucking. Furthermore, dressing the hipster part greatly helped my ability to fully immerse myself in the scene. A simple flannel shirt and crouch-hugging jeans go a long way. In fact, I deduced that the degree of one's hipsterdom is directly indexed by the tightness of his/her slacks.

So what can the hipster and indie rock scene learn from me? Wearing compression socks and tights underneath jeans allows one's legs to feel fresh after standing all evening at a concert. After all, why stand when you can sit? Why sit when you can lay? Why lay when you can stand around wearing compression tights and listen to angst ridden youth bemoan their depleted CampusAccess cards? It's all about recovery.