Kevin Parker's Tame Impala

Aaand we’re back folks. All apologies on this end, and know that I actually do feel bad about the hiatus (because who likes a hiatus? Moreover who has time for a hiatus? No one). But schooling, exams, teachers, students… They all don’t care too much for music writing. And that’s fine. But alas here I am trying to be the Hunter S. Thompson of the better half of the 21st century. Not the Hunter S. Thompson that absolutely went bonkers (although on this path I’m headed there), but Hunter S. Thompson that was original, authentic, and one of the greatest writers and journalists of all time. And one of the things that Thompson was good at in his journalism schedule (not so much in other areas) was proliferation. It’s key. Heck, I wrote an entire article on proliferation and the fruit that it bears, yet I can’t seem to take a hint. I have ideas, too many of them, but time is something I had some trouble grasping in the past few months. And I take full responsibility. The good thing (in a twisted way) about this “hiatus” of mine is that it was only a hiatus from things that I enjoyed. I took an unhealthy break from fun to maximize my credibility inside the classroom. And that’s totally fine. And such a break doesn’t stop creative thinking, it just builds its cage. But the zoo is shut down for some time, and the caged monkey wants to run loose. Shall we?

With that being said, let’s boogie.

Tame Impala played at the Fillmore Miami Beach at Jackie Gleason Theater on May 7, 2019, the night before my Spanish Exam. But no one wants to hear that, and neither do I. The Australian group skimmed the east coast of the United States for six shows before jumping back into the Eastern Hemisphere.

There are many different ways that people go about making music. “Music” goes better undefined. In most cases, it acts as an expression of someone or something. With that, it represents that someone and what they have to say. Someone’s music, their approach to music, or their taste, in my mind, packs a large representation to who they are as a person. Asking someone what kind of music they’re into is an indirect way of unlocking a hidden door (tip for all you networkers out there). All in all, the relationship between a person and their music should be theirs. There are few better examples of this absolute ownership of their spirit than Kevin Parker of Tame Impala.

Parker is the face of Tame Impala, but more importantly, Kevin Parker is Tame Impala. Despite his introverted appearance, Parker’s work shouts, “Get out of my way, now.” Parker writes, records, and produces Tame Impala’s music. All of the parts. He plays the drums on the tracks that you listen to. And the guitar. And the bass. And the keyboards. And the vocals. The whole nine. The whole production is his mind baby. His orchestration. And virtually no one can tell him to do anything differently. It is one of the few times in this generation that, by itself, the work of an individual speaks for itself. The image of an artist in today’s age fluctuates as interviews, videos, and stories are published. I say that Parker’s work alone speaks for itself as even though I’m sure Kevin Parker is a rather nice gentleman, his interviews, sound bites, quotes… They’re not crazy impressive nor interesting. If you’re looking for Ric Flair on the microphone, this is not your guy.

So many bands, too many bands in history have aimed their focus so far towards the image that they forget about the music itself. You can blame Kiss and Mötley Crüe success stories for this in the entertainment industry. But Kiss and Mötley Crüe really were not wrong in their business plans. In fact, they were so right. Take Kiss. Their songs? Good. Their makeup? Out of this world. This image created a situation where people weren’t buying into “Rock and Roll All Nite”, they were buying into the idea of “Rock and Roll All Nite”. The song itself was enough to blow up into an anthem once everybody bought into the long tongue, facepaint, and Rock N’ Roll lifestyle.

Kiss wasn’t the first to do this, nor were they the last. Simply put, they found a hole in the market, and they exploited it. As a band, other than having real talent (which seems hard to find), using this on your way up is easy money. And no one is ever going to admit that they do or they have done this, but it’s statistics. Everyone loves an acoustic sweetheart, but entering the 2010s, there wasn’t one big mainstream name like there was with James Taylor or Stephen Stills, and guys like Jack Johnson and Dave Matthews (let’s be honest) were running out of oil to light the flame. When Ed Sheeran came along, it seemed like everyone and their brother were into it. They missed that acoustic figure in mainstream music, and Ed Sheeran carpe’d those diem’s. When Prince started to fall off the mainstream charts (not saying he ever fully fell off), there was Lenny Kravitz to pick up the torch given to the hip-swinging badass in mainstream music. And when Lenny Kravitz got a little old and made less appearances on the charts… Bruno Mars folks. When one falls, the next steps right in. There have been artists who have played the same role that Tame Impala does in today’s scene (i.e. Pink Floyd, King Crimson), but they were the first to do it for this generation. Also, it outright isn’t fair to play the comparison game every single time that an artist hops onto the scene. I, as someone who writes about music, am going to play the comparison game, but I do value every artist as their own.

There is no one else on the market that sounds like Tame Impala. Imagine if you were the only person who ever made ceiling fans. Norris ceiling fans, the only source of ceiling fans in the entire world. If one needed a ceiling fan, where do you think he or she would go?

It’s not much different when it comes to music. If you’re in an acoustic mood, you’re not going to listen to Anthrax. If you’re in a pensive mood, crank up the Rolling Stones or Bob Dylan. If you just don’t know what to do with yourself -- LCD Soundsystem or The Doors. And if you’re playing non-explicit tunes to a crowd of summer camp-goers, turn up Imagine Dragons… (And while we’re at it, how does Imagine Dragons sell stadium tours? I might be hanging around the wrong people, but in my entire life, I have never met someone that regularly listens to Imagine Dragons. Is it the radio that eats their content? I couldn’t tell you).

