Live review: The Airborne Toxic Event, Arctic Monkeys @ the Ogden Theatre
By Sam DeLeo, Lisa Kennedy, Lisa Kennedy, Lisa Kennedy, Lisa Kennedy, Lisa Kennedy, Lisa Kennedy, Lisa Kennedy, Lisa Kennedy, Lisa Kennedy and Lisa Kennedy | September 28th, 2009 | No Comments »
Airborne Toxic Event singer Mike Jollett and his band proved their choice of covers that they’re dedicated to passionately wrought music. Photos by Joe McCabe.
I think I know what the musical equivalent of the baseball joke “Who’s on first?” looks like now.
There are many questions I have about the co-headlining experiment featuring Arctic Monkeys and the Airborne Toxic Event Thursday night at the Ogden Theatre, not the least of which is, “Who’s the ‘fifth monkey?” But before we dive into that… It’s unfortunate when you feel compelled to write about the promotion of a show because it got in the way of the music.
The Henry Clay Band was scheduled to open the night at the 8 p.m. start time listed on the Ogden’s website and on the concert tickets, so I’m guessing they either started early or took a wrong turn on Colfax and wound up nervously performing a set behind the pool table at the Red Ram.
Instead of the other bands beginning when they were scheduled to start, they were moved up. Granted, when we arrived shortly after 8 p.m., the venue was packed with those who must have sensed the bait-and-switch potential from the constant changing of the headline act in promotional ads leading up to the show. Others weren’t so lucky. If they had to work late, were driving in from out of town, had kids to attend to, or just wrongly believed their ticket information, they missed huge chunks of the Arctic Monkeys, probably the band they bought their tickets to see in the first place.
I’m not certain who’s to blame for this, but when did rock shows become a race to the finish? Were we trying to clock in under the tour’s Salt Lake City time trial from the night before? Do we win a stuffed panda doll for our effort? Ah Denver, one day you’ll be a grown-up town and get to stay up later with all the other grown-up towns.
We walked in at the start of the Monkeys’ third or fourth song, the apropos “This House Is A Circus,” with the verse, “This house is a circus, berserk as f*ck / We tend to see that as a perk though / Look what it’s done to your friends / Their memories are pretend / And the last thing they want is for the feeling to end.” It was true that after a few moments listening to the lads from Sheffield, you didn’t want the feeling to end.
Alex Turner’s voice was spot on; the stage sound was crisp; the band’s chops as tight as their trendy narrowed jeans. They were a turbine spinning the kind of bristling static you can feel in the hairs of your arm when you enter a room.



