Microsoft is not being at all shy about pandering to hipster kids with the release of its new, social media-obsessed smartphone the Kin. To promote the product, the company is hosting free pop-up concerts (called “spot” shows) around the country, with such faddish headliners as the Ting Tings and Big Boi. Naturally, when we found out about the most recent show here in Chicago on Saturday night, we got curious. The Dead Weather was playing. In a secret location announced at 4 p.m. before the show. With promises of an open bar. Sounds cool, right? Sadly, not so much.
Supergroup the Dead Weather is cool. Their shows are cool: Lead singer Alison Mosshart (of the Kills) snarls and stalks around the stage like a punk goddess (the similarities between her and Joan Jett don’t end at the looks). Jack White, the group’s most famous member, drifts in and out of the background (as well as from behind the drum set and the microphone). And who doesn’t like Jack White? He’s got the folk-country thing (The Raconteurs), the garage-rock thing (The White Stripes, Grammy-approved!). He’s like an indie-rock everyman.
But that was part of the problem: It wasn’t just the cool kids who showed up. With about a 500-person capacity in the Marquardt Trucking Company warehouse, the show was meant to attract an exclusive group of social-media insiders. Problem is, anyone who spends enough time checking their Facebook and Twitter and who’s willing to drop everything to go to a free show at 4 pm is, well, probably not that cool. The line that extended down the West Town block was something you’d expect outside a hot new club, except there was no bouncer to weed out the assholes. The first-come-first-serve policy ensured that those who got in generally fell into the polo-shirted bro category—including one classy individual who enjoyed rubbing his profuse sweat on other patrons, myself included. Trendsetters these people were not.
Maybe this is what happens when you willfully attend a blatant marketing ploy. Though nothing in the warehouse explicitly invoked Microsoft, the experience felt a lot like corporate drudgery: You go to the show. You wait in line for a really long time. You’re annoyed by the bros. You drink a lot. You’re less annoyed. You want a really great show and then go home. You wake up the next morning remembering a good show and either forget about the Kin and just wonder why you got a bunch of stuff with “let’s do this” (the phone’s truly heinous tagline) printed on it, or alternatively you remember the Kin with a bitter taste in your mouth, knowing that you got a bunch of free shit from Microsoft specifically meant to make you buy their shit, all in a vain attempt to make people think the brand is cooler than it is. It’s like when the weird, smelly guy down the hall invites everyone to his dorm room, and the only reason you go is because he has Absolut: Sure, we had fun, but no one’s opinions have been changed, and the uncool guy is still uncool—just tainted with the smell of decent liquor and desperation.