There is something about Tame Impala that sets them (or him) in their own category. It’s the simple concept, yet complex execution of creating something different from anybody before you. When you think of EDM, you don’t think of Tame Impala. And when you think of rock or indie music, Tame Impala still doesn’t come to mind. It’s the way that Kevin Parker has orchestrated his art that allows the phrase, “When you think of Tame Impala, you think of Tame Impala.”

Once the door swung open into the Fillmore theater, an overwhelming smell of marijuana doused those trying to find their seats. By 8:00 pm, which was the concert’s scheduled start time, the general admission “standing” area was already full. “Full” in this case doesn’t mean crowded. I’m talking “full” to the point where security was not growing furious, but already furious and forcefully directing all to the seats in the rear of the theater. Even if you wanted to jump the barrier (which many did), you wouldn’t be able to see over the sea of hundreds of other fans in front of you. Because of the way the Fillmore is shaped, the crowded general admission standing area does not look up to the stage like at a festival, but looks to the stage at a fairly level view. Because of this, a wide view of the stage was nearly impossible behind the folks who got to the theater early.

I was among those pushed back into the general admission seats. While all of the seating arrangement commotion took place, a foreign sound rang throughout the venue. If “drone” was a genre, this was it.

That was the opener, Mdou Moctar. From Agadez, Niger, Moctar brought something that night that few in the audience expected. The West African group played tunes that lasted nearly 10 minutes or more. The difference between this type of drone and that of the Western Hemisphere was the pep in its step. Drone could sometimes be referred to as sludge in the United States, but Mdou Moctar did not let up once in the act. Once I could finally see the stage from the general admission seating, I was immediately blown away most by group’s drummer, Aboubacar Mazawadje. Of course the frontman and guitarist, Mdou Moctar, deserves all credit going his way, but Mazawadje laid the beat for the entire group to feed off of. He kept the pulse going, and he kept it going quick. The Dark Horse of the night goes to Mr. Aboubacar.

It wouldn’t be accurate to say that the audience knew exactly what was happening onstage, but nonetheless, the crowd chewed it up and applauded like they meant it. The opener left everyone in a cheery mood for the main event.

Even more people gathered inside the venue for Tame Impala, making a crowded area even more dense. It must have been the most crowded I’ve ever seen the Fillmore Miami Beach.

The house lights faded to black, and the crowd let out a holler.

A prerecorded video lit up the backdrop of the stage. Shaky handheld camera footage of a group of friends walking through some grass. As the video progressed, rainbow waves passed through visuals in the frame. The screen shifted into colorful nothingness, the powerful LED lights flicked on, and a tone that one would assume to hear when Jesus resurrected was played. Another roar from the crowd. And on walked the band, including the composer of it all, the Jesus look-alike himself, Kevin Parker. He cupped his hands and shook them at the crowd in a gesture of gratitude, but it was hard for anyone to focus their brain on one person when the sound, lights, and attitude of the venue were all at a boiling point.

The group wasted no time in kicking things off, beginning with arguably their largest smash hit, “Let It Happen”. As soon as the first note hit, I was not worried about going deaf, but going blind was something that did cross my mind. I don’t know what supersonic lights the band got their hands on, but those LEDS were powerful. It was one of the most impressive light shows I have ever seen, but definitely one of the more robust as well.

Parker picked up his signature black Rickenbacker 335, its pickguard splashed in turquoise paint. It wasn’t long until Parker put the guitar down and let the band do the playing. He picked up his drink and bobbed his head to the music. It did not seem like there was some spicy mezcal in the Solo cup, but moreover something to sip on, something smooth.

Parker did this move for an extensive amount of the concert. No one was bothered by it, and I couldn’t help but feel warmth in the way he did it. I interpreted it as a step back to look at his doing, his orchestration. The australian musician did not gloat, but simply soaked in the moment… because it was his.

In the outtro to “Let It Happen”, Parker grabbed the microphone while the song was building up to eventually drop. In this moment, the concert felt more like a rave than anything else. “Are you guys ready for this?” and he asked the fans to put their hands in the air. Suddenly confetti was shooting up from the stage and everybody, including the band, was dancing.

The show went steady and maintained a constant state of good feelings among the crowd. Nothing too out-of-the-ordinary nor anything boring, the show was what fans wanted and expected, which is a good thing. Lastly, the group slammed the door shut with an extended version of “Apocalypse Dreams”, where the outro was impossible not to be blown away by. When the recorded version of the song would have come to an end, Parker took a quiet solo tastefully coated in reverb. The segment took a pause, the drums kicked in, the laser beams fired out, and the entire band came back in guns blazing. YouTube it.

That was the end of the show before the encore, but it was nearly impossible to top that ending. The encore was great, like the rest of the show, but the performance of “Apocalypse Dreams” was all-worldly. But, again, that is something that adds to the show, not takes away from it. Overall, I left bewildered and with “Borderline” stuck in my head. From all the excited murmurs on the way out, everybody else felt similar feelings, and that is a primary reason why the show sold like it did. The people got their money’s worth.

More than anything else from that night, I was most impressed by the dynamic of Parker himself. He doesn’t display himself anywhere near the Axl Rose stage presence type, but that does not take anything away from the band. The lights, the music, the aura of the concert… Parker has so many “systems” running that his creations combine into a well-oiled machine like a Power Rangers robot. When this robot does take full form, there is no one who can tell Kevin Parker what to do, because he is the one who runs the place. For all the Breaking Bad fans out there, Parker isn't in danger, he is the danger. He is "The one who knocks."