Composed of cigarette smoke sighs and technicolor lights flashing across the lenses of sunglasses, the music of French Police is jaunty and moody — disaffected and brimming with emotion, slow-moving and riveting — a wine-smooth melange of perfectly married contradictions.
I’ve loved them since “Clock Man” and “Club De Vampiros” first crossed my path, and jumped at the opportunity to see them live — finally, I might add, after watching them tour the west coast for years — in Carrboro.
The Show
The venue was awash in showgoers clad in the stylistics of 2014 Tumblr: leather jackets over tight black pants or stockings, feet clad in shiny black boots and dark hair scalded with a flat iron.
A tang of cigarettes and clove cologne was thick on the air. Part of me wondered if I’d accidentally wandered into an Arctic Monkeys gig. Then I spotted it: a merch table decked out with a pair of women’s underwear, the words “FRENCH POLICE” emblazoned across the backside. That’s when I knew I was in the right place.
I attempted to take a photo of the crowd for posterity’s sake, but their clothing rendered them something of a shapeless mass. Maybe it was better that way. When French Police took the stage — dressed all in black, eyes concealed by moody shades — the audience became a dusky, rolling sea.
Exuberant beats, thrumming basslines and the breathy vocals of Brian Flores transformed the backroom into a vivid musical space.
The audience swayed in unison, excitement and jubilation spilling over into cheers as the band flowed through all of our favorite songs, devil-may-care, strutting languid across the stage. It was dreamlike, soaking in the sonorous beats of one of my favorite bands, watching them live and breathe just feet away.
It was a sweet show. Nothing crazy, just pure adoration. And sometimes that’s all you need.
