foutre le bordel
Dark with a borderline grimey aura and a subtle retro flair, the Turf Club has been a staple of the St. Paul music scene since the ‘50s. It’s a smallish venue capable of holding a substantial enough crowd to fill the space with unbridled musical enthusiasm, but intimate enough to look into the eyes of the performers and feel that the songs they’re singing were meant only for the people in this singular elongated room.
Although many a band and performer have graced the small-but-mighty stage situated at the far back of the dimly lit historic venue, one band in particular was able to fill the space with electric hedonism, freeing the crowd from the niceties of day-to-day midwestern-ism, and transporting those in attendance to an exclusive once in a lifetime party that when marveled at in retrospect leaves those blessed by the experience only with the phrase “you just had to be there.”
Pushing boundaries of the french psych punk rock genre, La Femme, is an ever-evolving yet consistently cool band capable of encapsulating the nuance of both heart-wrenching longing and hedonistic rebellion with an air that can only be described as undeniably chic. Originating in Paris, the group have become proper rock stars over the years - recognized all over the world by a sound that can’t truly be categorized into any niche multi-hyphenated sub-genre, but rather by
its distinctly emotive energy.
Despite accumulating over 1B listeners on Spotify alone, there was no sight of a line snaking the sidewalk outside of the local venue - but the numbers didn’t matter. The crowd may have been smaller than that of previous performers, that’s true, however the magnitude of energy formed by sheer excitement spilled out on to the streets. Those in attendance were die hard fans who rightfully anticipated an experience of an electric spark that would not leave a single body present unmoved - one that could not be matched by the impersonal magnificence of a packed
stadium
The show began with all six members of the band dressed in matching black-lapeled white tuxedos, stationed dutifully in front of their respective instruments. They eased in with psychedelic slow jams, like “Cool Colorado” cooing the crowd into hypnosis with soft spoken French lyrics. The sensuality of the music coaxing the crowd into fervent swaying and body rolling - if a single person was standing still it was only because they had been gripped by the unique harmonies that swirled the air.
Throughout the set, completely of their own volition each member of the band undressed themselves to different degrees. They all remained clothed from the waist down, but it seemed at their discretion what they did or did not wear underneath their tuxedo jackets - a sheer black ruffled blouse, a button up tee printed with chili peppers, a bikini top, absolutely nothing. La Femme opened themselves up to their audience one by one, breaking down the boundaries
between the public and personal.
With each layer discarded, the music ramped up in energy. They slowly and intentionally carried the crowd into an unruly vibration - one unbound by rules. The rebellious nature of their punk stained music infected the venue and the audience unleashed onto itself with raucously friendly mid-western moshing. Whether or not the lyrics were understood was irrelevant, for French words were shouted back at the band, bouncing off the tin-tiled roof and leaking onto University Ave. Chaos ruled as drinks were spilled, heads were banged and inhibitions were unleashed in a way that felt youthfully cinematic. Reaching it’s inevitable climax, the concert was perfected during “Foutre le bordel” (translating loosely to “fuck things up” or “make a mess”) when lead singer Magnee jumped into the crowd and shouted his lyrics mere inches away from those who
idolized his band. He joined and encouraged the mosh pit, sending the small crowd into a joyous frenzy. This frenzy never cooled, and was only heightened during the finale when at least four different members of the band took their turn surfing their small-but-mighty crowd before unleashing their stimulated acolytes onto the unassuming Twin Cities.
The talent displayed by the exuberantly undefinable French band is only matched by their ability to curate their setlist to stir, excite, and ignite the energy of both their music and their fans into a surreal pinnacle of human experience of youthful bliss. You just might have had to be there.
