The evening opened with Desario, full on indie nerd rock, with strange lyrics I couldn’t quite catch.  Then came Cold Eskimo, enthusiastically ethereal music mixing with one of their guitarist’s pleas for the guy smoking a blunt in the front row to “ Just stop.” Each band gushed about opening for Foals and every time a song for any band that played ended, lights flashing on right in our eyes blinded the audience. In between sets the Ace of Spades showed its excitingly dark roots, hard rock and rap bouncing around the bordello red walls. Then, there was a jarring, all consuming, indescribable eardrum rattling sound. It filled the venue for about three minutes and just before our ears started bleeding, Foals appeared on stage, five guys with five different takes on the same haircut.

The crowd exploded, screaming song requests, the band’s name and just to be heard over the thrum of the guitars. The noise got more intense as recognizable songs like “My Number” and “Inhaler” were played and the opening falsetto of the singer descended into a deeper almost scream, the guitar sound distorting and plunging right after it. Sounding a little like Muse and Coldplay had a miracle baby, a British monolith in indie rock, Foals captivated the room, all of us watching, breathless as the singer ran into the crowd, stood on towers of amps and made precarious friends with the ventilation system. To show our appreciation, we in turn did the indie rock equivalent of a mosh pit, jumping up and down with their hands in the air and singing ‘til their lungs gave out, joy written all over their faces. Foals seemed to love Sacramento and boy did Sacramento love Foals.

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Photos compliments of Jenny Price 

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