Including the one shoved in my bag, which served as a security blanket in case I felt a dire need to appear hipper than I really was, I only counted six people at Safari Sam’s wearing “scene hats.” Even better news was that, also including my own, I only saw eight pairs of black-rimmed glasses and seven striped sweaters. Not counting the one I was wearing. Of course. These were the signs that told me tonight’s show wouldn’t, well, suck.

The venue itself was spacious and fit over two hundred people comfortably, keeping uninvited rubbing away from my ever-so-desired body parts. Catering to an 18+ audience meant a strong I’m-just-so-glad-to-be-out-of-the-house-and-doing-something-adult vibe, and filled the room up with good energy. This was magnified by the strong stage presence of the first band, “The Deadly Syndrome,” whose unique sound is a fusion of “The Unicorns” meets “The Arcade Fire. They blew me away with their hard chords and folky vocals and turned Safari Sam’s into a rock n’ roll dance party for the duration of their set. They’re one of those bands that mock the idea of being cool, and are cooler than your mom in the process. Hence two members onstage wearing their own band's t-shirt, at their own show, and pulling it off with subtle irony. No stripes, either. Maybe this was ok because they had ghosts all over the stage—I shit you not—cardboard cutouts with black marker faces: there was professor Ghost, 9-to-5 ghost, pirate ghost, sad ghost and my personal favorite, junkie ghost which had x’s for eyes. It’s hard not to trust a band that rolls with a posse of ghosts.

The lack of striped sweaters on stage was made up for with the next band, “Low Vs. Diamond,” whose frontman’s voice achieved octaves I couldn’t even comprehend. Their catchy keyboard melodies mimicked “Clap your hands, say yeah” but LVD still maintained their own, unique spin on the sound. The front row, comprised of obvious fans, consisted of a questionable age group of females nodding their heads and mouthing the lyrics bringing me back to those fake-id days. Ten extra points for the cute bassist, who I knew was totally in love with me after I caught him glancing in my general direction one and a half times. My visions of our wedding and children were soon quelled, however, when he played air drums in a serious fashion during the band’s fifth song.

Since they are based out of Los Angeles, it was no surprise that when “Monsters are Waiting” took the stage, Safari Sam’s was packed from floor to floor. Ten points to “Monsters” for the uber smokin’ hot Annalee Fery, but another fifty for the haunting sounds that she managed to create with her vocal chords. You ever envisioned a psychadelic elf? Yeah, I hadn’t either. But since this is the holiday season and all, I figure…well…tis the season. Anyway, just think about that description and go with it for a second. It was as if someone figured out a way to bottle the essence of Joanna Newsom and Kazu Makino, and served it up with a twist of Hope Sandoval. Sweet. Sour. And a potent aftertaste that bit deeply into your taste buds and begged you for more. And man, did she bring it. I was utterly prepared to hate her, if not for her scene-like antics then for the mere fact that she was thinner than me—the motherload base that girls use to form opinions about other females. Not to mention that as soon as Ferry took the stage, the guy I was with ceased speaking to me all together. Despite my preconceived notions, however, I couldn’t help but be completely captivated by this girl’s presence. I forgot all about the bassist in “Low Vs. Diamond.” For the second time in forty-five minutes, I found myself in love. I didn’t even know I was a lesbian.

The rest of the band, Andrew Clark (bass/guitar), Jonathan Siebels (guitar/bass) and Eric Gardner (drums), displayed a tight-knit unity with each individually created sound meshing perfectly with the other two. Their obvious passion for music as an art form seeped off stage like a virus and infected everything that stood in its way.

The crowd lapped up “Monsters,” desperately clinging onto each and every eclectic note. There wasn’t a single person at Safari Sam’s whose eyes weren’t directed to the stage and whose ears weren’t perked at attention. When the music stopped, the audience held their breath until it started up again, never wanting to hear the words, “thanks for coming out tonight—you guys have been great—this song will be our last.” Instead, we all stood on our tip-toes attempting to reap in as much of this hypnotic experience as was humanly possible. When the show was over, I walked out dumbfouded. “Monsters are Waiting” had given me a whole new perspective on the term, “ambient rock.” It is innovative bands like this one that change the capacious face of music and remind me that people who claim “there is no good new music out there, man” are totally full of shit.

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