These Links are for You, Tom.

Brooklyn Academy of Music is a swankier place than I'm used to. Even if all they have are plastic chairs and tables. Chairs alone are somewhat bewildering to me, at a show. Needless to say, I didn't sit in them. I sat indian-style on the floor. It felt more... right.

The crowd was older, too, and mostly everyone had a drink (and legitimately, too; it was fairly obvious looking about the room that I and my friends were the youngest people there) in their hands. I was slightly put off. Nonetheless, I was approaching the night with an open mind. After all, a show is a show is a show, whether you're surrounded by angry, hormonal, slightly deranged college aged kids at a punk gig in some unfinished, unheated basement, or you're sitting at a table on the top floor of the Brooklyn Academy of Music with a cup of wine and a will to survive the flood of thirtysomething hipsters that impose on you the indescribably disconcerting urge to wear thick-rimmed glasses and slouch dramatically.

Not to mention it was free.

And which bands brought out this crowd? White Rabbits headlined, and Miss Fairchild and Effi Briest opened. I'd heard vaguely of White Rabbits beforehand but I was clueless (as I usually am, about everything) about the bulk of their work and hadn't even heard of the two openers. I can't say I expected the two openers to sound anything like they did but at least one half of it, as it were, turned out well. Very well, in fact.

Miss Fairchild was like the band your parents would have listened to, except... better. Reminiscent of Motown soul, these white boy funkadelics took everything good about soul and made it their own (and added a jazz flute, to boot). There's something dynamic and ever so smooth about this trio. The frontman, who goes by Daddy Wrall (ha!), was clearly the cherry atop the smooth, funky sundae. Everything he did was riddled with cool, whether it was a shake of his scrawny, orange bellbottom clad hips, or a high warble of his rich tenor. He was impeccable, casual, and generally infused with all sorts of awesome. He would have, of course, been less sorts of cool had it not been for the other two members of the band, their synergy and interaction and plain and simple FUN together being completely undeniable as you watched.

And yes, my mom loved them.

But, as it were, not even the sheer fun of Miss Fairchild's performance could save the second opener, Effi Briest. Now, I can understand low-key music. You can't always listen to upbeat bands; there is a time and a place for everything. Effi Briest was trying to make mellower music than Miss Fairchild. That's all well and good. My issue with them is that they did it poorly. Underwhelming is the only word I can even think of to describe this ensemble's performance. And I was expecting something more, really; as soon as they began setting up, everyone in the venue got to their feet in anticipation (people had previously been sitting on the floor and at tables through the whole of Miss Fairchild, with the exception of me and my friends, who were dancing like sad, rhythm-lacking white kids). I expected something head-bobbing, moshpit-forming, or at least a good beat to dance to. The fact that all the people standing looked like they'd all gotten to BAM on the G train from Bushwick should have been a clue, because instead of something catchy and revelrous, what I encountered was, as a friend of mine put it, "nothing but songs made of intros to songs." Nothing seemed to flesh out. It was monotonous, slightly grating, and definitely boring. And though I don't support idiocy, the bunch of brash Long Islanders next to me might have had the right idea when they started shouting out curses and calling for White Rabbits to get onstage.

And White Rabbits didn't disappoint. As I watched them perform, unfamiliar with their sound and most of their stuff, I was left with no words to describe them. Now, as I listen again, I realize why. White Rabbits evoke an odd feeling with their music, reminiscent of many things and nothing at the same time. With their brash vocals layered over thick, nostalgic piano and catchily repetitive guitar, White Rabbits paint a tableau that crosses something between hot summer nights and 19th century style saloons. They are dichotomous, angry and restrained, juvenile and sophisticated. If they were a person, fictitious or otherwise, they would be Doogie Howser, MD - awkward, teenage, and smart as hell (not to mention deliciously vintage in that late 80's/early 90's not-so-vintage way). And their presence onstage is something else, and just as oxymoronic as their songs. Never ostentatious but extremely entertaining, White Rabbits had to do very little to keep the audience enthralled and (in certain cases) dancing like drunk kids in a French discothèque. When they performed, they had a certain clumsy, puppeted look about them, all loose limbs and bobbing heads, while their music remained tight and well-orchestrated, right down to the three-part vocal harmonies, which remained perfectly pitched and spot on throughout the entire thing, through noise and cheering and thrashing instruments and the likes (as a former choirgirl, I appreciated this the most). Overall White Rabbits' performance (and their music, as a whole) was interesting, unique, layered with all sorts of awesome imagery, and just... good. Seriously.