Flowers In Florida

Doreen Barber on múm and The Postmarks at Orlando's Plaza Theatre

It’s the last day of April, and the Plaza Theatre in Orlando plays host to an evening of music courtesy of The Postmarks and the headlining act, m・m. The Postmarks are a band from Miami, my friend Rakesh is familiar with the band members, and had told me they were a good band. Normally, when friends recommend local Florida bands to me, I nod politely and think to myself, "Of course they are, dear," in the same matronly manner that would respond to, say, a child's declaration of seeing a unicorn in the aisles of the supermarket: "Sure you did, honey. Now, put the bag of Twinkies back where you found it before you drop it and it gets on the floor."

So, I had applied this sort of patronising towards The Postmarks, which completely disappeared once they began playing. The Postmarks aren't merely a good Florida band--they're an incredible band, regardless of geography. For those of you who might be familiar with the British band Broadcast, The Postmarks reminded me of them in spirit, in that the sound was similar, but different enough to be distinct and its own animal. If I were to compare The Postmarks and Broadcast, I would say the latter has a darker perspective, whereas The Postmarks seemed lighter, more ebullient and soft--with exceptions being when they utterly rocked their brains out, like at the end of the set with the female lead singer jumping up and down on the stage, and the other band members losing themselves in the melodic cacophony they were sharing with the enthralled audience.

The Postmarks utilised the blank screen behind them and projected a montage of overlaid images: park scenes, film clips (including a couple from Breathless and The Sound of Music), rain on a window, etc. It was well-done in enhancing the already interesting audio tapestry created by the band that was a fashion of dream pop meets vintage 60s sounds with a touch of pop psychedelica and a twinge of shy twee. The songs were well-crafted, and the effect overall was impressive.

After The Postmarks, there was an intermission where seats were saved, cigarettes smoked outside of the building, long lines formed for merch and beer, and people waited and watched as people on stage tinkered with equipment and sound. "Check, check! One, two!" My seat was uncomfortable, although probably no more so than any other seat in the room. I contemplated how old the seats were as I shifted my weight. I'm guessing the seating in the Plaza Theatre is old enough to buy beer in the US, so at least twenty-one. My friend Jeremy, who remembered coming to the theatre to see The Neverending Story back in the eighties, said the seats were different when he had attended back then, featuring sparkle-purple vinyl upholstery, rather than the antiquated cloth we had to endure that lacked a proper amount of padding to separate your ass from the metal bottom of the fold-down seat.

At last, m・m filed out on stage. The number of performers was seven, which corresponds to the number of people currently listed on their bio on Last.fm. Again, my expectations failed me, as the performances of the band members were more energetic and exciting than I had anticipated. During the first song performance, for example, the female vocalist, Hildur Gudnadottir, sang with so much emotion and earnestness, I thought she was going to break through her petite porcelain-skinned body as she lurched into the microphone. She was vibrant--a hopping, skipping lark of a woman amid the more (but not much more) serious men, who attacked their guitars with paintbrushes, brought out an array of hand-held instruments, had towels on their cymbals, played on a blue pot and made little jokes with the audience. It was a fun night, only slightly stained by the occasional shriek of microphone feedback that happened here and there.

The music and the motions, especially the kinetic dancing of the female vocalist, entranced the audience, who ignored the squeaky chairs which possibly were older than some of the show-goers themselves, the fights they may have had with their girlfriends the night before, the bad day at work or the American economic woes. We hinged on and absorbed every clickity beat and violin stroke, each bass guitar grumble and drum explosion, the erratic piccolo tunes, and the purity of the vocals that surrounded us in the Plaza Theatre. It was nearly overwhelming how wonderful the music was, the performances of which were dovetailed by the side glances and smiles the bandmates were giving each other, like a circus gypsy band from Iceland (and one Finlander) who have descended upon Orlando to wow us with their music and magic.

After their set, and the additional encore performance, m・m ended the last show of their tour to the loud claps, whoops and whistles of an ecstatic Orlando crowd, who would later spill out into the parking lot, into the night, hearts a little bit lighter, the moon perhaps a bit brighter. The afterglow of the show would shine on, in photos, text messages, and maybe a giddy smile to the 7-Eleven clerk. It was a magnificent night for musical performances, and m・m and The Postmarks made it happen for us.

ｩ 2008 Doreen Barber

© Miwsig