The Kids Are Alright: grandson with Royal & the Serpent

  

grandson

    At last night's tour ending show at the Granada Theater in Lawrence, Kansas, grandson and opener Royal & the Serpent stood united selling the idea that rock and roll still exists to not only save lives but change the world. Prowling and bouncing around the stage, both acts fronted three piece heavy rock bands that played like each moment of their sets was the one that most counted. Both artists radiated vivid, nuanced emotion: Royal, a young woman defiant in the throes of pain; grandson, a young man who cuts the excitement of a legendary rocker with a kind of vulnerable physical comedy. Not only did they both rock hard, but Royal and grandson talked to the crowd, a lot, with an eye-to-eye compassion, telling all of us to take care of each other for them, for us, for what the night was all about. It was the perfect bill, Royal wielding the rock band to liberate the crowd followed by grandson trying that same thing on an epic scale, taking time to linger on how bad those we don't understand are hurting, perpetually turning the conversation to keep our unity the focus.     

Royal's set may have been my favorite of the two moment-for-moment. Lyrics I'd never heard before put a lump in my throat. Her talks with the crowd were unflinchingly honest, and that voice only leapt into another level of intensity when she sang. And I would be remiss to overlook the band's cover of the Killer's "Mr. Brightside." So many were at my daughter's age, uniquely experiencing the trauma we're all experiencing in the most formative years of their youth. Hearing that whole crowd sing that refrain at the top of their lungs, I couldn't help but think of what it meant in a new way. In this crowd just coming out of a pandemic, facing a disastrous economy, not having known anything like peace in their lifetimes, the song sounded like today--saints lost in a sea of contradiction, once comforting lullabies now just plain lies, everyone there rightfully distrustful of their parents' generation and the future itself. After hearing (and watching) that room embrace their mutual struggles and pain in song after song, that moment all-but-reinventing a 2004 Top 40 hit carried a giddy sense that everyone could also write that pain off as "the price I pay" and recognize the future as unwritten, a destiny calling. 

Royal 1

Grandson centers the show on the center of the crowd, dividing us up to respond to different calls, himself diving into the heart of a thrashing crowd to finish the climactic song. From the innocent bodies of "WWIII" to the messy determination to win in "Dirty," this music was about everyone, artist as fan and fan as artist. The narrative was a story we all acted out in the room together. At one point grandson asked who were artists in the house. He paused as if jumping thoughts, saying, "The only thing that separates the artists from those who aren't yet on this stage is a delusional belief they can save the world, and it's fragile as porcelain." 

My daughter kindly invited me to this show to see a favorite she'd introduced to me four years ago. Those were dark days for me, and I have a distinct memory of grandson's "Best Friends" keeping me upright on a nearby track I ran like it was spiraling into the Earth. At that time this music seemed a glimmer of what it's all about. Tonight, seeing these two bands perform, I watched that glimmer take shine. On the final cut "Blood//Water," Royal & the Serpent and an opener we missed (Nova Twins) all took the stage and that light exploded with warm textures of shimmering brilliance. It was no less than  a revelation to see such a light, once again, shining boldly into the future. 

Royal 2

Nova Twins, I'm definitely following now.