Jimmy Pitts 
IDLES pulled into Seattle for the final shows of their five-week American tour the same day a tornado warning buzzed thousands of smartphones across the city. While the emergency report, a rarity for the Pacific Northwest, turned out a false alarm, the whipping wind and rain that ensued befit IDLES – a band whose razor-sharp, pounding brand of post-punk has seen a meteoric rise since their 2017 debut, Brutalism.
The first show of IDLES sold-out, two-night stand took place at the iconic Showbox. Situated across the street from Pike Place Market, where daytime crowds gawk as vendors hurl fish, the near century-old concert hall has seen it all, hosting historical acts like Duke Ellington, The Sonics, and The Ramones.
Necessitating the popularity of IDLES, the second show was held at Showbox’s sister venue, Showbox SoDo. SoDo, short for “south of downtown,” is a little bit tougher than Seattle’s tourist-friendly market. Just north of it is a strip joint, and just south is a long stretch of darkness. Usually, at this hour, the only thing in the air is the smell and neon light from a Krispy Kreme. Tonight though, a crowd has gathered, hoods up in the rain, buzzing with anticipation.
The broad appeal of IDLES becomes apparent as we wait for the band to take the stage. For every mohawk, there are a hundred beanies. For every patched-up jean jacket, an infinite amount of flannel shirts. I watch an all-ages, non-binary couple slow dance to the house music while a middle-aged couple to their left snaps a date-night selfie. The darkroom-red overhead lighting casts everyone in the same hue, and it’s hard not to find the metaphor in all of this. Before we throw our bodies at each other, the brick and concrete of the Showbox feels like a safe space.
IDLES take the stage with no fanfare or introduction. They don’t need to announce themselves. Their appearance itself is the announcement, marked by their subtle middle fingers at hardcore and hetero normativity. Guitarist Mark Bowen takes the stage in a flowing blue dress. Bassist Adam Devonshire and guitarist Lee Kiernan sport rainbow instrument straps. Frontman Joe Talbot is equally confounding in a tan button-up shirt, looking almost safari chic. Drummer Jon Beavis’ rimshots start the night, and the crowd begins swaying to “Colossus.”
Before IDLES’ second song, Talbot says his first words to the crowd. “I got food poisoning or some shit… can you fucking carry me tonight?” The crowd roars. Then Talbot instructs them to split down the middle. The audience is more than willing. This is the power that IDLES will exhibit all night. The crowd listens and carries out instructions by the band in an exchange of trust between audience and performer.
Talbot, now satisfied at the sea of fans he has parted, asks “Are you ready to collide? Are you ready to look after each other?” This emphasis on looking out for one another is a common theme of the evening. Each time the crowd cheers. The social contract between band and performer, and the transfer of energy between the two, is the appeal of IDLES. It feels all the more powerful five days removed from the tragedy at the Astroworld Festival.
IDLES launch into “Car Crash,” a new song off their upcoming album Crawler (out November 12th on Partisan Records). The audience responds accordingly, ramming into one another and turning the center of the floor into a whirlpool of bodies. In the chaos, Kiernan leaps into the crowd, still playing the song while being passed around from hand to hand while Bowen, running back and forth from stage left to stage right, eats shit right in front of his amp, all the while still strumming his plexiglass, aluminum necked guitar.
IDLES was meant for the stage. Though studio albums Joy as an Act of Resistance and Ultra Mono garnered the band accolades and fans, it’s obvious watching them sweat and flail about that this is truly where their powers lie. Accusations of the band merely “sloganeering” or “preaching” seem ridiculous when you witness them in their element. The power of a thousand people raising their fists while Talbot screams, “black is beautiful,” during the song “Grounds,” is a stunning example of the power in their simple sentiments.
The performance of “Samaritans” was equally charged. As Talbot sings in each chorus, “This is why you never see your father cry,” his dismantling of repressed male emotions finds a cathartic release in the pit. It’s powerful and honest, and the room loves it – seems freed by it. Its resonance is emphasized in this, a traditionally macho hardcore show setting. And then finally, nearing the end of the song, Talbot hits the lyric, “I kissed a boy, and I liked it,” as the stage lights are thrown up, jarringly illuminating the Showbox at the climax of the song. Talbot is the calmest person in the room, with his arms thrown up in the air, looking like a man trying to transcend himself while fans wage their own wars around him.
Halfway through the set, Talbot asks the audience, “Are you ready for war? Are you ready for war?” To which Bowen replies off mic that “War” is not the next song in the set. Talbot responds with the best encapsulation of IDLES I could imagine as he spits into his mic, “Not the song – the allegory!” This is why IDLES has sold out shows across the world. This is why the energy in this crowd is so palpable. People don’t see IDLES for one song or one idea. IDLES tackle addiction, toxic masculinity, scene politics, sexuality, depression, and class – but the totality of this exploration is what’s important. As the band sweats through their clothes and throws their bodies around, engaging fans in literal and metaphorical trust falls, they are examples of examined lives – lit brightly by stage lights. And in the face of it all, the crushing weight of life, the people dance.
Their exploration doesn’t end lyrically. When the band launches into the new song, ”The Beachland Ballroom” you can hear a certain trepidation while they slow down the pace and push the boundaries of their sound. The song is brilliant, a new type of blue-eyed soul that is screamed instead of crooned, but the band is still wearing it in and finding how it works live. The stabs of guitar and the organ haven’t quite found their groove inside the pocket. But even in this performance, you can hear the song begin to gel. By the raucous end – with Talbot screaming the word “damaged” – the band has locked in. It’s an exciting tight rope walk and bodes well for the creative future of the band.
Things aren’t all heady this evening. IDLES is in victory lap mode. Their American tour is coming to an end and Crawler is just days away from being released. A celebratory feeling can be felt from the stage as the set winds down. During “Love Song” Bowen makes his way out into the crowd, held up by his feet, and sings a medley of “No Matter What I Do, All I Think About Is You” and “Your Love Keeps Lifting Me Higher” while the sound engineer in the back of the venue is handed a guitar and implored to shred. Afterward, as the end of “Love Song” is stretched out to get the guitar and cable snaked back through the crowd and to the stage, Bowen finds himself at a loss for another love song to sing over the vamping. In a playful nod to the audience, he launches into the theme song to Frasier. It’s perfectly dumb fun.
The set ends with the entire IDLES crew invited onto the stage for a spirited rendition of Joy as an Act of Resistance closer “Rottweiler.” Seven people are wildly pounding drums while a crew member takes the mic and suddenly realizes they don’t know what to sing. With the moment beginning to pass him by, he ad-libs new lyrics over the pummeling percussion. “Arm the poor,” he sings, over and over. While some in the crowd enthusiastically chant along, you can feel a slight bristle. Maybe Talbot’s earlier question has been answered. Maybe we aren’t ready for war.
IDLES leaves the stage with feedback still howling. The house lights are thrown on and the throngs are released from the Showbox. The streetlights reflect off the rain-slicked, leaf-covered sidewalk. A man leans against a tree holding a wet cardboard sign, the word “homeless” scrawled in sharpie. With my ears still ringing I avoid his eyes. I wonder if he was the poor we just sang about.
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