Maps Break Up and Screw Me Over

By Yang
July 10th, 2008

Yesterday my friends and I went to see Maps, a rising indie electronic band from the UK, at Walter’s on Washington in Houston, TX. We had listened to their only album, We Can Create, on repeat for days beforehand and looked forward to their pulsing dreamy melodies. I took extra care in choosing my concert attire, donning my hipster uniform of skinny black jeans, an XXL neutral colored shapeless t-shirt, flats, silver woven belt and smudged black eyeliner.

At nine thirty, we walked across the broken sidewalk and graveled lot in front of Walter’s, a dingy bar with a small stage that barely deserves the title of concert venue. Doors opened at eight and by nine, the lot was usually crowded with cliques of hipsters hanging around the band vans, hunched together smoking aloofly and scoping each other out. Yesterday though, it was eerily empty. Confused, we wondered if we came to the wrong venue or at the wrong time or simply if all the cool kids knew something that we didn’t. With trepidation, we entered the doors glazed with grime.

A few people lounged at the bar and a few idled along the sides. The ticket collector sitting by the door with his cash box and arm bands had a paper taped in front of him on which someone wrote in jagged sharpie print, “Antarctica, Maps and …” Nevertheless, we asked him if Maps was playing that night and he answered in affirmation. My friends paid and I tried to pay with my credit card but they only took cash. We left to withdraw cash from my nearest bank and by the time we got back, it was already ten o’ clock. There were more signs of life in the lot as band members and roadies were pulling equipment out of their vans. Inside, a straggle of an audience had gathered on the floor. We were on our second drink when a band from Virginia finally took the stage at 10:15. They introduced themselves as Gifts from Enola and started playing music that sounded like wordless Coldplay to a colored light show that resembled the Viva La Vida iTouch ad. We jumped around in faux dance mode when the strobe lights went off and the musicians banged their guitars. My friend swooned at the performers rocking it out with their, well, you know, out.

After a while, we became antsy and I decided to go find out what was going on with Maps. I approached the doorman and asked him if Maps was playing after Gifts from Enola. With a nonchalant shrug, he said Maps broke up two or three days ago. I stared at him in disbelief and exclaimed with outrage, “But you told us just an hour ago that they would be playing tonight!” I then noticed that the paper in front of him now had “Maps” completely scratched out and stomped off to tell my friends. My friend tried to get our money back from the doorman but he refused, claiming that the headliner, Antarctica, didn’t tell them earlier because they didn’t want the show canceled. We left, our wallets lighter, our livers buzzing, our hearts disappointed, grudgingly forever resigned to experiencing the music of Maps only through the speakers of our computers and iPods.