Doorathee At Snowpeek
Like any great concert, Doorathee’s Tuesday show at the Snowpeek started three hours late. Some grumbled but what they failed to realize is the wait is part of the performance. It gives the audience an opportunity to contemplate the forthcoming performance as well as time to get a beer and a tour t-shirt.
When Doorathree finally took the stage she said nary a word but lunched into “Years of Shades,” a 17-minute opus comprised of one sustained note.
The performance was rapturous. I wasn’t the only attendee who felt this way. During the 17 minutes of understated perfection and subtle hyperbole many audience members spontaneously burst into uncontrollable screaming while others curled up in the fetal position to better enjoy the music. A few people began dancing using a new step that involves making a fist and then sticking said fist in the face of a partner. There was more than one suicide attempt.
Those unfamiliar with Doorathee’s music left before the song was over.
If they only knew.
Doorathee’s shows aren’t simple events where music fans can enjoy themselves—that’s so mainstream. A Doorathee concert is an aural experience that redefines the very idea of a live performance and then that new idea is further redefined into a completely new definition that’s different from the first.
You don’t just listen to music you endure the realization that you’re a sentient being in a chaotic universe of rust that’s rattling with a cacophony of bells and whistles.
After her opening foray, Doorathee settled into her classic “Not No Never,” a five minute sojourn into the seedy underbelly of the 12-bar blues.
After that she tried to eat her some of her musical equipment. I felt like I was watching Jimi Hendrix at Monterrey when Doorathee poured salt and pepper on her guitar.
Her attempted snack was followed by a melody of her greatest hits all played at 6/10 time, in anti-Dorian scale, and backwards. She deconstructed her own music as a constructive criticism against commercialism. I totally bought it.
During intermission, Doorathee berated the audience, not for anything they did but for random, made-up stuff like leaving the top of the ketchup bottle a mess and not getting her taxes done on time.
After intermission, Doorathee roared into a sensual fugue of bombastic trills and fustian riffs. For nearly 42 minutes Doorathee had the audience in the palm of her hand as she took them on a journey of musical awakening, sonic suffering, audible angst, and waltzes.
She challenged the audience by playing disharmonious, out-of-tune, off-beat and actually playing the accordion. Granted, that’s the only way she knows how to play. That’s because Doorathree has had no formal musical instruction. She believes learning music is bourgeois, capitalistic, and lame (don’t we all).
For an encore, Doorathee turned off her speakers and forced the audience to listen with their eyes and to imagine what her music MIGHT sound like. It was an epiphany.
She then turned the speakers back on and finished the night with a cover of “Mony Mony.”
You won’t have fun at a Doorathee concert. In fact, you’ll probably be very comfortable. Yet, misery is a small price to pay for seeing a true musical artist, a bona fide genius, and a pure performer. She’s also fairly hot.